#but instead of fear and distrust its just. resentment for taking up so much of her life

[zimszim]

i looooove the horrifying elements of the doctor and river's relationship, like not only did her whole childhood revolve around him, but they essentially trapped each other in their timelines. the doctor gave her her identity as river (and while she found independence within it, still sort of fucked (names are so important)) and river fucking DIED on his ass!! and while time can be rewritten, i feel like the doctor has a certain amount of respect for time that has already been written, that with the fact that she died for him and he apparently trusts her and maybe even loves her in the future........ they literally trapped each other

[celosiaa]

enough for now

A gift for @taylortut​ who I love so very much!! She didn’t ask for it but I did the dang thing anyway based on things that you’ve said you like! I hope this brings some little bit of extra good to your day, my dear <3 even if it is a lil angsty lol

CW flashback, panic attack

Focus. Focus.

You’re wasting your time.

You’ve already wasted enough.

Hunched over his desk, Tim squints against the dim light of his lamp scattering across the stacks of files and books and blueprints littered across it. He had been nursing a migraine all day—all week, really—and had no real choice at this point but to get used to it, carry on, shove it all down. Since no one had bothered to tell him that the Circus was what they were after, he has a lot of catching up to do, research that Martin should have known he himself would not be capable of.

Added to the fact of his most recent attempt to escape this hellhole making him sick and weak. Again. So here he was, drinking in the sustenance of whatever godforsaken thing that keeps him here, hour after hour making him stronger. All because he let his anger rule again. Ran away.

Just keep on running then, Tim.

Coward.

Christ. One fight with Danny, and it still stings.

Because it’s true.

You left him you left him you left him there with that thing—

Blood—torch—stage—lights—clown—Danny Danny Danny Danny—

Stop stop stop

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he can’t help the small noise that escapes him—though he does not hear it over the fading static in his own ears.

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

Breathe in; breathe out. One moment to the next. What his therapist taught him after…after. After nothing. There’s nothing, there never was, there’s only now. There’s only the Circus. There’s only his migraine, pounding pounding pounding against his skull, the fury, the bitterness, the knowledge that he’s caught in a trap he’ll never crawl out of—

THUD.

Easily startled these days, Tim jumps bodily at the sound, snapping his head around toward its source. He had not thought anyone would still be here at this hour, as he’d seen Martin go home hours ago for some desperately-needed sleep, and the others had gone out to the pub that night. They couldn’t be here, could they? Surely the archive has protections against those creatures since…

Since nothing.

Nothing happened.

Nothing is happening.

The crash had come from Jon’s office, he’s sure of that. It reminds him of other days; other times when that sound would send him fetching a sports drink from the break room, checking to make sure Jon hadn’t hit his head on anything whenever his POTS flared badly. When they had been friends; brothers, even. Near enough to it anyway.

No, nothing else could have made that sound. Jon was back.

Standing on his own somewhat-shaky legs, Tim gives himself a moment for his vision to clear before striding toward the darkened office door, fury already rising in him at the idea that he was being watched again, distrusted again, betrayed again. He swings the door open.

“Finally decided to show u—oh god.”

Lying on his back on the floor is Jon, beard fuller than he’s ever seen it, painfully thin and grey as a ghost. His clothes hang off him as if three sizes too large, the ones Tim knew had once fitted him snugly, not even a few months prior. What in god’s name had happened to him that he was this emaciated? This ashen?

What had he done this time?

Anger bubbles even stronger now, tingling at the back of his spine.

But something…something feels off about this. Enough for him to bury the resentment, if only for a moment. Just to make sure.

Why do you care?

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

“Jon,” Tim says loudly, crouching down beside him, shaking his shoulder in the process. “Hey, up and at ‘em.”

But there’s nothing—not the usual small gasp as he comes around from the faints caused by POTS, no twitching, only stillness. Tim’s stomach does a turn as he checks Jon’s head for bleeding, any sign of injury, but nothing. Nothing at all.

What the hell happened?

Glancing around him for anything to do, he spots a file box within arms reach that he drags over towards them, propping Jon’s feet upon it. He rolls up his sleeve a bit then, to feel his pulse—and finds himself distracted by the bone-dry nature of  his skin beneath his fingers; the slight shuddering of his limbs. But his face has almost a sheen to it, unnatural, unnerving.

“Jon,” Tim repeats, a bit louder, patting at his exposed bit of arm. “Come on, you’re alright.”

A bit of a moan this time, a deeper breath—and Tim lets out a breath of his own, one he had not realized he had been holding.

“Mmm.”

“Wake up, Jon,” he says loudly, shaking his shoulder for a second time.

At this, Jon’s entire frame tenses under his hand, eyes flying wide open to scan feverishly around the room.

“Woah, easy,” Tim barks, a bit alarmed. “Easy. Just stay down.”

It seems that Jon had either not heard him, or had chosen to ignore—as he sits up rather abruptly against Tim’s hand on his shoulder, this time locking eyes with him. But before Tim can recover from his surprise enough to speak, Jon’s eyelids begin to flutter again. He’s about to go down.

“Lie down, Jon. Lie back down.”

He’s sure Jon didn’t have much of a choice anyway, but Tim finds himself glad that he happened to be there to prevent him smacking his head against the industrial carpeting all the same. Something is wrong wrong wrong, and it sends away all his rage for the time being—and he is filled with that instinct to protect Jon, from himself or from something else. He cannot even bring himself to care which at the moment.

“Wh—Tim,” Jon slurs with effort, some recognition in his expression at last.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

With a pang in his chest, Tim realizes he does not know whether or not that will bring him comfort.

“I’m gonna get you some water, alright?”

No reply—merely a distant look in his eyes as he brings a hand up to press against his own cheek, shaking with the effort of it. Bad, this is bad. He’s never this out of it when he comes back around; not even after they had woken up quarantined together in the hospital, dozens of deep wounds covering both of them in the wake of the Prentiss attack.

Focus. Water, food, then questions.

“Just—just stay there, for god’s sake.”

Wobbling a bit against the disorientation of his migraine, Tim brushes a hand all along the walls to the break room, crossing his fingers that Jon (or perhaps Martin) had restocked Jon’s Lucozade supply. As luck would have it, there are a few left over from whenever Jon had last shown up to work in the archives. Tim had not taken care to keep track.

He doesn’t deserve it.

Not anymore.

Stop; he has to stop—more thinking like that, and he knows he will leave Jon stranded on the floor of his office, only to be found by a newly-infuriated Martin in the morning. And in what condition…Tim could not say. Where had he been all this time? And why did he look so awful?

He grabs a cereal bar from the counter top on the way out of the room.

When he returns to Jon’s office, his stomach drops at the empty space on the floor where Jon had been—until he spots him, sitting with his back pressed up against the back wall of the room, between the bookshelf and the filing cabinet.

“Thought I told you to stay put,” Tim mutters irritably. Though he has to admit, he feels something tight unraveling a bit in his chest at seeing him able to sit up. No matter how ill he looks.

“Tim,” he says in a voice of gravel and salt, as if to reassure himself of its truth.

“Yeah, bad luck.”

Tim takes the cue of the fearful look in Jon’s eyes as he stares up at him, and sits at a bit of a distance on the floor within his eyeline.

“Drink this,” he orders, opening the cap of the Lucozade before holding it out toward him. “Slowly. You look like shit.”

He had been hoping that Jon would simply roll his eyes and respond with a sardonic “thank you,” but…nothing. Instead, he can barely keep hold of the bottle, watching it shaking in his own hand before tentatively bringing it up to his lips. Just a sip—and it’s enough to rattle something in him, seeming to bring him around to the present a bit. He downs the next sips with more confidence, less hesitance. With a great deal of satisfaction, Tim starts unwrapping the cereal bar, ready to hand it to him whenever he was ready.

“M’sorry for this,” he murmurs after a few minutes have passed in silence, no longer meeting Tim’s eyes.

“What the hell happened, Jon?” Tim asks in desperation, needing to know where to put his anger. Shutting down the part of himself that hoped could be placed on Jon again.

Silence greets him. No indication that Jon had even heard him.

Until the shaking begins.

The bottle drops to the floor as shuddering overwhelms his grip—and both hands fly into his hair, clutching hard at it, pressing balled fists into the sides of his newly-ashen face. As his breath picks up speed, so does Tim’s heart, and he wants so badly to reach for him. More than anything, he wants his touch to be the comfort it once had been, anything to stop this from happening. But he had burned that bridge ages ago now.

So did he, he reminds himself. So did he.

“What happened?” he repeats, a little softer all the same.

“Nothing,” Jon whispers, offering just the faintest hint of a smile, a flash, before it fades. “Nothing ha—happened.”

A knife.

A knife in Tim’s chest.

Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking

“Where have you been, then?”

Even as he keeps his voice low, the shuddering picks up speed and intensity, taking Jon’s breath up to something approaching hyperventilation.

“It’s f-fine,” he stammers between gasps. “Fine, don’—ha—don’t.”

“Whatever this is, it’s not fine.”

A small bit of laughter, then—choked, cut off by his own desperation for air. He tips his head back against the wall behind him, drawing his legs up even tighter as he tries to find his breath.

“The—Cir—ha—Circus.”

Tim’s body is flooded with ice; pins and needles pricking at his scalp, the tips of his fingers.

“Breathe, Jon,” he murmurs through his own lightheadedness, has to push through. “What do you mean, the Circus?”

“Got—got me,” comes the awful reply. The one he had been dreading.

What had they done to him?

How long was he there?

Why was he allowed to escape, and not Danny?

Shut it down shut it down shut it down

Be here. Be now.

“Breathe, Jon.” A little closer, still not touching. Wouldn’t dare. “Just breathe, alright?”

“S’fine.” Another laugh, a small, panicked smile. It makes Tim sick.

“No—ha—nothing. Ha-happened.”

You’re lying you’re lying you’re lying

Danny’s gone, and you’re here, and you’re lying.

“Ah—ha—Tim.”

Even so, something in Jon’s voice, his panic, his absolute terror over whatever is happening in his head right now breaks through the bubbling wall of fury rising around Tim’s heart. It may be back tomorrow, or the next hour, or the next minute. But Jon needs him.

Jon needs him, and that’s enough for now.

“Breathe, Jon,” he murmurs softly, moving slowly to take his hand in both of his own. Not even a flinch from him—just squeezing tight enough to bruise, tight enough to anchor himself here, tight enough to remind Tim of better days, better times. Times when this would never have been a burden. When his presence would be enough of a comfort to bring him back down.

“You’re safe. You’re safe now, and I’m here.”

For the moment, it’s the truth. Tim will take this moment and bury it later, deep deep deep, where the other memories of their friendship now live. Easy to forget; easy to look past in anger.

But, for now.

“Breathe, Jon. I’m here. I’m right here.”

[bikermiafey]

Simon Keyes and Dahlia Hawthorne: an Analysis

Spoilers for aai2 and aa3 under the cut. Also it’s... really long (Special thanks to my editor for keeping me coherent ish!).

Dahlia Hawthorne and Simon Keyes have a lot more in common than just red hair and a penchant for pink. From their family situations, to their motives and fears, and even to the very few people they ever trusted, their story lines run very similar. In the end, while they are both murderers, they are also victims of a broken justice system and poor family lives. Miles Edgeworth even acknowledges that Keyes is also a victim at the end of Keyes' case.

I am putting one more warning here, just in case. This analysis contains heavy spoilers, and I don’t intend to beat around the bush or hint. I will be saying the spoilers straight out. Any trigger warnings related to aai2 or aa3 should be applied as well.

Dahlia Hawthorne’s relationship with her mother is one made purely of use, with no affection on either side. When Dahlia is reunited with her mother before her execution, her mother convinces her to participate in one more murder plot. This is her first time talking to her mother since she was young. It’s clear that her mother doesn’t care about her, as she shows no sympathy for her estranged daughter, only using her to help Pearl Fey. Even Morgan’s love of Pearl is conditional and fake: she only loves Pearl for her spiritual powers. It only stands to reason that she didn’t care for Dahlia or Iris at all. While this is extrapolation, it didn’t seem like she cared much when her husband took her children away from her. She even could have brought Iris back home after she was left at Hazakura temple, yet as far as we know, she never even tried. While Dahlia agrees to the murder plot in prison in order to get revenge on Mia Fey, it can also be argued that it’s a last ditch effort to gain her mother’s approval: if she succeeds in the murder plot, though she will already be dead, she can let her spirit move on knowing that her mother has slightly more respect for her.

Keyes' relationship to his father is similar: though he believes his father left him because he died, in reality, his father simply didn’t care enough about him to find him. His mother, who is never mentioned, is presumably out of the picture. His whole life, he believes not that it was his father who was a murderer, but that Knightley’s father had killed his, and therefore, the way to get revenge was through Knightley. However, whether his father had been the victim or the murderer, does not change the fact that he was left alone in the care of Patricia Roland, who proceeded to mistreat or even abuse him. His father, albeit unknowingly, even managed to poison the one successful relationship he did have: his friendship with Knightley.

Keyes whole backstory revolves around revenge on Knightley, who betrayed him when they were children, and revenge on Roland, Debeste, and the body double, who all wanted him dead (and in Roland’s case, was so horrible to him that he ran away from the orphanage, though we’re not told exactly what happened.) Even if he’d managed to forgive Knightley for what had happened as children, Knightley still worked for one of the people trying to kill him: the body double. Of course, it also has to do with his father, but I’ll get to that later.

Dahlia’s story begins when her father takes her and her sister and leaves their mother. Here, she convinces her father to drop Iris off at a temple, though it’s shown they still keep in touch. The best guess I can make as to why she did this is that she did, in fact, care for Iris, however thought caring was a weakness and so sought to get rid of her. The same can be argued (and I have seen it argued) for Knightley and Keyes: Keyes had Knightley removed (though much later in their lives and to a more extreme degree than Iris and Dahlia) because despite his resentment of his best friend, he still had affection for him.

Dahlia and Keyes did trust Iris and Knightley up until a certain point. Dahlia had originally involved Iris in her kidnapping plot, however, Iris backed out at the last minute. Dahlia seems to have forgiven her for that, enough to let Iris convince her to let her be the one to try and get the evidence back from Phoenix. Iris proceeds to betray Dahlia even more: she falls in love with Phoenix for real, vowing to protect him, as well as failing to regain the evidence. This is when Dahlia throws Iris away for real: while before, she’d always let her affection for her sister get in the way of leaving her behind completely, she now has no such excuse. If even Iris turns against her, Dahlia truly has no one on her side, causing her to become even more afraid and angry, as she sets in motion her plot to kill Phoenix. Not only is she getting desperate for the evidence back, but this way she also gets revenge on her sister and her betrayal, as her sister was the one person she thought to always be in her corner.

Keyes sense of betrayal comes much earlier in his life. Right from some of his earliest memories, his friend had kidnapped him and nearly gotten him killed for the sake of his father. Keyes never had a chance to work through this grudge, instead internalizing it. Yet, Knightley was still his only friend, and therefore by default, his most trusted one. After spending all those years by each other's sides, it’s unlikely Keyes didn’t feel some sort of camaraderie with him. By killing Knightley, Keyes was not only removing the person who betrayed him, but also his weakness: the one person he truly cared about. Like Dahlia, he saw emotion and love as a weakness, something to use and get rid of once it had served its purpose. Yet in the end, he cared more about Knightley’s betrayal than any friendship.

At 14, Dahlia enters a relationship with a 20 year old, Terry Fawles. Dahlia is a child, entering a relationship with a fully grown adult. While she didn’t know better, there’s no way he didn’t. No matter how you look at it here, there is an element of grooming and coercion that was not touched on, as she was drawn into a relationship with a 20 year old. Not to mention, he was her tutor, adding even more of a power imbalance than there already was. This also makes her motivations for the staged kidnapping that much more interesting. Her sister, Valerie, was a police woman, also an adult, and, as we know she was involved in the fake kidnapping, she must have been aware of the relationship between her sister and Fawles. If anyone had been in a position to stop this relationship, it would have been her. She was an adult, the sister of Dahlia Hawthorne, AND a police officer, whose jobs are supposed to be stopping things like this. However, she didn’t. This probably instilled a distrust of the justice system in Dahlia, just as Simon Keyes had a distrust of the justice system based on how one of the people looking to kill him was a high ranking official.

Here, we get to Dahlia’s motivations for the kidnapping: not only does she get to have half a million dollars if this goes well, but once she and Valerie betray Fawles, he will be sentenced to life in prison, and unable to harm her anymore.

This is similar to a lot of Keyes’ plots, though he doesn’t tend to use framing. Instead, Keyes simply manipulates people into killing each other for him, getting them out of his way. He manipulates Roland into killing Knightley, getting Roland away from him so that she cannot chase and hurt him any longer.

Dahlia fakes her death and for five years, she is safe. Then, she finds out that Valerie intends to give away the secret to the kidnapping. This is dangerous for Dahlia: if people found out that Fawles had not killed or even kidnapped anyone, his sentence could be greatly reduced or he could even be set free. Then, not only could Fawles be free, but he would know that she’s alive.

This most likely caused her a great deal of worry. Now, we never find out whether her first murder was premeditated or not. In either case, Dahlia likely panicked at the thought of her secret getting out. The only difference is whether this panic caused her to prepare in advance, or if she intended to plead or bargain with her sister, only to stab her in the end when that didn’t work.

This is Dahlia’s first direct murder. However, Fawles later dies at his trial, drinking a bottle of poison that she had given him at age 14. This had likely been her backup plan to the kidnapping, if somehow she had been found out, he would have drank the poison. He only intended to drink it if he thought he couldn’t trust her anymore, which he wouldn’t have if he discovered the betrayal.

You may now by wondering why she panicked and killed Valerie, then. Two reasons: first, this backup plan had a high likelihood of indicting her as a possible suspect. It was a very last resort. The second reason is that if she hadn’t killed Valerie, Valerie would have exposed that they had stolen the diamond. This would mean that Dahlia herself would have gone to prison, a place she understandably didn’t want to go, and it would have opened questions regarding the current whereabouts of the diamond.

I don’t believe Dahlia was lying, on the stand, when she stated that the reason she hadn’t revealed her true identity as Dahlia Hawthorne was because she was afraid of Fawles. It wasn’t the whole truth, not was it a whole lie.

Even after getting away with this trial, Dahlia cannot escape. She is interrogated by Diego Armando, and likely feeling threatened, poisons him. She then gives the evidence to Phoenix Wright, to hide her involvement. This is when Iris enters the scene.

Iris is very much to Dahlia what Knightley is to Keyes. Iris and Knightley were maybe the only people who cared about Dahlia and Simon. They were willing to do almost anything to keep them safe and help them. In a way, Dahlia and Simon were the only people they had to rely on. (Iris also had Sister Bikini, but Dahlia didn’t have anyone else, and Iris felt a sense of obligation about that.) While Dahlia and Keyes also cared for them on some level, in the end, they were more useful to manipulate and use than truly care for.

I have seen some head canons and theories that as Knightley was being interrogated by Roland, he must have realized that Simon had set him up. These theories continue that he could have then ratted Simon out to Roland, but he didn’t, instead letting himself die out of loyalty to the person who set him up. After all, that person was his childhood friend, and Knightley at least cared for Keyes. In that case, he’s even more similar to Iris, who tried to protect Dahlia even to the end despite her knowledge of Dahlia’s crimes and the fact that Dahlia was the one who convinced their father to leave her behind.

In the end, Dahlia Hawthorne and Simon Keyes lived in much the same way: for themselves, and by themselves. They simply couldn’t understand that even if they had been wronged before, there were still people waiting to take their sides. All they could focus on was the things said people had done to hurt them, and not the multitude of other ways these people had tried to help them. That was their final downfall.

If you made it this far, wow! I appreciate your dedication, and thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.

[gov-info]

President Joe Biden Delivers Inaugural Address

Chief Justice Roberts, Vice President Harris. Speaker Pelosi, Leader Schumer, McConnell, Vice President Pence, my distinguished guests and my fellow Americans, this is America's day.

This is democracy's day. A day of history and hope of renewal and resolve through a crucible for the ages. America has been tested anew and America has risen to the challenge. Today, we celebrate the triumph not of a candidate, but of a cause, the cause of democracy. The people, the will of the people, has been heard and the will of the people has been heeded.

We've learned again that democracy is precious. Democracy is fragile. At this hour, my friends, democracy has prevailed.

From now, on this hallowed ground, where just a few days ago, violence sought to shake the Capitol's very foundation, we come together as one nation, under God, indivisible to carry out the peaceful transfer of power, as we have for more than two centuries.

As we look ahead in our uniquely American way: restless, bold, optimistic, and set our sights on the nation we can be and we must be.

I thank my predecessors of both parties for their presence here today. I thank them from the bottom of my heart. And I know, I know the resilience of our Constitution and the strength, the strength of our nation. As does President Carter, who I spoke with last night, who cannot be with us today, but whom we salute for his lifetime of service.

I've just taken the sacred oath. Each of those patriots have taken. The oath, first sworn by George Washington. But the American story depends not on any one of us, not on some of us, but on all of us, on we the people who seek a more perfect union.

This is a great nation. We are good people. And over the centuries, through storm and strife, in peace and in war, we've come so far. But we still have far to go. We'll press forward with speed and urgency, for we have much to do in this winter of peril and significant possibilities, much to repair, much to restore, much to heal, much to build, and much to gain.

Few people in our nation's history have been more challenged or found a time more challenging or difficult than the time we're in now. Once-in-a-century virus that silently stalks the country. It's taken as many lives in one year as America lost in all of World War II. Millions of jobs have been lost. Hundreds of thousands of businesses closed. A cry for racial justice, some four hundred years in the making moves us. The dream of justice for all will be deferred no longer.

The cry for survival comes from planet itself, a cry that can’t be any more desperate or any more clear. And now a rise of political extremism, white supremacy, domestic terrorism that we must confront and we will defeat.

To overcome these challenges, to restore the soul and secure the future of America requires so much more than words. It requires the most elusive of all things in a democracy: unity, unity.

In another January, on New Year's Day in 1863, Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. When he put pen to paper, the president said, and I quote, “if my name ever goes down into history, it'll be for this act. And my whole soul is in it.”

My whole soul was in it today. On this January day, my whole soul is in this: Bringing America together, uniting our people, uniting our nation. And I ask every American to join me in this cause.

Uniting to fight the foes we face: anger, resentment, hatred, extremism, lawlessness, violence, disease, joblessness and hopelessness. With unity, we can do great things, important things. We can right wrongs. We can put people to work in good jobs. We can teach our children in safe schools. We can overcome the deadly virus. We can reward, reward work and rebuild the middle class and make health care secure for all. We can deliver racial justice and we can make America once again the leading force for good in the world.

I know speaking of unity can sound to some like a foolish fantasy these days. I know the forces that divide us are deep and they are real, but I also know they are not new. Our history has been a constant struggle between the American ideal that we're all created equal and the harsh, ugly reality that racism, nativism, fear, demonization have long torn us apart. The battle is perennial and victory is never assured.

Through civil war, the Great Depression, world war, 9/11, through struggle, sacrifice and setbacks, our better angels have always prevailed. In each of these moments, enough of us, enough of us have come together to carry all of us forward. And we can do that now. History, faith and reason show the way, the way of unity. We can see each other not as adversaries, but as neighbors. We can treat each other with dignity and respect. We can join forces, stop the shouting and lower the temperature. For without unity, there is no peace, only bitterness and fury. No progress, only exhausting outrage. No nation, only a state of chaos.

This is our historic moment of crisis and challenge. And unity is the path forward. And we must meet this moment as the United States of America. If we do that, I guarantee you we will not fail. We have never, ever, ever, ever failed in America when we've acted together.

And so today at this time in this place, let's start afresh, all of us. Let's begin to listen to one another again. Hear one another see one another, show respect to one another. Politics doesn't have to be a raging fire, destroying everything in its path. Every disagreement doesn't have to be a cause for total war. And we must reject the culture in which facts themselves are manipulated and even manufactured.

My fellow Americans. We have to be different than this. America has to be better than this. And I believe America is so much better than this. Just look around. Here we stand in the shadow of the Capitol dome, as was mentioned earlier, completed amid the Civil War, when the union itself was literally hanging in the balance. Yet we endured, we prevailed.

Here we stand looking out in the great mall where Dr. King spoke of his dream. Here we stand, where 108 years ago, at another inaugural, thousands of protesters tried to block brave women marching for the right to vote. And today we marked the swearing in of the first woman in American history elected to national office: Vice President Kamala Harris. Don't tell me things can't change.

Here we stand across the Potomac from Arlington Cemetery, where heroes who gave the last full measure of devotion rest in eternal peace. And here we stand just days after a riotous mob thought they could use violence to silence the will of the people, to stop the work of our democracy, to drive us from this sacred ground.

It did not happen. It will never happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Not ever.

To all those who supported our campaign, I'm humbled by the faith you've placed in us. To all those who did not support us, let me say this. Hear me out as we move forward. Take a measure of me and my heart. If you still disagree so be it. That's democracy. That's America. The right to dissent, peaceably, the guardrails of our republic is perhaps this nation's greatest strength.

Yet hear me clearly: disagreement must not lead to disunion. And I pledge this to you, I will be a president for all Americans. All Americans. And I promise you I will fight as hard for those who did not support me as for those who did.

Many centuries ago. Saint Augustine, a saint in my church, wrote to the people was a multitude defined by the common objects of their love. Defined by the common objects of their love. What are the common objects we as Americans love, that define us as Americans? I think we know. Opportunity, security, liberty, dignity, respect, honor and yes, the truth.

Recent weeks and months have taught us a painful lesson. There is truth and there are lies, lies told for power and for profit. And each of us has a duty and responsibility, as citizens, as Americans, and especially as leaders, leaders who have pledged to honor our Constitution and protect our nation, to defend the truth and defeat the lies.

Look, I understand that many of my fellow Americans view the future with fear and trepidation. I understand they worry about their jobs. I understand, like my dad, they lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering, can I keep my health care? Can I pay my mortgage? Thinking about their families, about what comes next. I promise you, I get it.

But the answer is not to turn inward, to retreat into competing factions, distrusting those who don't look like look like you or worship the way you do, or don't get their news from the same sources you do. We must end this uncivil war that pits red against blue, rural versus urban, rural versus urban, conservative versus liberal. We can do this if we open our souls instead of hardening our hearts. If we show a little tolerance and humility, and if we're willing to stand in the other person's shoes, as my mom would say, just for a moment, stand in their shoes. Because here's the thing about life. There's no accounting for what fate will deal you. Some days, when you need a hand. There are other days when we're called to lend a hand. That's how it has to be. That's what we do for one another. And if we are this way, our country will be stronger, more prosperous, more ready for the future. And we can still disagree.

My fellow Americans, in the work ahead of us, we're going to need each other. We need all our strength to to persevere through this dark winter. We're entering what may be the toughest and deadliest period of the virus. We must set aside politics and finally face this pandemic as One Nation. One Nation.

And I promise you this, as the Bible says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” We will get through this together. Together.

Look, folks, all my colleagues I served with in the House of the Senate up there, we all understand the world is watching, watching all of us today. So here's my message to those beyond our borders. America has been tested and we've come out stronger for it. We will repair our alliances and engage with the world once again. Not to meet yesterday's challenges, but today's and tomorrow's challenges. And we’ll lead, not merely by the example of our power, but by the power of our example.

We'll be a strong and trusted partner for peace, progress and security. Look, you all know, we've been through so much in this nation. And my first act as president, I’d like to ask you to join me in a moment of silent prayer to remember all those who we lost this past year to the pandemic. Those four hundred thousand fellow Americans, moms, dads, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, friends, neighbors and coworkers. We will honor them by becoming the people and the nation we know we can and should be. So I ask you, let's say a silent prayer for those who've lost their lives, those left behind and for our country.

Amen.

Folks, this is a time of testing. We face an attack on our democracy and on truth, a raging virus, growing inequity, the sting of systemic racism, a climate in crisis, America's role in the world. Any one of these will be enough to challenge us in profound ways. But the fact is, we face them all at once, presenting this nation with one of the gravest responsibilities we've had. Now we're going to be tested. Are we going to step up? All of us? It’s time for boldness, for there is so much to do. And this is certain, I promise you, we will be judged, you and I, by how we resolve these cascading crises of our era.

Will we rise to the occasion, is the question. Will we master this rare and difficult hour? Will we meet our obligations and pass along a new and better world to our children? I believe we must. I'm sure you do as well. I believe we will. And when we do, we'll write the next great chapter in the history of the United States of America. The American story. A story that might sound something like a song that means a lot to me. It's called American Anthem. There's one verse that stands out, at least for me, and it goes like this:

The work and prayers of a century have brought us to this day.

What shall be our legacy? What will our children say?

Let me know in my heart when my days are through.

America, America, I gave my best to you.

Let's add. Let us add our own work and prayers to the unfolding story of our great nation. If we do this, then when our days are through, our children and our children's children will say of us: They gave their best, they did their duty, they healed a broken land.

My fellow Americans, I close the day where I began, with a sacred oath before God and all of you. I give you my word, I will always level with you. I will defend the Constitution. I'll defend our democracy. I'll defend America and I will give all, all of you. Keep everything I do in your service, thinking not of power, but of possibilities, not of personal interest, but the public good. And together we shall write an American story of hope, not fear. Of unity, not division. Of light, not darkness. A story of decency and dignity, love and healing, greatness and goodness. May this be the story that guides us. The story that inspires us and the story that tells ages yet to come that we answered the call of history. We met the moment. Democracy and hope, truth and justice did not die on our watch, but thrived. That America secured liberty at home and stood once again as a beacon to the world. That is what we owe our forbearers, one another and generations to follow.

So, with purpose and resolve, we turn to those tasks of our time. Sustained by faith, driven by conviction, devoted to one another and the country we love with all our hearts. May God bless America and may God protect our troops. Thank you, America.

[pheonixfire4015]

Peace In the Midst of the Storm By: Eowyn38

I have not written in a very long time and I didn’t have time to have someone review any mistakes. Its not my best, I am tired, so please forgive any kinks I didn’t work out. I couldn’t focus on homework so instead I wrote this. I guess its what I hope a real conversation will be between Elliot and Olivia on their journey towards healing. Hope you enjoy. 

Elliot and Olivia Post Episode: 

Its 3:35 on a Friday night. Olivia is staring at the white speckled ceiling as it changes shape and color before her eyes the longer she stared. The emotions and thoughts leaving her unable to do anything else but lay there still. There comes a point in life where the pain and emotions become too much and the human brain in its defense turns everything else to a numb gray haze. It took years perfecting and working to keep her emotions in appropriate tightly locked boxes. For the job, for her mother. Elliot was her partner and best friend, but somewhere down the line he became, well, everything. There was this sense of shame Liv felt every time she allowed a trickle of love and longing to spill over. Elliot and all he meant was something she had wrestled with for longer than she can even recall. Learning to live with the hole he left in her when he left, comparing every man to his shadow had become an everyday battle. But she had learned to live with it. Having him back, hearing his voice, holding him…. Had become a dream and a nightmare Liv was not prepared to deal with. Seeing him had been like a magnet snapping back to where it’s supposed to be, It was like feeling apart of herself breathe again, a part of herself she felt had long died.

Olivia rubbed her hands over her face to ease the dry ache of her eyes and turned on her side with a sigh. The range of emotions she didn’t want to feel came in waves, all she wanted was sot sleep, with each wave it left unending hopelessness in its wake as to how to navigate it all, wanting at times to sink into a numb haze instead. She spent her whole existence learning to live with these types of emotions. Seeing the look in her mother’s eyes knowing she was the product of rape. As one of very few females on the job seeing the male cops look at her with distrust and disrespect- having to constantly prove your worth. Coming home to an empty void of a home all thoughts of motherhood and family a far-away dream. Trauma from the job. Noah… had become the one touchstone, the one rock she could pour herself into. The one truly good thing in her life.

Elliot’s words rang in her head bringing with them questions she didn’t want to ask. He was in an emotional war desperately grasping onto any lifeline and madly pushing away at the same time. She knew and understood the signs.  Watching him navigate this made her flip flop from anger, to frustration, to desperation, to love, to guilt, and then sinking into numbness. His letter was clear, there was something he needed to share but in the right moment. What could he share she didn’t know, or did she know? Could she trust his emotions, his words? Could she trust he would not push her away, walk away yet again, leaving her with less than she had before?

“I love you…. You mean the world to me….”

Rang over and over, threatening to undo the delicate balance she had created to manage the daily raging war of emotions and thoughts. She kept telling herself all the rationale reasons to keep the inappropriate emotions at bay. Inappropriate was the only word that could summarize the emotions she had shoved to the deepest part of herself, what other word was there for these emotions?  Elliot was her partner, a man who had been married, had a family, a wife who just recently died, a woman she loved and respected. She repeated the words over and over willing her rationale mind to win over irrational emotions. Elliot had called 4 times today. She should answer, she should call him, she should talk over what he found in Kathy’s investigation, but she feared if she did the delicate balance she was struggling to hold together would collapse. Was she really that close to the edge, all because of one person?

Knock… knock…

She turned her head to the noise she heard in the other room. Again… Knock…. After determining it was not the neighbors, Noah, or an intruder…  she collapsed into her pillow with a sigh…. Elliot. It took all she had left to walk to the door knowing who she would see on the other end of the peep hole. There he stood, head down, dejected, tired…. With a sigh, she batten-down the hatches within and opened the door.

“Elliot… its 3am…”

“I know…” he shook his head… she could see the motors working in his mind… but the words just fell to silence. For a few moments their eyes just did the talking and the reading.

With a sign she stepped aside and let him in. She pointed to Noah’s room letting Elliot know they needed to remain quiet.  He nodded wordlessly. She stood watching as he paced… back and forth… back and forth… restless, rubbing his hands over his face and head. Olivia closed her eyes and walked over, placing a hand on his forearm, blocking his restless movements.

“Elliot… sit… please.”

He looked at her with wild red eyes, hooded in darkness. He nodded. Liv sat on the couch. He sat on the edge of a chair on the other side of the room. His leg moving uncontrollably. For an uncomfortable amount of time there was just silence.

“Look… I know the last thing you want right now is me here. I feel like I keep saying I am sorry, like they are these empty words that don’t mean anything anymore. I keep letting all of you down.” Elliot’s leg stops moving for a moment as she watched him try to find the words to articulate, trying to detangle the balled-up twine of emotions. She allowed the silence to stretch, allowing him the space and time.

“I don’t know what to do with all of this Liv, and I don’t even know where to start unpacking this. I keep wanting to do what I have always done, what has always worked.”

At that she spoke… “Has it worked Elliot?” Her voice has a twinge of hardness she didn’t intend, or had she?

Again, silence stretched.

He signed deeply…. “No… It hasn’t worked, but it’s what has been easier to manage.”

She spoke again… “Have you managed it, has it been easier for everyone else around you to manage?”

With that she watched his face drop… confused and deflated. His head fell.

In that moment she regretted her questions and tone. She waited for him to spring up red faced and leave.

“Well, I guess if I was better at this, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Olivia shook her head… “Look Elliot, I am sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I am here if you need to talk. But you are pushing me away, your kids away, and right now more than anything they need you and you need them. You’re not the only one going through this right now.”

Elliot’s hands came up again, rugging his face, wishing… wishing this was easier.  

“You’re right. I don’t know what that means or what I am going to do… but you’re right.”

At this Liv’s face and body poster changed, relaxed.

“You read the letter?”

Liv shook her head… “Elliot, we don’t have to do this right now. There’s….Its not the right…” But the words were just lost.

“Look Liv, your right. The time is off. It’s always been off. But I think it’s the only way we can move forward. Your right I need to make amends with my kids, to Kathy, but if I am to move on from all of this I need to make amends to you as well.”

At that Liv had no arguments left, 3am or not, right time or not.

“I don’t even know how to start this….. You know the job is the job. It comes with its battles. Talking over things that we saw with Kathy was just never anything I ever considered. I did my job and I came home and dealt with it. Over time the connection I had with you Liv, what we went through, was unlike any relationship I had had before.”

Liv shook her head, understanding without needing anything more…

“Let’s face it, it was me shutting down and the repercussions, that caused me to lose my family the first time and I almost lost you. And it’s the same mistake I am making now…”

There was silent reflection for a good minute before he continued.

“When Kathy and I divorced. I failed in my marriage, I failed in caring for my kids who were a wreck, and I was unraveling. My feelings… for you...”

Elliot shook his head, unsure how to fully articulate.

“They went deeper than I really know how to express. I felt it was a weakness. You took up so much of my thoughts, so much of my world. The worry, the care, wanting better for you…. I felt I was losing my ability to do the one thing I was good at and that was the job and having your back. I resented you for emotions I didn’t know what to do with. Those feelings then changed into something more, into something different…”

Elliot looked up, to scan Olivia’s brown eyes. She shook her head… the depth of her knowing… her brain a blank mess.

“Ok…. I loved you Liv. I love you. There was a part of me that wanted to reach out because I felt this shift. I felt like the same battle I was fighting; you were also fighting.”

He paused, letting the heaviness of that sink in. He watched as tears began to brim in those eyes he knew so well. His restlessness ceases, and he stood. He sat down gingerly in front of her on the coffee table.

“I knew the implications if we were honest with each other, and all the risks we would be taking. I was drowning, as I am now, and I went back to what was comfortable. What was easier. Kathy got pregnant. I knew in that moment what I had done was unfair to her and unfair to you. It was selfish. I went back to my family, but it didn’t stop what I was feeling… from getting harder, harder to compartmentalize, harder to ignore.”  

The tears that had been pooling finally spilled in a steady stream onto Liv’s cheek. In an involuntary response he reached out, and stroked it away. Liv’s eyes widened. He pulled his hand away and lay them back in his lap, looking down at the damp of her tears on the tips of his fingers.

“The job had worn me down, I was scared of ruining… everything Liv… if I stayed. I knew there would be a time I would no longer be able to be who I should be to my wife and be who I wanted to be…. For you. So, instead of being honest, I was a coward Liv. I felt if I left it would give you the ability to move on and give me the ability to devote myself fully to my family…. And maybe make myself a better man.”

He ranched across the short divide to grab her hand, which were balled tightly together in her lap. She looked down at his outstretched hand, a peace offering. She undid her hands that had become white from the pressure, and rest her own in his. For a moment they just looked down, at the connection between them.

Without looking up she said, “If you had been honest with me, even if I had felt the same, I would have never have allowed you to, I would never….”

He looked up, “I know Liv. Unfortunately, I can’t say I would have been able to be as honorable. I knew seeing you, hearing your voice, would knock down any resolve I had left….”

She looked up, realization rolling over her in waves. He loved her, she had not been alone in her slow descending battle of emotions. She shook her head, tears falling this time without stopping. All she had done to survive, all the emotions and battles, they were being undone.

“Funny thing is, I went to the other side of the world. And The first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last thing I thought about when I went to bed…. Was you. I loved my wife Liv please hear that, but I also loved you. Both of those loves were so vastly different.”

With that Liv groaned and the tears came stronger, she grasped tightly to his hand. Something in her that felt lost and abandoned desperately needed to hear… every… word… of this.

“Should I reach out, how would you react, had I destroyed everything, would I cave and come home, what if you had been able to move on and I ruined that delicate balance? So, days just turned into years. But…. When I saw you that night Liv. I felt like a missing part of myself was found again. With all of this…. Seeing you again… Losing Kathy… I just don’t know what to do with…” He motioned with his hands… “all of this.”

With that silence filled the room once again. Liv had nothing… no words… nothing to give. The words hurt, they healed, they explained, they gave hope, they were the end of one journey and aa beginning of a new one. They sat there, both hands now intertwined in her lap. She lifted his hand to her face, nuzzling into their warmth, and looked deeply into his eyes. It’s all she had to give in that moment. He moved closer and stoked her cheek, trying to wipe dry every tear he may have caused, and shook his head. He understood. She had forgotten how easy it could be between them, this silent communication.

“Look, this is a lot.. too much… I don’t know how long this is going to take. I just hope…. We can maybe start over, start clean. I’d love to get to know Noah. I’d love to get my best friend back. I just need… time.”

In that moment Liv felt lighter than she had in a long time, she shook her ahead again wordlessly.

Elliot’s hand dropped back down to her lap… “Can I stay?” She looked at him unsure. “I’m… just so tired Liv… so tired…” Without hesitation Liv moved over and Elliot crossed to sit on the couch next to her. He laid down allowing his head to rest in her lap. He let out a sigh he didn’t even realize he had been holding. Her arms came up around him, cradling his head.

“You have my word I’ll be gone before Noah wakes up.” She stared down at him, smiling, grateful for his understand even in her need to protect her son, stroking the hair behind his neck.

“Thank you, now rest.”

In minutes, his beathing became long and even. His body relaxed and the restlessness ceased, the waging war stilled if only for a little while. She looked down taking in words she never thought she would hear. At some point she would have to unpack them, figure out what they meant, but for now, this was enough. She leaned her head back to rest on the cushion of the couch, staring again at the white speckled ceiling, looking with new eyes, and soon sleep took over. Silent, peaceful, still.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 27

The Coven was invading tomorrow.

But if all went well, they were going to bring them down tonight.

After Jay attacked Antiquam, they realized they could not keep their cover of staying in the Coven. Jay, Aziz, and her headed out to Uma’s ship for hiding when Antiquam inevitably revealed that Jay was no longer hypnotized.

Though dangerous, Jade, Uma and Calix stayed as Antiquam wouldn’t be able to prove that Jay had any help from breaking Jafar’s control. So they still had their own infiltraitors in the Coven.

At that point, it seemed like they were on the sidelines. The sidelines of an impending disaster that they could do nothing to stop. Literally as they still had no tangible plan to stop the Coven.

Then Celia, the shadow man’s youngest daughter who hadn’t been in the loop for most of their infiltrating and espionage troubles, came up with a brilliant plan.

It was obvious in hindsight. Villains were paranoid because they expected backstabbing. But until Celia had suggested it, they never thought they should sew the seeds of dissent. Uma had thought it too obvious. The others hadn’t thought of it all. But Celia suggested that only select people plant the seeds. She, for one. Jade too. They were presumed to be completely loyal to the Coven and so would more likely be believed to be speaking from genuine concern than from causing trouble.

And Celia could plant the idea in the heads of Ginny and Zevon which would then bring out Mother Gothel and Yzma’s worries. And so without the united focus in hatred, which Circe told them was vital to the spell, Coven would turn against itself and bring its own ruin.

And then on Uma’s signal, they’d come in as magical backup.

Jordan sighed. Even though she told herself that she had chosen Uma as a better leader, that she knew what she was doing, and she was okay with no longer being the hero, it stung to be stuck as backup and not be in the front lines of the plan or the fighting.

Especially when it meant, waiting in Hook’s office, away from the crew that disliked them anyway, waiting for word from Uma since their presence was too obvious to be wandering around the Isle. Although, as Jordan looked at her fellow Agrabahians, with their dirtied faces, ratted hair and ripped clothes, she thought the Isle had made its mark in turning Jay and Aziz into two more villainous-looking residents.

Right now, the two were chatting it up about some tourney strategy or parkour technique, she wasn’t sure. It was something athletic which Jordan tended to zone out and think for herself. And when her thoughts got too deep, she’d admire, well more like wonder, Hook’s knicks knacks decorating his office. What possessed him to spear a codfish over his desk. Seriously? It didn’t look grand or particularly impressive since it was medium sized and covered in green flecks that Jordan suspected it to be mold.

Was it a pirate thing? Like when that CJ chick purposefully made herself smell like rotten kelp? Was it a villain thing for their decorations to be as vile as their hearts?

She wondered if she could ask Jay this or it would be considered too offensive. Maybe a few months from now when-

A quick “knock knock knock” signalled their attention, announcing Uma’s arrival. And with her came the usual suspects of Gil, Harry and Calix. As well as some more recent additions of Celia, Jade and Lala.

Which Jade was all too happy to explain as she jumped in front of Uma, her arms opened wide, “Guess who got us another fighter on our side?”

Lala stiffened and crossed her arms at Jade’s enthusiasm, refusing to look at the girl who was trying to hook her arm through hers, “I finally convinced her that we’re already miserable with her moms so why not join the winning side. It’s not like our lives could get worse if we lose.”

Everyone looked disbelieving at that statement. After all, their lives could get worse if they lost, they could be dead.

Jordan didn’t think anyone else noticed, but she paid attention to the extra bright smile Aziz had at hearing the news. And unless she was just imagining things, she could swear that Lala had looked at Aziz first to see his reaction before looking anywhere else.

It was for a moment but it was there, and even though Aziz still insisted he didn’t have feelings, Jordan knew. And unlike her previous, and in hindsight, very bad overreaction to it, she didn’t mind it as much. After all, a girl that made Aziz feel better about his Jay inferiority complex (when all of Jordan’s pep talks hadn’t worked which kind of stung) couldn’t be too bad. Even if she was the daughter of a villain.

“Uh great. Thanks, Jade.” Uma made her way back to the center of the room as everyone squeezed against the wall or in Celia and Gil’s case sat on Captain Hook’s desk, listening intently to whatever Uma had up her sleeve.

“Okay people. We have five hours to get through this so here are the assignments.” Uma began, “Harry, Gil, gather up the rest of the crew and take position around the castle. When I signal, you shoot the bow through the window and begin the seige.” “Celia, since you’re not needed for the Coven’s spell, you can gather the rest of the Anti Villain Club, and the volunteers.” “The volunteers?” Jay questioned with, in a very un-VK move, a raised hand.

“The Anti Villain Club and I have been soliciting volunteers from the regular citizens of the Isle to fight against the Coven in exchange to getting off the Isle,” Uma promptly explained before moving on.

“Calix, Jade, Lala and I are expected at the ceremony so you three,” She nodded to them, “Will sneak in through the Underground entrances and will get into the room, at the top of the tallest tower, and help end the fight. Got it? Let’s go.”

So they split up, Gil and Harry heading toward the starboard, (or was it stern?), Celia to the alleyways and the rest of them were back to trudging through the jungle to the castle.

Jay, and Jade strode side by side each other, pausing to show off a parkour move as they talked, predicting how their family members would react to their arrival. Aziz and Lala walked in companionable silence, hacking away at tangled brush, but Jordan wasn’t paying attention as she had been before.

Jordan walked up to Uma’s side, a choice that the sea witch hadn’t appreciated Jordan could see by the forced way Uma kept her eyes straight ahead. But Jordan had a question that had been burning in her after watching Uma’s leadership skills the past weeks.

“So… where did you learn how to lead like this? I mean your mom was just a witch so why haven’t you focused more on your mystical side,” Jordan cringed realizing how it sounded and began backtracking, “Not that I expect you to be like your mother. No one is exactly like your parents. I don’t mean that. But just- you know.. Does it come naturally? Did you learn it from someone?”

“I’m Ursula’s daughter, but  do not let her define me. I make my own legacy.” Uma ducked under a stray leaf, “To give my people a chance, to get off this Isle and live better lives. And if I wanted to make that happen, I learned to lead. On the Isle, you learn what you need to. ” Uma grunted before walking faster and farther ahead.

Though Uma probably hadn’t meant anything by it. It was probably a “there-I-answered- now-shut-up-and-do-what-you-were- ordered-to-do” answer to get Jordan to go away.

Even though it offered no advice on leadership,it got Jordan to thinking. So many of them, all of them really, had their issues with the heavy legacy that their parents set before them. They were all defined by them, especially when it was announced “Name, son or daughter of-.” It was part of life. A more difficult part of life when their legacy was founded on greed and vileness and evil like the Vks.

But even though they were defined by their parents, these Vks tried their best not to let it control their lives. They lived day to day, in the present. Mainly it was for survival reasons, but it could work personally too, Jordan thought.

She had been defining herself solely by her parents. Not trying to live up to them. By rebelling to be the exact opposite of them. It is always in some relation to them or what others’ preconceptions of genies were supposed to be.

And she did the same. Judging people with her views of mortals, which were mostly right, but didn’t make her happy. It just made her miserable to know she was surrounded by so many jerks. And it kinda made her self-absorbed. Musing and complaining about how people only wanted to use her. She had been so focused on that during her time here, she had missed Aziz’s personal turmoil; She had been distrustful and uncooperative with Jay; She focused on her personal safety and her fear of the other Coven members taking advantage of her more than saving the kingdom.

But what if she took a page from the Vks book.

Just live in the present, and not focus solely on the resentment of the past.

It was a new way. Instead of expecting the worst, she could let people come into her life, if they were just using her, cut ties and let it go because she had Aziz, and Calix, and maybe Jay and Lonnie and the rest of her family. They cared for her.

And she should let go of her biggest resentment. Her parents for leaving her. For so long she saw it as evidence of their lack of love for her, and while it hurt, it didn’t lessen their love. And she hadn’t let them in because they didn’t love her like the other parents loved their children. They weren’t what she wanted. Which wasn’t fair. They weren’t like others, they were genies.

So if she survived this, she was going to stop with the sarcasm and the irritation whenever she was with them. But she was also going to have that talk with them, a serious talk even though they disliked those things, because as she had experienced with Jay and Aziz, a talk could go a long way in resolving their differences.

She was going to focus more on what she loved. Her show, mabe even add some improv sketches that she had refused to do because it was too similar to her Dad’s antics. She had no reason to hold back just because someone would compare or judge. People would always judge you so there was no point trying to prove them wrong. Just follow your instincts, do what is right because you know is right, and YOLO. YOLO because even though she lived forever, she should do more in enjoying what she had. Enjoy life.

And if they didn’t like her for it, fuck em all.

And there, right in that muddy path with jungle palms blocking sunlight as if to suffocate them all with the smell of moss and the hot humidity; Stuck on an Isle where semi rotten trash was considered high dining and you were praised for your bloodlust and kindness of any kind was a weakness.

Jordan felt a peace with the doubts that had plagued her for.. for maybe her whole life.

It was the most inappropriate place for such a realization but it was perfect too. The Isle was loathsome and the bottom of the barrel, but rock bottom was where you find your greatest strength.

Jordan smiled, remembering how Calix had thrown her own story tropes back in her face that every adventure had heart to hearts and personal revelations before the final battle.

She didn’t know about anyone else, but she was having hers. Even though she was not the leader, even though she wasn’t going to be the hero to save the day. She felt changed and it felt so good.

But she couldn’t bask in the glow of her personal growth for long. For as her newfound maturity reminded her, there were bigger things at stake right now.

Tonight was the night. The Coven was going down.

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 29 ~The Reality~

.

  Geillis sat at her kitchen table, looking bright and chipper and way too put together at seven AM Tuesday morning. Geillis had invited herself over for breakfast and coffee before Claire started her shift at The Royal Hospital for Sick Children. It had been ages since they've seen each other, and a much-needed catch up was just what they both needed.

Before she'd started her new job, it had been a tense and hectic past few weeks. While Jamie had been away most of the time in London, Claire had been preoccupied applying for a residency program and meeting for job interviews. When the news of Gerald Forbes' arrest, Geneva Dunsany's stripping of gold medals and investigations in William Dunsany's business' dealings reached her, she'd dreaded her name would be mentioned in the newspaper and evening prime time news. To her relief, Ned Gowan had made sure that didn't happen. Only certain parts of the recording were released to the media, specifically the section where Forbes admitted to spiking Jamie's drink and accepting bribes from Dunsany. Since her voice was disguised with an audio editing application, it had been automatically assumed the sting was done by an undercover reporter; hence, no questions were further asked of the identity of the voice.

The days that followed were even made more stressful after Frank pleaded her to drop the charges against him and requested an out of court settlement, offering her monetary compensation instead. Not having the heart to see a licence stripped away from a brilliant doctor, Claire conceded under the condition he wouldn't practice medicine in Scotland for five years and that he would work for Doctors Without Borders for at least two years before returning to England. Frank agreed without contest, and a settlement was made and signed. But it was only when she had her belongings that he'd been keeping, returned and was informed he'd left Edinburgh for good, was she able to relax and concentrate on her future.

"So, Jamie is back in London again," Geillis remarked, in-between bites of her toast. "Another business trip?"

Claire filled their mugs with coffee and sat down. "I guess you can call it that. Jamie was invited by BBC to a morning show interview," she explained. "And while he's there, he's doing a few photoshoots for some razor commercial and finalising the sale of his properties. He should be back by tomorrow."

"Oh that's good but why aren't ye staying over at his place? Besides me wanting to have a nosy in his posh apartment, it's nearer to yer work and more convenient for him to see ye when he returns from London. And hello ...less carbon footprint."

She took a sip of her coffee and leaned back on her seat, twisting her head from side to side to relieve the tension in her neck. Her new job wasn't as demanding as in the Royal Infirmary; nevertheless, she felt the effects of the long hours at work. "Jamie already suggested that but he's away most of the time and I kind of like my place and ..." she trailed off, shrugging.

"Aaand ... it's a huge commitment and too soon after ye've just got yer stuff back from Frank and ye think he's more into parading himself in the public's eye than he's into ye," Geillis filled in the blanks before scooping some egg into her mouth. 

Claire didn't answer, as she toyed with her fork.

"Ye miss him, aye?"

She nodded, giving her friend a wistful smile. She did miss Jamie a lot. Ever since the problems with his former agent settled, she'd seen less and less of him. She knew he was trying to put together something for the future, but at the worse of times, she felt mildly resentful not seeing him as much and hated herself for feeling that way. They've been wrapped up in their own bubble of bliss, she hadn't thought about where their relationship was heading to. Their feelings were out there, larger than life and scary as hell, and now they have to find a way to make this thing work in the real world with their conflicting schedules. But lately, with Jamie's numerous endorsements pouring in, to represent big-name companies and merchandises, she wondered if their relationship could survive and if there was even a hint of truth in what Forbes had told her that Jamie was meant for the limelight.

"Ye think Jamie is going to be lured back to his celebrity lifestyle and ye're waiting for the bomb to fall, is this what's this about?" she asked as if uncannily reading her thoughts.

Damn the girl for being so perceptive.  She straightened up on her seat and smeared butter on her toast. "What makes you think that?" she asked, trying to look nonchalant, which was silly really considering Geillis could read her like a book.

Geillis rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. "It's pretty apparent ye're not too thrilled with the load of work he's getting. But if he's going to start this rugby academy ye were talking about, all the exposures and the money he could earn from those adverts will help."

"You're beginning to sound like Forbes," Claire scoffed, pointing the butter knife at her. "And I don't like it."

"And ye're letting fear and doubt grow its ugly head," she quipped, toast shrapnel spraying out from her mouth.

"Good God, Geillis ... that's gross. Don't talk when you're mouth is full."

"Stop changing the subject," Geillis admonished. She crunched down on her toast and gave her a false smile, deliberately exhibiting bits of food between her teeth. "In a perfect world, ye could both get what ye want, dream job and time for each other. But that's no' the case, so ...if ye have issues with Jamie's work and wotnots, ye should be more proactive in addressing them instead of sulking." 

"I'm not sulking ...or maybe I am a little. But here's the thing ... I've only seen Jamie for two days for the last couple of weeks. Even when he's here in Edinburgh, either he is unavailable and rushing off somewhere to meet someone important, or he's in the gym. When I'm at his place, he's either too tired to do anything, asleep already, or he has to wake up early ...so there's really no point of me staying there. It's nuts really, I'm seeing less of him now that we're together than when he was trying to pursue me. We talk and text a lot on the phone, but it doesn't make being separated any easier. This evil paranoia is constantly nagging in my head that he's bored with me and finding limelight more exciting. But then he makes up for his absence by regularly checking up on me or having food delivered either at my workplace or here at home because he knows I forget to eat sometimes. And my distrustful and illogical side creeps in and tells me he's just keeping me interested. But when he's holding me, all those whispers in my head shut up."

Geillis wiped her mouth with a napkin and reached for her hand. "Ach, hen, he loves ye. Ye ken fine I have this built-in radar inside me that can detect bullshit from miles away. That man of yers lights up like a Christmas tree whenever ye're around. Why not talk to him and tell him how ye're feeling."

"God, no. I sound already petty and clingy hearing myself talk. Not going to happen."

"Hmmm, have ye been reading things written about him in social media again?" Geillis asked, already knowing the answer and looking on disapprovingly. "Jamie already told ye not to."

Claire sighed and slumped back in her chair. "I can't help it sometimes," she reasoned. "I see something nice written about him, and that makes me happy, and I look for more, but then I end up reading gossips about him that aren't true. I'm supposed to be prepared for this. When Jamie and I first got together, I knew what I was getting into, and I knew our relationship would have some degree of disappointment and compromise. I understand Jamie's work is very important to him, and quite rightly so. But it's still difficult to accept that I'm someone whose boyfriend is lusted after by thousands of women and the way my work colleagues talk behind my back and look at me, serves as a reminder. I thought those days in the limelight would be over when he told me about the academy, but it seems the interviews and photocalls have doubled. I need to find a way to be alright with that because I know those public appearances will help promote his academy. It's just that when I rarely see him, it's so hard and I can't help but think it's the start of our end."

"Quit that rubbish talk for crying out loud! Ye just have to remind yersel' its just work," Geillis pressed in a firm tone. "Whatever is happening right now doesn't change the way he feels about ye." She got up, taking her plate and mug over to the sink to rinse them and put them into the dishwasher. "His popularity has a short lifespan, Claire, most especially now that he's turning down work left, right and centre from other networks. Once the academy is up and running and the talk about his BBC award dies down, the news will be onto something new. And as for Jamie, he will eventually fade into the background as he wouldn't have time for anything else other than building his new business venture. Nobody knows how long this ride is going to last, so he might as well take advantage and get as much exposure out of it."

"I know, I know. You're right with everything you said." Claire cleared the rest of the dishes on the table and stood up. "That's why I don't want to say anything to Jamie. You taking Jamie's side when you've always taken mine can only mean I sound really downright pathetic."

Geillis dried her hand and turned around to face her, giving her a thoughtful smile. "Not pathetic at all and I understand why ye're worried. Not everyone would have been able to handle being in a relationship with Jamie. God, if he was my boyfriend, I'd never let him out of my sight because he's too pretty for his own good. But as an objective bystander, I can hundred per cent assure ye, that man is working his arse off to get that business of his going so he can have a normal life with ye."

She packed her laptop in its case and drank the rest of her juice. "That's what I tell myself all the time. It's just hard when we hardly have a moment to ourselves and when I'm left alone with my own thoughts, that's when it becomes dangerous. All these niggling doubts surface from out of nowhere and play havoc with my logic." 

"Ach, Claire. Sometimes I wish ye could see the way he looks at ye when ye're not looking. He looks at ye like ye're the sun itself and it makes me want to puke seeing all that lovefest spewing out of him."

This time Claire laughed out loud and allowed the tension and uncertainties of the future to slowly fade away. Thank God she had Geillis to talk sense into her. After everything that happened recently, she really needed to exorcise all those demons that Forbes and Frank left behind because unless she did that, they would continue to rule her waking hours, even though they were no longer in their lives,

..........

Claire stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower. She had forty-five minutes to get ready before Jamie arrives. She'd received a text earlier while at work telling her he was in the airport in London waiting to get into the plane and he would be heading straight to her as soon as he landed and they would go out on a dinner date.

The water was hot, and it felt good just to stand there and let it run over her skin as she tried to release the tension in her muscles. It had been a long day at work running from ward to ward, and although she loved her job, working with sick children was often challenging since it affected her more on an emotional level. They were innocents and should be untouched by illness and injuries and be out there thriving and healthy instead of being in the hospital. Despite trying her hardest to remain professional, it still proved difficult to not get attached to her young patients.

Suddenly realising the water was getting colder, she quickly lathered some shower gel on her skin and shampoo on her hair. When she turned around to rinse herself, she nearly screamed when she saw Jamie on the other side of the shower stall, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and a lopsided grin plastered on his face. 

"Jamie! Bloody hell! You shouldn't sneak in like that! Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack," she scolded, quickly washing the suds off her body.

Jamie chuckled, as he took a huge towel from the rail. "Ye didn't answer when I called out yer name. So I just waited for ye to finish, hoping to hear yer rendition of one of Paloma Faith's songs before ye notice I'm here."

She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower into the towel Jamie was holding. He wrapped it around her and smiled. 

"Hi!" he whispered.

She tried to step back. "I'll ruin your suit. I'm all wet."

"I dinnae care." He pulled her back into his arms, and she stretched up on her toes to kiss him briefly. 

When she drew away, she stared up at him. "Let me dry my hair first. I shan't be long."

"No' yet." She held her breath as Jamie leaned down and kissed her tenderly.  Oh God, how I've missed him!  His lips were so soft and warm, making all the air rush out of her lungs. He sucked at her bottom lip before pulling back and angling his head to kiss her again. Though his body was tensed and hard, the delicate way he moved his mouth over hers demonstrated leashed restraint like he wanted to savour the moment instead of giving in to the hormones that were raging between them. If his intention was to make her forget what she was about to say or do, he was succeeding immensely.

Gradually his kisses became more intense, and she gave up trying to think and allowed herself to just feel, letting her muscles melt against his body. He cupped her breast, and when she moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly, he grunted in frustration and gently drew away.

Glancing down at her, he tucked his tongue into his cheek and shook his head. "Ye should get dressed before I give ye a reason to go back and shower again." He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Christ, I've missed ye so much."

Her heart did a pirouette. It was so  bloody  absurd that after the all this time, Jamie could still make the air catch in her chest and her blood rush with force, just by looking at her. "I missed you too," was all she could muster, feeling the heat creep up her face.

He cleared his throat. "I brought some Thai takeaway. You get dressed, and I'll prepare the table."

"Oh! I thought we were going out," she said, unable to hide her disappointment.

He swallowed and nodded, the muscles in his jaw, working overtime as he took her hands. "I'm so sorry, Sassenach. I had a last-minute phone call from this guy who'll be rewiring the sports complex. He's coming all the way from Glasgow, and I need to show him the floor plans and the list of gadgets I need installing. I'm just as disappointed as ye are that we can't go out." He linked his fingers through hers. "The next few weeks are going to be crazy as hell, but I'm doing everything I can to make sure we'll have more time together. That's a promise."

"That's alright," she murmured, trying her best not to act like a child whose lolly had been taken off her. This was the sixth time he'd cancelled their date, and it didn't help that they hadn't been out together for weeks and that she hadn't seen the sports complex yet. Her brain concocted tons of reasons for all the cancellations, and not one of them was good, but she immediately tamped down the thoughts when she saw the worried look on his face. Sighing, she gave him a reassuring smile. "You go ahead a prepare the food. I'll just quickly dry my hair, and I will be out soon."

Before she could turn away, he hauled her back into his arms, and then cupped her face with both hands and kissed her deeply, almost making her believe everything was fine.

"I love you, Sassenach" he said against her lips. "I promise I will have more time for us soon."

He held her for a few more heartbeats, and then with an effort, he pulled away and headed out the door.

When he left, she leaned her forehead against the damp bathroom tiles. "I love you too Jamie. So much it hurts to breathe sometimes," she whispered to the wall. 

..........

Another three weeks went by, and Claire was determined to ignore her growing sense of apprehension about Jamie and her inability to deal with his lack of presence in most of her everyday life. She felt like she had a countdown timer running in the backdrop, and she was just waiting for it to reach zero when it would reveal they were over for good.

She sighed and ferociously tug the weeds out of her garden bed, venting her frustration in her back garden vegetation. Her mood didn't improve when she envisioned herself becoming one of those women who obsessed about their man, fearing they wouldn't be able to cope once the relationship was over.  Shut it, Beauchamp! Stop being pathetic and grow a pair!

Nearby, Geillis was collecting all the weeds she'd pulled out and placing them into containers for compost. She didn't want to heap more of her relationship worries on her friend, thinking she's beginning to sound repetitive and whiny.

Even though Jamie was away a lot, he would drop by a few times, helping her with shopping when she didn't have the time to refill her pantry and repairing things that needed fixing in her wee cottage. She tried not to pressure him about sleepovers since she'd refused a few times to stay at his place. Not that Claire didn't want to be with him, but he was hardly in his apartment, and when he was, he spent his time catching up on sleep or speaking with important people on the phone. Over time she realised, he was workaholic, mostly when it involved something he was passionate and excited about. And it made her wonder if that was the reason he never had any proper relationship during his rugby days.

Jamie had often enough apologised for not always being there for her and asked her to give him more time and trust him, and she was trying her utmost best to do just that, even though patience and trust are two things she was beginning to have a short supply of.

"It's yer day-off. Aren't ye seeing Jamie today?" Geillis asked, getting up on her feet and kicking the dirt off her boots.

"Nope. Apparently, being interviewed by some local radio station and filming for Irn-Bru commercial is more appealing than spending time with his girlfriend." She cringed inwardly the moment her pettiness came out in full force, unable to contain what she truly felt any longer.

"Ach, hen. I ken it's been a difficult time for ye both with yer long hours and his busy schedule. Surely, ye ken he'd rather spend time with ye."

"I know, Geillis. Don't mind me at all. I'm just in one of those moods. Think nothing more of it." She dusted off her hands and got up. "Anyway, I'm trying not to dwell on those things. I have to get ready and meet up with John ...you know John Grey from St Leonards', where I did my temp job?" When Geillis nodded, she continued. "He's got a day-off too, and his boyfriend is on a business trip to France. So we thought, since we're both boyfriendless today, we'd hang out together. You can join us if you wish."

Geillis waved her hand. "I'll pass. I have a gig tomorrow for a group of seven-year-olds. Need to organise their party hats and goodie bags. I'll clean up and go." Then she pulled her in for a hug. "And enjoy yersel' and try not to worry about Jamie. He's probably thinking the same of ye ...ye not having enough time for him with yer long hours at work. Just have a little faith with the man, alright?"

"I will," she smiled, kissing her on the cheek. "In case you finish early with your prep for tomorrow and change your mind about joining us, we'll be in The World's End."

Geillis pulled back and made a face. "I doubt it. It's a bath, chamomile and books for me tonight and then early to bed. Need to save my energy for those bairns tomorrow. Kids nowadays are so hyper and fueled with so much sugar, I can hardly keep up with them. But ye go enjoy yersel', and I'll stop by one of this morning for breakfast." And with that, she spun around and headed towards the house.

As she put away her hand garden tools into a bucket, she took deep calming breaths and made a decision to stop thinking so negatively. It had been ages since she'd been to the pub and maybe a change of atmosphere and a few beers with her friend John would improve her mood. She wished she could talk to Jamie right now, but she knew he was working and was probably in the middle of an interview or shoot. She would just have to wait later to send him a message once she's come back home.

As if thinking of Jamie willed him to call, her phone buzzed in her jeans, and when she looked at the screen, it lit up with his number. A wave of elation rushed through her cancelling all her earlier doubts. "Hey, I was just thinking about you and wondering when it's best to call you up. I wasn't sure if you were in the middle of something."

"I have a few minutes before I go on air." He sounded slightly hoarse if not tired, but still, she could hear a smile on his voice. "How are ye today, Sassenach?"

She reminded herself he was working hard for his sports academy, and she needed to be a more understanding girlfriend. "I'm great," she replied, trying to be more cheerful than she felt. "I'm just cleaning up after a bit of garden work, and then I'll head out for a few drinks."

"With Geillis and Joe?" 

She picked up her bucket of tools and headed towards the shed. "Actually, no. I'm going out with John."

"John? Who's John?"

She thought she heard the clipped tone in his voice but shook her head, thinking she imagined things. "You know John. The head doctor of St Leonards' where I did my temp job. We both have a day-off, so we thought we'd hang out together for a couple of beers. It's been ages since I've been out and I thought it would be a nice change."

"How come Geillis or Joe is not coming with ye? Are they working?"

"Joe is away somewhere ...God knows where. And I've asked Geillis to come, but she has a gig to prepare for tomorrow." She opened the door to her shed and slid in her tools before closing it again and heading back towards the house. "It'll just be a couple of drinks, and then I'll head back home."

There was a long pause in Jamie's end. "Jamie? You still there?"

"Aye, I'm here," he sighed. "The air is getting colder, Sassenach. Make sure ye dressed up warmly when ye go out."

"It is getting a bit nippy," she admitted, looking at her watch. "Listen. Got to run. I'm running a bit late."

There was another silence for a few seconds before he spoke. "Ye ken I love ye, don't ye, Sassenach?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and smiled. "Of course, Jamie. And I love you too. But I really have to go. I'll speak to you soon ...well, as soon as I get back home. I promise." And then she turned off the phone before he could say another word since she was already running late. As she stepped into the house, she felt loads better already than she did earlier after hearing Jamie's voice. In fact, she was beginning to look forward to having a night out with John and having a refreshing pint. Maybe, later, if she's not too tired, she would pay Jamie a visit to his apartment and surprise him. With that in mind and with more lightness in her heart, she showered and got ready for her night out.

[thepermanentrainpress]

THE PERMANENT RAIN PRESS INTERVIEW WITH MADELEINE SIMS-FEWER AND DUSTY MANCINELLI

Violation is one of the most stirring films we’ve seen over the past year. Since making its world premiere at Toronto International Film Festival last year, the Canadian flick has been busy on the film festival circuit; now available through digital-cinema on TIFF Bell Lightbox, with Vancouver International Film Festival (VIFF) Connect to follow beginning March 26th. 

What inspired the story behind Violation?

We were both dealing with our own personal experiences of trauma at the time, and wanted to make an anti-revenge film that deals with female rage, and emotional and psychological unravelling that trauma gives rise to.

We really wanted to make a revenge film that pushed the boundaries of the genre, challenging the tropes of the scantily clad woman becoming empowered by violent revenge against a menacing stranger, and that revenge is the cathartic climax we are all seeking at the end of the movie. Yes, it is a film about seeking retribution, but also about the cost of that retribution. It is a film about violation, but also about lack of empathy and selfishness, and how both can erode your morality and the relationships around you.

It’s been described as “twisted,” “feminist-minded,” and a “hypnotic horror.” At its core, how would you describe the film’s genre(s)?

Those three descriptors fit perfectly, actually! We weren’t thinking too much about genre when we wrote the script, mostly about the story and about how we portrayed Miriam’s journey. We were inspired by films that don’t sit comfortably in a genre box, like Caché, Fat Girl, Don’t Look Now. Films that are dramas with elements of horror.

When you were writing the script, can you elaborate on the dynamics between the two couples that you wanted to portray – Miriam and Caleb, and Greta and Dylan?

Miriam and Caleb are very much at an impasse in their relationship. The spark has gone out and they don’t know how to reignite it. Instead of doing the work it might take to get through a rough patch Miriam is very much running away. There is a real transience to modern relationships that we wanted to capture in their dynamic - this idea that when the romance is gone the relationship has run its course. Miriam wants to fix it, but doesn’t know how - she clumsily tries to fix it with sex (on her sister’s advice), and this echoes how she tries to fix her trauma too.

Greta and Dylan have a seemingly healthy relationship. But when you look a little deeper their outward affection and codependence masks a deep distrust. Dylan is having his ‘grass is greener’ moment, and he’s totally selfish to the impact this has on those around him. Greta can sense this, but she’s too enamoured by him to risk rocking the boat. It’s all a recipe for tragedy really.

Miriam and Greta have a complex relationship, to say the least. It’s natural to have distance between siblings as they grow older, did you always intend to have a sibling relationship be a centre of your story?

Yes, we always wanted to make a film about a person who suffers sexual assault and is not believed by their sibling. That was one of the first parts of the story that came together. There is so much to unpack in a sibling relationship like theirs. A rich history of mutual failures and resentments as well as so much camaraderie and love. The more painful betrayal in the story comes from Greta, not Dylan.

We wanted to explore the idea of trauma within families, and how abuse and violence affects everyone in the family, not just the person who suffers it. Everything else orbits around these two sisters — Miriam and Greta — as Violation mines the little resentments, commonalities, shared joys and sorrows that weave together a truthful portrait of these women.

A lot of the horror and dread in Violation comes from the way the sisters interact, and in the ways they react to each other from a place of fear. There is no filter in these close sibling relationships (we know this as we both come from big families!) which can be wonderful, but can also lead you to hurt and be hurt in ways that leave permanent emotional scars.

The non-linear editing engages viewers into the story, as do the jarring intercuts with imagery of nature, animals and insects. Tell us about the editing and post-production phase, and what you hoped to accomplish with the progression and symbolism.

The way we have edited Violation is very deliberate. We are forcing you to experience things you might not want to in a very specific way, guiding you through this post traumatic landscape where the past and present are constantly speaking to each other.

We chose to weave two timelines together — the 48 hours leading up to the betrayal and the 48 hours surrounding the act of revenge. This forces the audience to re-contextualize what they have seen, challenging their own opinions of the characters based on what information we choose to reveal and when.

Violation is told completely from Miriam’s perspective — we watch her emotional and psychological unravelling as she struggles desperately to do the right thing. There is a sequence in the middle of the film where we see this act of revenge. There is no dialogue for a long time, we just follow Miriam as she goes through these meticulous actions. And what we realize is that her plan, though well thought-out, is unbelievably emotionally and physically taxing. She’s not prepared, and we watch the real horror of her actions play out through her visceral emotional responses. It was important for us to really force the audience to experience things as Miriam does. The editing is focused and relentless; never letting you stray from her experiences and emotions.

Madeleine, for you, getting to play Miriam and connect with her pain and turbulent emotions through the course of the film, can you share your thoughts on that experience. How did committing to this character challenge you as an actor?

It was the most challenging role I have ever played, and in many ways was absolutely terrifying. I wanted to push myself as far as I could go as an actor and challenge myself to really find the truth of who this woman is, and reveal that to the audience. There are so many quiet moments where Miriam’s journey is so internal, so the challenge there was in truly living each moment as if I was her — getting lost in the role — so that I was not indicating what she was feeling, but living it.

What was it like having Anna, Jesse and Obi as screen partners?

Very liberating. They are all extremely dedicated, layered, engaging performers. They elevated me and challenged me every step of the way. Jesse and I have worked together before, and we have an ease that makes scenes with him very fun. The comfort level we share allows us to really experiment. It was my first time working with Anna and Obi, but it won’t be the last. They are both so open and sensitive that I felt our work was incredibly nuanced.

An overarching question is whether revenge is ever justified. Tell me about Miriam’s mindset, and the struggle between morals, motives and her actions. For you as individuals, is this something that you have had conflict with in your own lives?

In a way we wanted to make a sort of revenge fairy-tale. Fairy tales provide ways for children to think through moral problems, and to wrestle with life’s complexities. They aren’t depictions of reality, but reflect ideas about morality and humanity. We wanted the audience to think about consent, the rippling effects of trauma, how we judge women vs how we judge men, and perhaps consider those things more deeply.

In the end Miriam’s desire to punish those who have wronged her hopefully leaves the audience with a compelling ambiguity to be unpacked as they scrutinize her actions.

Tell us about the trust built between the cast and crew on-set, especially during the more intimate and grim scenes and tense conversations. How do you build that comfort level?

It’s really just about having open, honest conversations. We spent a lot of time with the actors during prep and rehearsals just talking, and building friendships. We are dedicated to creating a comfort level where actors can be completely transparent and open with us, so that when we ask them to go somewhere they know we are there guiding the process and aren’t afraid to take big risks.

To survivors of trauma, what do you hope this movie provides in its story?

We hope to provide a new take on the revenge genre - one that explores rape from a different angle and context - with the focus of the narrative much more on the psychological ramifications of trauma. We aren’t looking to tell anyone what to take away from the film, and we made Violation as much for people with no experience with trauma as for people who understand these murky waters. Really we hope the film sparks thought, discussion, and empathy.

You met at the 2015 TIFF Talent Lab; what drew you together as a filmmaking team? What advice do you have for artists/filmmakers looking for their own collaborators?

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what drew us together - it’s sort of an intangible thing. We developed a very candid friendship that we thought might translate well to a working relationship. Luckily it did!

Shortly after the Talent Lab we decided to work together on two short films, Slap Happy and Woman in Stall. Until directing these shorts neither of us had really had ‘fun ’making a film. Filmmaking was a drive, but it wasn’t a joy. These shorts gave us a totally new perspective, where we actually had a good time workshopping the script, creating a visual style, and just challenging each other. By the time we were making our third short, Chubby, we had decided to officially form a creative partnership.

We definitely approach filmmaking from different perspectives and with complementary strengths, but we don’t say ‘this is your thing and this is mine.’ We work collaboratively on every part of the process, and we built this unique way of working through our shorts, so that when we got the funding to make Violation (through Telefilm’s Talent to Watch program) we already had a solid method that works for us.

In terms of advice it really helps to know how you like to work before looking for a collaborator. Then it’s just about experimenting. It is very much trial and error. Don’t try to force a collaboration that isn’t working for you. There is no shame in a creative relationship not working out. But also it is important to be flexible and open to compromise - that’s how ideas flourish and grow. If you are too rigid then maybe collaboration is not right for you.

Going from short films to your debut feature with Violation, what new challenges did you face and how did you overcome them?

The endurance required to make a feature was something we weren’t prepared for. At about day 3 we turned to each other, totally exhausted, and were like: “there’s 30 more days of this.” It was brutally draining. Honestly every day brought its own unique challenges and problems to overcome, but we had such a strong, supportive team that it made each mountain a little easier to climb.

Aside from yourselves, who are some other up and coming Canadian filmmakers viewers should keep their eyes on?

Grace Glowicki and Ben Petrie are both doing really interesting work. Grace’s film Tito is a disturbingly good character study that builds a terrifying sense of dread. Ben’s short Her Friend Adam is one of our favourites, and he’s about to make his first feature.

Is there anything further you’d like to add or share, perhaps what you are currently working on?

Right now we are writing a slow burning mystery thriller and a twisted dark comedy. That’s about all we can reveal at the moment!

Thank you to Madeleine Sims-Fewer and Dusty Mancinelli for providing us with further insight into Violation! Visit their official website for more information on their projects. 

[starwarsfic]

Odious.7

Originally posted August 27, 2020

Summary: Obi-Wan feels a bond forming that he cannot explain.

Details: Sidious/Obi-Wan. Soulbond AU.

CW: Major consent issues.

xxxxxx

There had been something tugging at Obi-Wan's thoughts for days before he had the chance to meditate on it. Between his mission report to the Council (and how little they seemed to welcome his problem solving methods, despite that they knew how his Master had been and had little reason to expect differently) and his Padawan (who was still bemoaning the fact Obi-Wan refused to take him into active warzones as though fourteen was somehow adult enough for such things), he'd just been too busy.

When he finally did get the chance to look into it, he was...unsettled, by what he found. There was a new bond starting to form in his mind, but he couldn't discern who the recipient was. Normally such a thing would have the bond collapsing on itself and disappearing by the time it was this noticeable.

There was no one on his last mission he would have been that close to, no one from just before it, either, that he could think of. It was an unsettling, unwelcome thing.

Anakin noticed something was off with him, but didn't try to press. He just chattered away over meals, talking about his classes, his saber practice, his meetings with the Chancellor, filling the emptiness Obi-Wan was leaving in their conversations.

The reminder had Obi-Wan sending a quick message to Sheev, getting an immediate reply and a time to meet the next day. He'd been away from the Temple and normally liked to stay within its embrace for longer, but the mysterious, fledgling bond had him wanting away, just in case it was someone there he was unknowingly connecting to.

Sheev had lunch brought in for them, a delicious, probably ridiculously expensive meal that if Obi-Wan wasn't used to politicians would have made him protest. They sat together on the couch, catching up as they ate, Obi-Wan leaning against Sheev's side and letting himself relax for a few moments.

One good part about being friends with the same person as his Padawan was Sheev's willingness to fill in the gaps in Anakin's own stories. It certainly explained why his favorite tea set was suddenly missing one of its cups, which apparently Anakin had accidentally chipped and brought to Sheev in hopes it could be repaired.

"No matter what I do, he's always so worried about punishment," Obi-Wan sighed.

"You do much to alleviate his worries, I fear it's the others he's around that are exasperating them." Sheev's words, as ever, were cautious about criticizing the Order, but Obi-Wan could hear the wisdom in them.

***

Life continued, the bond starting to become a sturdier thing, but still clouded. Normally, in Obi-Wan's experience, bonds started as threads connecting him to another person, extremely fragile if not tended to, but obviously between him and someone else. This one felt as though the tending was happening first, before the connection between he and the other person was initiated, and...and he didn't know what to do about that.

He was haunted by the knowledge that when it finally connected, it might be far too strong to simply severe with a single meditation session.

Something kept him from asking others for help with it. The unnaturalness of it making him worry how it might reflect on him to a mindhealer or a Master.

He was already under such close scrutiny, he couldn't risk more.

***

When the bond finally connected, the power behind it--Dark and overwhelming, was enough to knock him out. Thankfully, he'd been on a social visit with Sheev, who had settled him on a couch and called a med droid and not in the middle of a dangerous mission.

"Are you alright, my friend?" Sheev asked, helping him sit up and take slow sips of his favorite tea.

"I...I don't know," Obi-Wan answered, truthfully.

Now that it was whole, pulsing in his mind, he realized with growing horror the reason the bond was so strong was because that was its nature.

And on the other side of the soulbonds was the unmistakable Darkness of a Sith.

He just made it into Sheev's fresher before the tea was coming back up.

**********

The ritual was not one Sidious had ever thought of using. Too intensive, too much power for too little gain. Too risky.

And then the Knight Kenobi was in his life, the years only making him more appealing, and he could suddenly see the appeal. He wanted to keep Obi-Wan, to bind him.

It was so easy to trick Anakin into bringing him one of Obi-Wan's personal affects, to use that to direct the ritual while Obi-Wan was too far away to sense the sudden change.

Sidious took it slowly, strengthened the forced bond frequently, and used Obi-Wan's own emotional attachment to him to nurture it, as well.

When it finally snapped into place, it was all he could do not to reveal himself. There would be no way to shield his presence across it completely, Obi-Wan would know it was a Sith Lord on the other side, and so instead he had to wait.

But what a wait it was: watching the Light within Obi-Wan fade as his fear of the bond and the constant Dark flowing across it clouded everything he did. Seeing the way Obi-Wan's seeming increased distrust of the Council and the Order drove Anakin to even greater heights of resentment.

By the time his galactic war game was ready, both saw him as far more trustworthy than the other Jedi. They leaked information to him, but they also performed tasks for him they would have questioned before--planting devices around the Temple, changing battleplans that came from the Council, even (unknowingly) slowly poisoning some of the most powerful Jedi with "gifts" of tea and treats that came directly from Sidious.

When, finally, the bond completed, he was so very glad it was when Obi-Wan was in his presence. To see his face, to see the way his Force presence desperately tried to pull back and prevent what was happening.

The sudden flood of Obi-Wan's thoughts and feelings into the bond just before he fell unconscious was like the sweetest wine.

Anakin would shortly be his Apprentice, would be bond to him as a student, but Obi-Wan would be chained in his own way.

xxxxx

A/N: The setup for this was Palpatine working on both Obi-Wan and Anakin. I actually have a half-finished thing which is him first getting into a newly knighted Obi-Wan that I may eventually put up lol

[ais-n]

How do you create your characters? (anon ask)

Another question from the same anon I mentioned in the other post: 

In general, how do you create your characters, especially their psychology/thought process/ flaws? 

haha I have two answers to this - and they depend on the level of ridiculous I’m being.

MORE THOROUGH - CHARACTER BIO TEMPLATE:

I actually have a character bio template I made so it was easier for me to track multiple aspects of characters in complex stories. You can download and adjust/use however you’d like - more info at http://aisylum.com/give-and-take/resources/ or download directly as .odt, .doc, or .rtf. 

I made that for my fantasy series but you can just change whatever you want to fit better for your particular situation.

In the thorough cases like this, I will usually start with some sort of idea of the character, whatever that may be, put that into the character bio, and build out from there. Sometimes the vague idea is the gender and/or orientation, sometimes it’s their past, sometimes it’s just a snippet of dialogue I think of someone saying and I have to figure out who would say that thing in that way and why. 

I also try to think about what leads to what. 

Like, Boyd was starved of consistent love and stability as a child, so he came to fully believe he didn’t deserve it while also desperately and subconsciously seeking it out. But because he also had low self-esteem and other issues including a number of tragedies in his past, he became self-destructive at times in his quest for feeling loved or needed. He was willing to put the needs of others above the health of himself, if it meant he wouldn’t be abandoned. Which meant he would be reckless at times, and it meant his emotions would vary hugely when it came to relationships; he would do really stupid things out of fear of losing love or acceptance because he had wished so dearly for it for so long - but that can also backlash and lead to the very thing he feared because he was doing things at times for the wrong reasons or was too willing to compromise when it would be healthier for everyone to stand his ground.

Or, looking at my LGBTQIA+ sci-fi/fantasy/cop/murder mystery-type story Incarnations for other examples - Cypress is a type of Mage (magic-user) who is maligned by pretty much the whole world, especially by other Mages. His kind was all killed in a genocide centuries ago. For various reasons that also pertain to his past (and which would be a spoiler to dictate right now but come up later in the book), he has a huge distrust for other people, to the point at times of rage and hatred and violence. He has almost no one who has been on his side and stayed on his side from the start, except his twin brother. But that comes with its own set of fears, of what would happen if something happened to his brother?, and because he equates emotions to weakness, and he loathes weakness, he can be very aggressive and cynical and sarcastic when interacting with other people. But at the same time, precisely because he’s the type of Mage who gets hunted down and killed or detained by others, and because of how he grew up, he’s learned how to stay under the radar and how to blend in when needed. For all his rage inside, he’s very good at playing a part if he has to, and those two pieces of him may feel at direct odds to one another but they’re just two sides of the same coin. He has the rage because of who he is, and because of who he is he had to learn to not be seen. He is volatile at best when he’s being his own ‘normal’ and yet he can act totally��‘normal’ according to the rest of the world at the drop of a hat if needed. You could meet him in the middle of a grift and have no clue he’s anything other than a regular Joe Schmoe kind of dude who wouldn’t hurt a fly, when in fact he wouldn’t hesitate to brutally kill you if circumstances made it in his best interest.

Basically, I often try to think of what makes sense for how people would react to things they’ve been through (both good and bad), and then how that might affect their behavior going forward, and what would positively or negatively affect that.

One very short, truncated example I’ll give is Sloane, another Mage from Incarnations; because of an event in her past that she survived and others didn’t think she should have, she’s seen as a monster by much of the local community. She became inured to random death from a young age, so she doesn’t question things the way you might expect someone to in the same circumstances, but she also became resentful of others because of how she was treated. She was a troubled child who acted out a lot, but then she had one person who decided to keep reaching out to her, again and again, despite how often she lashed out. And that person became a sense of stability for her, that led to her doing a 180. She went from a kid who was constantly in juvie to being a cop (in this world’s equivalents). There’s a lot more to her story but that’s just a quick way of showing her past and the way people treated her affected her negatively until she had enough of a positive impact on her life from someone else that she ended up changing her trajectory.

I work through a lot of those sorts of things when filling out the character bio so I get a good idea of their past, their tendencies, their biases, etc. And then there’s a section that asks questions like what would build them up, what would bring them down, what is needed for them to progress, etc. I answer those questions as much as I can, and oftentimes get some revelations about the character along the way. And then I look at the plot of the story as a whole and see if it makes sense to include pieces along the way that will provide character progression (or regression) for the character. 

That can be a good way of not only making sure characters don’t stagnate in a story, while also providing layers to the plot itself so that it’s not just about one single thing - there are multiple things happening along the way that provide something potentially interesting or fun or whatever as well.

I personally like to write stories where you can enjoy it as much or more on the second, fourth, tenth read as you did on the first... I want to try to add little things, if possible, that you may glance over the first time without enough context but later can go back and say OHHH when you know more. I find that doing that is particularly fun and enjoyable and easy when you have character progression or little character quirks you can include along the way, because it doesn’t have to be some big dramatic thing for the plot of the world or overall story. It can be something as simple as a character with long hair deciding to cut their hair off, or someone who always wears shoes and makes fun of another person who goes barefoot, now trying to go barefoot and thinking “oh crap, I get why they liked this all along.” It can be totally inconsequential things for the series as a whole that have some sort of meaning for the character or reader, big or small.

I get bored easily both as a reader and a writer so I guess to me that brings in a level of entertainment.

So essentially, I start with something that either I feel I know about the character or makes sense to me about the character, then I try to think about how they would view this thing, and then I try to think about logically what would follow based on their worldview. And that often will lead to flaws, psychology, thought processes, etc. You could think of it like “What would I do if I were them?” but try to not put your personal values in place of their own.

Like, I would never murder the fuck out of people so callously as Cypress does, but I want readers to understand why he does, and for that I need to understand too as the writer or else that’s asking way too much for the readers to understand something I don’t.

QUICKER, LESS RIDICULOUS WAY

I don’t always want to fill out a whole ass memoir/biography on a character to write or create them - sometimes I just want something simple.

In those cases, I don’t write everything down like that bio template, and I don’t go into such specific and detailed questions about every part of their past and their relationships and what they do or don’t need to get better or etc. Instead, I’ll just go with the vibe of someone - what’s the information that’s of import for them as a person and their particular story? Sometimes that’s gender, orientation, race, etc, or sometimes it’s things they like (like spooky things) or things they hate (like restrictive rules).

I try to do more of an overview of why they are how they are, and therefore how they may react to certain things, but I don’t worry myself about going deep into their thought process and psychology to know every detail of how and why. Because depending on the story, I don’t even need to know that information.

I tend to do more of a ‘surface-level’ view of characters for my short stories, because going super in depth would work against what I’m trying to do when I write those - which is develop SOME sense of brevity in my life. Somewhere lol 

A good example of that mentality is probably my short story Five Star Review which is about a god and a spiritual being having a conversation in a closed restaurant. In that story, both main characters are they/them, because that’s the pronouns that worked, and they are very briefly described but barely at all. That story is more about philosophy and the way spirituality/religion interacts with humanity, so that’s what more of the focus is on. I didn’t need to know every single thing Deity (the god) has ever thought, because it’s irrelevant; I just needed to know how they would feel about the particular topics brought up in this particular story. And then, if the dialogue, plot, or otherwise leads to it, I could figure out their flaws or merits as needed, based on the sort of “person” they had already shown themself to be in the previous scene(s).

I don’t know if that helps or if all of that is more confusing. But I basically just start with something I feel I know about the character, then build on that in the context of the world or environment they would have developed in, and then just kind of follow the logic along. 

Also, if that doesn’t lead to flaws or any depth of the character, I will go back and look at something central to them, and try to see if there is anything seemingly directly opposed that could be introduced as a flaw or aspect of them. Because I feel that humans are rarely one-sided, and oftentimes the complexity of us is because of juxtapositions within ourselves we have or haven’t come to terms with. So to make a character feel more “real,” I think it’s important for them to have at least two things about them that don’t, at first glance, seem like it makes sense - but it doesn when you think about them as a person growing up where they did, or how they did, or where they are now, or whatever other piece of them. Not only does that feel more nuanced as a character and more realistic, but it also introduces some internal conflict that can be used as character progression or, at the very least, something interesting to bring in when the plot is in a lull and you don’t know where to go next.

For me, the most important thing is being willing to change my presumption of the character as the writer, if the character naturally develops in a different direction. And therefore also being willing to change the plot to accommodate, instead of forcing the character to follow the plot.

Sorry this post was a million miles long..... hopefully it helps, like, at all, and isn’t just massively confusing.

[helenaklein]

take me to your river

The steady trickle of the river creates a gentle melody that accompanies your afternoon. There’s a lightness to the air today, as if the world itself is breathing easier than it has in far too long. Your world certainly is.

Helena’s back rests against a tree on the water’s edge, and her fingers weave loose braids through your hair as your head lie in her lap. You’ve been dozing in and out of consciousness for at least an hour, basking in the simple luxury of your wife’s company. More than once, you wake to the sound of rustling leaves and the sight of slow movement in the branches above you, growing spontaneously to provide continual shade from the sun’s glow. Mirth lights up her entire face each time you catch her; her disbelief and her confidence providing a uniquely endearing combination you can’t get enough of.

You and Helena have yet to leave for any sort of honeymoon, but moments like these provide such a stark contrast to your life together thus far that you can’t imagine time even more rejuvenating.

You crack your eyes open just slightly when her hands still. Helena stares out towards the water, looking thoughtful but lacking the telltale crease on her brow she gets when something’s troubling her.

“What’s on your mind?”

There’s no surprised reaction to your question, only a small smile at the unspoken familiarity you’ve cultivated together.

“Much.”

“Well,” you sit up to reposition yourself further in her lap, her arms immediately wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, “I think we’ve got time.”

Helena hums appreciatively and presses a lingering kiss against your cheek. The warmth of her lips against your skin persists even as she begins to speak.

“Do you remember our first riverside venture?”

You recall the day fondly. 

Those were such fraught times. So much was uncertain. Helena herself was different then, the cloud of hurt and regret that surrounded her so palpable it could have easily created insurmountable distance between you. But it didn’t.

Instead, moments like that trip to the river were a window into a gentler life, a glimpse at the woman she could become.

Your chest tightens at the memory of all you’ve gone through to get here. You wrap your arms around Helena’s neck and hold tight to what you fought for.

“When I pushed you into the water? How could I forget?”

Helena’s laughter comes unrestrained now. You think it might be your favorite change.

“I returned your dirty trick in kind.”

“It ended pretty well for both of us, I think.”

She reaches for your hand and brushes her lips lightly against your wedding ring, “I agree.”

You steal a kiss in the silence that follows. Because you can’t help it. Because she made you blush. Because Helena is your wife and because you’ve found the kind of love most people can only fantasize about.

“I asked you something that day.”

The words tumble from your mouth ungracefully, summoned from the same place of uncertainty they were conjured all that time ago, “‘What am I to do with peace?’”

Her eyes seek something distant out across the water as she nods. “It was difficult to picture myself in the life that comes after war. Growth and repair felt so foreign, so distant to what I knew of my soul. Even now, I find myself asking the same question: what am I to do with peace? There are so many possibilities before us. I struggle to envision what choice is best.” 

“It doesn’t have to be the best choice, you know. Maybe peace is more complex than that.”

The notion seems to strike her deeply, and she looks back out towards something you can’t reach.

“Is this about Chicago?”

Despite her previous insistence on the decision to move after the wedding, the commitment had yet to be followed through in any meaningful way. The two of you went as far as escorting Sophie home before stepping right back through the portal because Helena had told Altea she’d help transport her to potential locations for the future school of magic, and didn’t want to go back on her word. So many things have come up and postponed the move that you’ve begun to consider that Helena may be doing it deliberately.

You haven’t asked about it until now, figuring her reasons justifiable and her faith in you strong enough to share them when she’s ready. In truth, you don’t mind the delay, grateful for the opportunity to mull over the logistics on how the hell to make any of it work. The more you think about it, the more anxious you get. 

You have to go back to work, first of all. Which means job hunting and the whole host of inferiority issues that’s inevitably going to dredge up. You’ll need to find something that will let you work from home, as you aren’t keen on the idea of leaving Helena alone all day in a world she doesn’t know, and something for her to do in general that won’t ask for any identification. And, perhaps most complicated of all, you need to figure out a way to divert the attention that sharing a face with a dead, beloved celebrity will draw to her without asking Helena to disguise herself again.

It’s been a head-ache inducing process, to say the least, and you’ve barely had time to consider some of the pressing emotional concerns you have about any of it.

Helena seemed so sure when she talked about this move before that you haven’t really had the heart to bring up how complicated it’s going to be. You would do absolutely anything to secure her comfort and happiness, even hop dimensions and steal an identity for her. But still, the situation is more stressful than you’ve let on.

“Your world is a wondrous place. Its creativity and progress excites me. In many ways, it is the perfect answer to what I have craved for the majority of my life. Escape. Freedom. A new beginning. A chance to start my life fresh.” Helena smiles as she speaks, her blue eyes locked onto an imagined future. “If you had asked me two seasons ago where I wanted to spend my life, I am sure a place like Chicago would have been my choice, without question or second thought.”

“And now?”

“Now… it is as if I turn to what it represents to me on reflex, or out of habit,” Her gaze drops down and shame darkens her features before she shakes herself from it and meets your eyes directly, “but it has been quite some time since I have let the instinct to preserve myself rule my actions.”

“You said you feared people never letting go of your past.”

Helena repositions you slightly to better face you. You straddle her lap and catch both of her hands in yours.

“Yesterday, I met a farmer living in countryside surrounding Reiner’s castle who had been struggling to attain crop yields comparable to what he managed before the Witch Queen’s army occupied his land. What little actually took root molded by harvest time. I found him reduced to tears, clutching his ruined crop in his fists and kneeling in the dirt. He feared destitution for his family and starvation for his child, a little girl named Maya who just lost her first tooth. He thought himself a failure, and assumed that he was doing something wrong. But the land itself was cursed. I could sense the poison embedded within the soil the moment my palm touched the ground,” her words come more quickly as the story progresses, betraying her agitation at what this stranger endured. “She sabotaged his entire livelihood for no reason other than that she could, that it brought her pleasure to know he and all those that depended on him would suffer.”

You squeeze Helena’s hands in an offer of strength when you feel them start to tremble in your own, “breathe, Helena.”

She takes the suggestion immediately, clenching her eyes shut and giving herself a minute to get her breath under control. When her trembling ceases, Helena opens her eyes and continues, voice noticeably steadier.

“I offered my assistance to him. He was distrustful of magic after having seen the destruction it wrought so close to his home, and skeptical that anything could mend the damage after he had tried so hard to fix it. But he had nothing left to lose, and said as much before allowing me to help. I lanced her poison from the farmer’s field with ease. The look of wonder on his face as the crops still clutched in his hands were restored to perfect health, and that I could so effortlessly erase the evidence of her wickedness… it made my heart soar.” 

The memory puts a note of awe into her voice, her smile lights up her entire face, and you could swear the shade you rest under brightens with the grace of her happiness. You know how much it means to Helena that she’s learned how to help others with her magic. She’s formed a better relationship with herself as a result of it, with the knowledge that she is so much more than her capacity for destruction. 

Her smile fades before she begins speaking again, “there are other stories like that farmer’s. People whose lives have yet to return to sustainable conditions, let alone something resembling normalcy. Many whose homes were consumed by flames and whose possessions were seized by her soldiers, who are still in search of family members unaccounted for, whose minds and bodies are gravely wounded and continue to live without respite. The Witch Queen is dead, but her touch upon this world lingers.”

The statement would make you worry about her if not for the hard-set determination that settles across Helena’s features.

“I do fear what my reputation in this land will be. But should the burden of that fear fall upon the shoulders of those whose resentment is just? Should I extend no offer of help to people in need on the chance that they may dislike me? Is it not the worst of crimes to have great power to make change, and choose instead to do nothing?”

Helena’s voice carries the same sort of impassioned delivery she used to rouse the army to stand with her as she brought back the sun. You can’t help but burn with pride and an immediate desire to do something, armed with the knowledge that her cause is inspired and righteous.

“I have more magic at my fingertips than has ever been thought possible in our recorded history.” She pulls one of her hands from yours, holding it outwards and summoning an amorphous ball of energy to demonstrate. 

Particles of magic dance around one another, a glowing light show contained at the palm of her hand. What she holds then disperses outwards, and when Helena gestures around you, you’re caught breathless at the sight. The flow of the river has ceased altogether, fallen leaves and stones previously strewn across the forest floor levitate seamlessly in the air for as far as you can see. She holds it only for a moment, before dismissing the spell with a slight wave, and shows no sign of strain at the exhibit, if she feels any at all.

“Some of this magic was hers, once. She wielded it mercilessly against the people of this world, used it to impose her will over my body and mind until I thought of nothing but her and how to make the pain stop. I see no greater act of reclamation than my use of that same power to ease some of the destruction she wrought.”

“Are you saying you want to stay here, Helena?”

“As a child this world wounded me in ways unspeakable, and for too much of my adult life I wounded it just the same. But… perhaps there remains a way to amend some of the damage inflicted on both sides.”

“I just want to be sure you’re not trying to make a martyr of yourself in endless pursuit of everyone’s approval.”

Helena releases a hum of recognition at that, and turns her eyes towards the river once more. The sounds of the forest fill the lull in conversation between you. You’re grateful that she takes the time to consider your words, and are happy to grant her however long she needs to take stock of her feelings on the matter.

A chill settles in the air as the sun begins to fall. You tuck your face into the crevice between her neck and shoulder, seeking her warmth as much as you are protecting her with your own. Her arms come around you, pulling you close enough to feel her heartbeat against your chest.

You can hear her smile when she speaks next. 

“There is still so much beauty here. I notice more of it every day. In our view of the sunrise over the village from our balcony. In evening meals spent among our friends, getting our fill of laughter and hot food in equal measure. In the songs the village people sing together while working towards a common goal. In the jovial eyes of children who will grow up without fear. In… in the way Ishara and Asta embrace me as their own. In the dreams and aspirations of all around us certain that there is a future to plan for, and in the knowledge that this is the world that brought our hearts together. This world. She tried to crush it underfoot but kindness and hope yet lives. I see it and I can feel it take hold in my soul, and I know with certainty that this world and I are the same.”

Helena is beaming when you pull away to look her in the eye, and you can’t help but match her smile.

“I wish to stay, my love, if you are amenable to the idea. No thoughts on the matter mean more to me than yours.”

Pride and relief overtake you. The way Helena has grown since you met her still brings tears to your eyes. It may not be a fresh start, or a new beginning, but it feels no less important, no less significant, and no less a marker of positive change. 

“I wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting back to the daily office grind, to be honest. I’d be happy to stay, Helena.”

“Truly?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? And so are our friends. That’s all I need, in the end.” The people you’ve met in this world have filled your days with meaning in a way nothing else in Chicago ever has. Sophie is the only thing from your world you’ve ever been sad to let go of, though you know her place in your life will persist regardless of the dimensions between you. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense, with everything bad that’s happened. But it’s like you said, there’s a lot of good here too. I don’t think there is anywhere, in any world, without both. And we can help make more good. We can be happy here, I’m sure of it.”

Helena’s lips meet yours in a kiss that tastes of excitement and invigorated purpose. 

Your life together was never going to be easy, or simple. To ask for either of a woman like Helena is to deny who she is fundamentally, and ignore the long path she’s walked to become the person she is now. In place of what’s easy, you have what’s brave. It may be scary, and ugly at times, but it’s enough to know that neither of you will ever stop trying for your happiness together, the betterment of all that surrounds you, and the sort of self-improvement that can only be found by embracing challenges head-on.

“If my past catches up to me someday, I welcome it, so long as I have this moment, and the hope of another in the peace we will build together.”

The words ring in your ears. You love their sound, saying them back to yourself over and over as the truth of them resonates deep within your chest.

The peace we will build together.

That’s where you find the answer to Helena’s question. 

Nothing is to be done with peace, because peace itself is what must be done. 

Peace is what you build, not where you arrive at. It is not the hard-earned destination at the end of a long journey. It is not something you can chase, or hope to someday simply find, as neatly wrapped a resolution as that would be. It is the work you put in, the way you try, a purpose you dedicate yourself towards in ensuring tomorrow is better than yesterday.

As you walk back home hand in hand with Helena along the river, you know you aren’t taking your first steps towards a picturesque happy ending.

But together you will make tomorrow better than yesterday.

[izanyas]

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow (18)

UPDATE

Rating: M Words: 10,300 Warnings: vomiting, Wei Wuxian’s general trauma, you know the drill if you’re still around after everything

[Read from prologue]

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow Chapter 18

Jiang Yanli's embrace lasted much longer than her brother's did.

Wei Wuxian had never felt as much shyness as he did when he saw her in the middle of the Qinghe encampment. Never so much shyness, never such strange fear at the sight of her back bowed above the bedding of a wounded stranger. She had her hands dipped in the woman's blood and wearing the gauze she intended to put on her. He let her finish her task, not out of concern for the woman who bled out of a deep gash in her shoulder, but because he suddenly thought that perhaps, Jiang Yanli would resent the sight of him.

Jiang Cheng stood ripe with tension and excitement by his side. Wei Wuxian needed not look at his face to know that he burned to call for her and show her that Wei Wuxian was here, was safe; that he wished more than anything else for the three of them to be together again.

Just like before. Just as they had been only months ago, before Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan's blood stained the steps of the Lotus Pier's entrance hall. Even though Wei Wuxian felt not like the child he had been then, but a much different person altogether.

"Shijie," Wei Wuxian called once the woman under Jiang Yanli had been tended to.

He saw her back shudder at the sound of his voice. He heard her gasp, saw before she even turned around the tears that would shine in her eyes. They were no less hard to face, once she did look back at him.

He heard the lovely way she called his name, "A-Xian," and wondered in free-falling relief that he had ever thought she would instead scream it in anger.

The circle of her arms, much more familiar than her brother's, felt like being back home. Wei Wuxian did not cry, though he thought he should, while she sobbed against his shoulder. He left that duty to Jiang Cheng standing by them, who smiled through embarrassed tears and patted both of their backs without fully touching them.

I'm home, he thought, touching her frail neck.

It was all that mattered in the grand scheme of things. Even if part of him had remained by a dying man's side in helpless fury—even if he could barely sleep, even if food made him sick and Zhu Yuansu's silence made him mad—he was home.

Wei Wuxian did not stray from their side until the war ended.

Nie Mingjue had gone a long way in the days Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji had trekked the mountains in search of Wen Chao. His forces sat at the foot of the Nightless City, threatening Wen Ruohan's stronghold a little more each day. The cultivators who came down the mountain to meet them in combat oft came back up wounded, or not at all. Wei Wuxian was welcomed without doubt by the Qinghenie sect leader, as well as Lan Xichen who smiled at the sight of him warmly and expressed his relief that he was alive.

Wei Wuxian had not thought Lan Xichen would even remember him. He had not met him since the archery competition in the Nightless City so long ago, and before that not since his own stay in Gusu which had ended in disaster. The man's eyes were kind, however. His words rang true when he bowed to Wei Wuxian, when he called him young master in as certain a voice as he had when Wei Wuxian was a child wreaking havoc unto his home.

Lan Wangji rarely left his brother's side. He stood dignified and beautiful despite the dust and hunger of the campaign, the unfamiliar white sword he held almost as kind to him as Wei Wuxian remembered Bichen being. He carried with him a guqin made of pale wood, which he called Wangji.

He looked at Wei Wuxian often.

Three weeks before the end of the war, Wei Wuxian climbed up a familiar path through maple trees in the mountains. Zhu Yuansu followed him as always, unwilling to be left alone and in sight of so many. He cried out in fear when they descended into the depths of a cave that Wei Wuxian had visited what felt like eons ago. Although the corpse of the Xuanwu of Slaughter had been carried away, a heavy odor of death and decay remained, and Wei Wuxian was not surprised to see Zhu Yuansu fall to his knees and retch before they could reach the edges of the poisoned pond.

In this cave, Wei Wuxian called to him the sword he remembered holding while Lan Wangji cut off the head of the monster. It rose from the depths of the pool, dark-steeled and gleaming, its cold and viscous shine ricocheting off of the water-smoothed rocks around. Zhu Yuansu had no cultivation to his name to feel just how haunted the air became in its presence, but Wei Wuxian did. Even in the absence of a golden core, his whole body shivered at its somber energy. If he had been hot and not desperately cold, he could perhaps have believed himself fevered again.

Out of this haunted piece of metal, Wei Wuxian built the Stygian Tiger Seal.

Things moved quickly after that. Nie Mingjue became gleeful with the power that Wei Wuxian's undead army granted him; he led more and more assaults onto the gates of the Nightless City, killing all who stood in his way, staining his great saber with blood and guts. All who perished by his hand became part of Wei Wuxian's forces. Wen Xu did so at the highest of summer. His beheaded body fell over the rocks at the entrance of the City, and his blood thickened and hardened in the scorching sun, staining stone forever.

Nie Mingjue disappeared for a day. Lan Xichen did as well. They came back as the sun set holding Wen Ruohan's head, accompanied by a man Wei Wuxian had never seen before: a meek alpha not much older than he, who smelled of weathered wood, whom Lan Xichen looked at with care and Nie Mingjue with distrust.

His name was Meng Yao. He was, according to Lan Xichen, a spy who had spent months in Wen Ruohan's company and risked his own life to carry information to them all. Meng Yao greeted every sect leader in Nie Mingjue's high tent, and when Wei Wuxian's turn came to stand before him, he nodded his head deeply.

"Young master Wei," he said. "I have heard much about you."

His eyes were eager, his tone oddly sweet. He had a face in the shape of a heart, with wide eyes glowing brightly under torchlight, with a quality to him that made him seem a little helpless, a little too kind. He did not once look at Zhu Yuansu cowering behind Wei Wuxian's back and ask about his unlawful presence, or about the rumors which had spread thickly over all allied forces.

Wei Wuxian is opening omega houses. Wei Wuxian is stealing from ravaged villages and sects, and walks around with his loot shamelessly.

Wei Wuxian did not take part in the celebrations that followed.

He took the shaking and resentful Zhu Yuansu with him to the very top of the City. The trek burned in his tired legs and thighs, and he knew that Zhu Yuansu struggled even more, as he had never walked so far in his life before. His body was weak with malnourishment, weak with atrophy. Still, he rejected Wei Wuxian's touch when he was offered an arm as support.

The omega house of the Nightless City had not changed at all since Wei Wuxian had last seen it: made of black, smoked wood, its windows barred, its redwood door even thicker than the one which had held Zhu Yuansu prisoner. The two lone guards before it did not dare block their passage, though their faces were pale with disgust and defeat.

"You're doing it again," Zhu Yuansu whimpered at Wei Wuxian's back. "Oh, you shouldn't do this."

"No one's stopping me," Wei Wuxian replied to him.

For weeks now, Zhu Yuansu had done nothing but follow in Wei Wuxian's shadow and bemoan his actions. He would not take a step by himself, no matter how much Wei Wuxian encouraged him to. He would not see his own freedom as anything less than a curse, no matter how many times Wei Wuxian reminded him that his family had abandoned him to his death.

"I would have deserved it," he had said on the third night.

Wei Wuxian carried those words in him like a wound, seeping pity and anger like blood.

He stood, unmoving, before the Wen sect's omega house. The smell of scorched earth was so unlike any other place he had been; if he closed his eyes, he could almost picture himself being led here by Wang Lingjiao, hearing the door close at his back. Smelling for the very first time the sweetness of one like him.

Fear holed within him. He ordered the two guards, "Open it."

For a second, he thought he might have to come to threats. His fingers brushed the cool length of Chenqing at his waist, thinking of the corpses he could call from below the mountain. Thinking of Wen Ruohan's very corpse, left by his son's side in the sun to be picked at by crows. But the two guards obeyed him in fear, and Wei Wuxian remembered, not for the first time, that he smelled of nothing now.

He was not shown the deference that an alpha would be, but he was not scorned either. These two beta were not the ones who had once locked him here. They had no idea of his name or status.

The heavy door opened, pushed forward by the both of them, to the familiar house within which smelled of sweet candles. Wei Wuxian crossed the threshold with Zhu Yuansu in his steps and looked at the silken couch where he had once spent the night. It was the same as always, crowded with clothes that none of the children here liked to tidy away. There were more drawings pinned to the walls around: birds made more lifelike as the hands creating them wisened, a boar, a squirrel.

He thought then that this would be all; he thought, petrified, of the three other houses he had opened since pulling Zhu Yuansu to freedom, all empty and bereft for years. Where are they? Where are they all?

Married, Zhu Yuansu had said. They left to carry out their duty. His voice had been harsh with envy.

So Wei Wuxian stood frozen by the memory of three children, dug through with fear of their being lost, of their being taken away. His ears rang with the memory of Wen Linfeng's terror as she asked him what fevers were like, as she looked to him for mentorship of a kind. She had been so young still. Immature still. Surely, she couldn't have been sold, not yet, and Wen Yueying and Wen Yiqian were much too young—

But then the door to the bedroom in the back opened; a girl much taller than he remembered her came out, her face sweetened with excitement and joy, and she called their shared name: "A-Ying!"

She tripped on her way to him against the foot of a chair. Wei Wuxian rushed to catch her, stumbling when she threw herself at him with all of her weight.

She had grown so much. Wei Wuxian couldn't tell anymore how many months had passed since a little girl first showed him a way out of her own prison, since he sat by her side and watched her play in the dark. If they had stood, the top of her head would have almost reached his shoulder. As they were both fallen to the floor, she simply clinged to him with all of her tall body, her face pressed to his chest as if she wished to become one with his heart.

She already was. She had been since she first burst out of that bedroom a lifetime ago and hugged him for the first time.

The little boy, Wen Yiqian, had not grown as much as she had. He hid again behind the frame of the bedroom door, looking at Wei Wuxian with the same suspicion as always.

Wen Linfeng stood next to him.

"I knew you'd be back," Wen Yueying said excitedly, looking at him from below with wide and shiny eyes. "You promised you'd come back."

"I did," Wei Wuxian said. He tore his gaze away from Wen Linfeng. "I couldn't break my promise to you, could I?"

Laughter pearled out of Wen Yueying's mouth as if she simply could not contain her happiness at all. She did not release him as he pushed the both of them upright, and she giggled when he patted dust off of her arms and off his own backside.

In the bedroom, Wen Linfeng tensed and shuddered. She said not a word to him when their eyes met again—and Wei Wuxian saw, now, the differences on her; the lightness of her scent belying her immaturity, the thinness in her face, the way that her body had changed in the months he had not seen her. Her lips trembled, her hold on the doorframe grew weak. She stood behind that single line as if her life depended on it, as if he were once more threatening all that she knew with his presence alone.

Perhaps he was.

"Hello, Fengfeng," Wei Wuxian told her.

Her hand fell limply from the wall. Tears spilled out of her eyes and flooded down her face.

She cried loudly, heaving sob after sob, when he wrapped his arms around her. She clinged to the front of his robes helplessly, shaking through all of her body, growing even louder when he shushed her and stroked her hair. Wen Yiqian and Wen Yueying looked at her as they had the first time she had done this—after he had told her, "You look scared to me." Aghast and infinitely childish.

Zhu Yuansu fidgeted near the entrance of the house. Wei Wuxian heard him only through the sighs of the three children around him: Wen Linfeng against his front and Wen Yueying hugging his side and Wen Yiqian, ever-so-shy, sliding a hand in his quietly.

Sunlight set over the Nightless City. Birds grew quiet over the dried lands, except for where their beaks pecked at the flesh of Wen Ruohan and his son. Down the harsh slope of the mountain, Nie Mingjue's forces drank themselves to oblivion, triumphant, victorious.

For Wei Wuxian, the war ended only when Wen Linfeng took her first step out of Qishanwen's omega house.

-

"You won't catch it," said Wen Yiqian.

His voice was always breezy with lack of use. Wei Wuxian had come to learn that it was not for fear of speaking, really; Wen Yiqian simply was a little boy of few words, who would rather be silent and still than roaming the many shores of the Lotus Pier as Wen Yueying liked to.

"Will too," Wen Yueying replied.

"A-Ying is slow."

"I am not!"

While they argued, the round little hen they had been chasing for the last few minutes vanished behind trees.

Wen Yueying cried out in frustration. She rose from her crouch behind a bush and ran into the edge of the forest, exclaiming all the while that she was not slow at all, that the bird was simply too quick and clever. Wen Yiqian stood with much more grace than she had. He patted his knees free of dirt with care, worried as usual that he should stain the Yunmeng robes gifted to him when he arrived, and gave Wei Wuxian a look so full of annoyance that Wei Wuxian could not help but smile.

"Are you not going after her?" he teased the boy. "She'll catch it before you."

"No," Wen Yiqian replied, his nose scrunched cutely. "A-Ying is not very smart."

Next to them, Jiang Yanli laughed.

Wen Yueying did not go far anyway. She joined them again as they walked along the shoreline, between the edge of the river and the young trees bordering the woods, her anger warmed by sunlight and water. Unlike Wen Yiqian, she looked to be unable to simply walk; for days now she had done nothing but run until her entire body tired and Wei Wuxian had to carry her to her room half-slumbering. But she grew stronger every day. Wei Wuxian had no doubt that his help would soon be unneeded—that she would run much farther and longer than he himself could, and not have to ask him to carry her back.

The hen was an excuse like any other for them all to be outside like this, basked in the light of summer's end, picking lotus seeds as they went. Wen Yueying's belt and pockets were so full of them, they fell behind each of her steps like a trail of breadcrumbs. If ever she got lost, it would not be difficult to find her.

He had told her so the night before as they ate dinner. "I'll just follow the seeds," he had said. "Maybe if we let them grow, little A-Yings will push out of the ground."

She had splashed him with soup in answer, to Wen Linfeng's great horror.

"How did that bird even escape?" Jiang Yanli asked Wei Wuxian when they reached one of the many wooden bridges crossing over the river and to an islet in its center.

Wen Yueying hurried over to the other side, yelling for Wen Yiqian to follow her. Her smile was bright enough to make sunshine look dim.

"The cooks said it pecked its way out of the coop last night," he replied. "Smart thing."

"A-Ying must have been delighted when she heard."

"Oh, yes. She wouldn't stop screaming that she'd catch it herself until I told her that she could. Twice."

Jiang Yanli hid her mouth behind her hand to laugh again, and the sight of her so quiet and content made Wei Wuxian's heart feel a little less heavy.

They were far from the buzzing noise of the Jiang clan house, where Jiang Cheng was overseeing reparations and training. For weeks now, carpenters had come from all over the region to help rebuild the ancestral hall and clear away the debris of the fire. Young alpha and beta came as well to seek instruction, aspiring cultivators that they were; and Jiang Cheng accepted most of them in grim silence, his eyes fleeting toward Wei Wuxian, asking for him what his mouth could not.

Wei Wuxian did not like to spend time in the old house anymore. He did not know what he would say, once Jiang Cheng made up his mind to ask him what he wanted to.

He and Jiang Yanli walked together alongshore, their boots wet with the ever-present mud of the riverbed, their ears filled with the whisper of wind in foliage and the sounds of running water. Often the childish cry of Wen Yueying's voice reached them from ahead, as she failed again to catch the hen she had set her mind to return. Wei Wuxian knew just how dearly she wanted to be the one who handed it over to the old cook, after the woman had given her sweet cakes on the day she had visited the kitchen for the first time.

They reached a slope in the ground, a wooden and decrepit fence surrounding a house made out of rough wood. The soil had subsided there over the years, and the house almost looked ready to slide into the water. The river licked its southern edge softly.

Wei Wuxian saw himself there, years ago, drinking from the river in hope of quenching more than simply thirst.

"A-Xian?"

He blinked. Looked away from the house. "Yes," he replied, "sorry, did you say something?"

Jiang Yanli was staring at him; she must have spoken several times already, trying to catch his attention. Her forehead smoothed over when he pushed himself into smiling at her. "I simply wanted to know more about how you met them," she told him. "Those children. They seem to love you very much."

"I told you already how I met them," Wei Wuxian replied in confusion.

He had told her and Jiang Cheng the very night he had come down from the Nightless City with three children in tow, Zhu Yuansu hiding behind them all, crushed by his own shame. Though Jiang Cheng had frowned at the sight of them, though Jiang Yanli had looked sorrowed, they had not asked him any questions then. Jiang Yanli had even welcomed them, establishing herself near-instantly as a figure of adoration for Wen Yueying and Wen Yiqian.

She was so good with children. She learned so quickly to touch them as she did Wei Wuxian, to play with Wen Yueying, to make Wen Linfeng's young face warm with shy blood.

Three weeks had gone since then. Wei Wuxian had brought Zhu Yuansu and the Wen children with him to the Pier when they all headed home, delighting Wen Yueying with tales of the place where he grew, eager to see how she would like it. And she loved it, as he had expected; she ran and ran, muddying her clothes, staining her hands and hair with dirt. She loved everything he had to show, she loved the training clothes she was given and which were so much easier to move in. She loved the room she slept in even more, after learning that it had been Wei Wuxian's.

Wei Wuxian could not live in it anymore without remembering Wen Qing's hands pulling the golden core out of him.

"I met them when we were all in Qishan for indoctrination. You remember this."

"I remember that Wen Chao made you sleep in their omega house, yes," Jiang Yanli replied.

Wei Wuxian's disgust upon hearing the man's name was no lesser now than it had been when he crushed Wen Chao's wrist under his foot. He made himself look at the water, made himself lick his lips to chase sudden dryness away.

"You never told me then what you were doing in that house, however."

"I spent time with them," Wei Wuxian said. "They were all very surprised by me. I think I had to answer at least a thousand questions."

Jiang Yanli chuckled and replied, "Yes, I can imagine."

She could not.

There was no way she could imagine the least of it—the house and the children, Wen Linfeng's terror about the moonless tea, about her own future. But Wei Wuxian could not explain it to her even if he wanted to.

"I'm glad you didn't grow up in there," Jiang Yanli said softly.

A glance her way told him that she was staring at the forlorn house almost dipped into the river, where a man had once grown old and died without ever setting foot outside. Where Wei Wuxian had spent his fevers alone and hungry.

Thankfully, she did not wait for him to answer. He could not think of anything to say. She took him by the arm and led him onto the bridge, saying, "I think I hear A-Ying laughing. She must have caught the bird."

Wen Yueying had, and was only too proud to show her catch to them. She refused to let Wei Wuxian hold the hen for her even when it started pecking at her fingers to try and make her drop it.

They ate in easy companionship that night, together around a wide table of the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of cooked meat. Wei Wuxian had not much appetite, and the vapor coming from the wide copper pots made him feel a little ill, but he feasted on other things. On Wen Yueying's voice when she called Jiang Yanli 'jiejie', on Wen Yiqian's red face as he recalled just how soft the hen's feathers were. On Wen Linfeng, sitting by Jiang Yanli, making shy conversation with her with worship in her eyes.

Zhu Yuansu did not join them. He had been fevered for days and refused to come out of the room Wei Wuxian had given him, not even to eat. Every night, Wei Wuxian knocked on his door. Every night, silence answered, and he left by the foot of it another serving of food that the servants would find untouched the next morning.

"I want a story," Wen Yueying ordered when Wei Wuxian accompanied her to his former bedroom.

She shared it with Wen Yiqian. He had found him a room as well on the first night, but habits were hard to break for children so young. After the third morning in a row had found the both of them sleeping in the same bed, Wei Wuxian had given up.

Wen Linfeng would have probably joined them too, had her own room not been close to Jiang Yanli's. Yanli did not say much about it, but Wei Wuxian saw the way she smiled at the oldest of the three children. He knew they must be spending time together.

"Aren't you too old for this?" Wei Wuxian asked with half a smile.

"I'm not," Wen Yueying replied adamantly.

"And here I thought I heard you call yourself all grown up only yesterday…"

She pouted fiercely. Wei Wuxian could not help but feel something in him give at the sight of it, of her, so loose and free within his home. It tugged at him through the fatigue haunting his steps.

Jiang Yanli came to his rescue. "A-Xian was always very good at telling stories," she told the girl with a smile. "Sometimes he even made up things, and we all believed him like fools until the lie was revealed."

"A-Ying doesn't lie," Wen Yueying replied, deeply offended.

"Oh, you think so, but I have so much to tell you…"

She was so very good at this. So very good at catching their attention, at holding them abreath with words or playing, at plowing them with distractions. Wei Wuxian watched her magic the two children into listening to tales from his childhood, when he would run through the river and steal lotus stems for snacking, when he would chase after a bird for hours in order to catch it with an arrow, until he and Jiang Cheng were lost in the forest and covered in mud from head to toe. Until she had to come fetch them, guided by the sound of their crying.

He could barely remember any of it. All of it felt like another life entirely, like something out of a dream, so vivid in the moment and yet impossible to recall afterward. Gone like a wisp of wind.

"They are both very cute," Jiang Yanli told him.

It was a while later, after Wen Yueying and Wen Yiqian had finally succumbed to sleep, after Jiang Yanli had tucked them into bed and blown out the candles. She had closed the door slowly in order not to make a noise.

"Especially little A-Ying. She's so much like you, I feel like I've gone back in the past."

Her words ached within him. "She's much smarter than I ever was," he replied, and the playfulness he tried for fell flat and lonely.

He didn't know why the thought of being compared to any of these children made him feel so queasy.

But this was Jiang Yanli. It was Jiang Yanli looking at him with worried eyes, her gentle face framed by night-light so that it seemed so much kinder still. Wei Wuxian allowed her to take hold of his arm and lead him away from the bedroom door, and part of him was feverishly glad that he was still permitted her touch.

Part of him cried with relief that this had not been taken from him: the ability to touch her, to have her touch him, without wanting to push her away.

"They love you," she murmured. "It's obvious."

I love them too, he thought, but the words would not come out.

"You're very good with children, A-Xian. Do you think you'd like to have any one day?"

Wei Wuxian pulled his arm out of her hold.

Jiang Yanli's steps halted. She turned to face him fully, her robes only slightly creased by the childish hands which had held it as she narrated Wei Wuxian's childhood. War had not completely vanished from her face; there were bruises under her eyes, and a grieved quality to the way she held herself, to the way she held the sword at her hip that Yu Ziyuan had forged for her. She looked sleepless.

"A-Xian?" she called, surprised.

"Why would you ask me this?" Wei Wuxian blurted out.

They had come near the half-built dining hall, where only weeks ago had the garish Wen clan insignia been taken off of Yunmengjiang's banner. Where a few years ago, Wei Wuxian had sat in silken robes, and watched a man bargain for him to Madam Yu.

He felt still the touch of those light robes, the open collar which had let in cool air and made him shiver. That air was the same as the one in Yiling, when it had slithered between skin and grassy ground as Wen Chao lay over and in him.

"I just," Jiang Yanli said, "I just wondered… We used to talk about this, didn't we? Don't you remember?"

"About what?" he replied foggily.

Her hand came to rest by his elbow. She squeezed it, staring at him, her brow once more marked with worry. "Marriage," she replied. "The future."

He couldn't remember at all.

He stepped backward. He gently pulled away from her touch and smiled at her, feeling hollow all the time, as if rid of his own substance. "Ah, I think I'm tired, shijie," he told her. "I should head to sleep now."

"Of course," Jiang Yanli replied. He could tell by her voice that she was confused and hurt, but the fear within him could not abate enough to make him soothe her. "Have a good night, A-Xian."

He did not sleep at all.

He tossed and turn on the bed of the small room he had picked for himself after giving his away. His body grew sweaty, although the nights were fresh now. His whole skin seemed to burn on him, seemed to want to detach from him, and Wei Wuxian wished that it would. Would that he could pull it off entirely, wash it, and put it on again. Perhaps then it could settle over bones and muscles the right way, instead of feeling to him as though someone had pulled on it and misaligned it from his skeleton.

But he could not, and neither could he go back to the time Jiang Yanli spoke of with such simple nostalgia. So he lay over the bed and sweated the night out, with his off-set skin, with his dream-like memories.

He tried not to think of her question and feel as though his insides were being emptied out.

-

Zhu Yuansu came out of his fever even more frightened than before.

He did not come out of his room again. At the beginning, when Wei Wuxian had taken him to the Pier and shown him around, he could be pulled out by the Wen children. He sometimes shared a meal with them, sometimes exchanged a few words with Wen Linfeng, whom he seemed to consider the most proper out of them all. He never spoke to Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli, however, and very little to Wei Wuxian.

After his fever, he picked up the food left by his door every day, but never set a foot outside again.

His behavior filled Wei Wuxian with anger. He would knock on the door of Zhu Yuansu's bedroom each evening and ask to speak with him. He tried to be kind. He tried to make himself quiet and welcoming, so that the frightened man would not think him a threat, but Zhu Yuansu simply did not answer. After a week of such silent treatment had passed, Wei Wuxian stopped trying.

Jiang Cheng found him as he sulked on the edge of a window. It was a cool and overcast evening, and the servants' quarters where Wei Wuxian had hid were rustling with the murmur of conversation. Some said the hearths should be lit so that the halls of the Pier could remain warm that night. Others argued that it was still too soon, and that surely the sun would be back tomorrow to make them all suffocate. Wei Wuxian had sat there with a foot upon the ledge, with his knee raised to his chest. He had hoped that the noise would distract him.

Jiang Cheng's storm-like scent reached him before the sound of his steps could. Still, he did not look away from the river beneath him which the sky had colored green and grey. He spun Chenqing with his fingers in restlessness, waiting until Jiang Cheng's footfalls stopped right behind him.

"Wei Wuxian."

"If you're looking for the weapon master, he's gone to the village to buy wood," Wei Wuxian said. "You just missed him."

"I'm not looking for the weapon master," Jiang Cheng replied, his voice irate.

Wei Wuxian let his leg fall from the window's edge and looked at his shidi.

One could not have painted a more severe difference between Jiang Cheng as he had found him in those woods in Qishan, and Jiang Cheng as he stood now, in full sect leader regalia. His uniform was spotless and richly sewn, thick now to parry the chill of oncoming winter. His face had filled again with good meals and good rest. Sandu hung from his waist, recovered at last from the treasure hall of Qishanwen's Nightless City.

He looked so much like his mother.

"We need to talk," Jiang Cheng told him.

"Then talk," Wei Wuxian retorted. "I'm all ears."

Jiang Cheng's teeth ground together in annoyance. "I need to know," he said, "what you are planning to do with those omega."

"Nothing," Wei Wuxian replied. "Except to feed them and clothe them and protect them from harm. I told you this already."

Jiang Cheng stared at him in silence for a while. Then he pulled out of his sleeve a rolled piece of paper, which he handed him wordlessly.

Its content was nothing Wei Wuxian had not expected: pleasantries from Jin Guangshan, an invitation to Lanling which felt like a summons, thick and convoluted words and imagery, begging the Yunmengjiang sect leader to understand that some trophies of war needed to be returned.

For the first time in days, Wei Wuxian felt sick not with nausea, but with sheer dislike of a man.

"I'm not giving them away," he told Jiang Cheng in no uncertain terms. He resisted the urge to burn the letter right here with a talisman, and instead gave it back to him with one last disgusted look. "They aren't mine to give away."

"I wouldn't fall for the Jin sect's threats anyway," Jiang Cheng retorted.

He was offended too, though for reasons different than Wei Wuxian's.

"Jin Guangshan has very thick skin if he thinks he can just appoint himself a new Wen Ruohan and order us for anything."

"Then I don't see what the problem is," Wei Wuxian said.

"The problem," Jiang Cheng replied, "is that I know you've been looking for more of them. I know you've been going round the neighboring towns, forcing houses open, threatening people with that flute of yours."

Wei Wuxian fell silent.

To Jiang Cheng, this must be as good as a confession. His face lightened with rage, then with exhaustion. Wei Wuxian knew that if the topic had been anything else, Jiang Cheng would have let away all of the ugly words now gathering through his mind—but Jiang Cheng, except for one memorable time, had always been rather shy with this. With Wei Wuxian's status and what it meant for him. He never liked to speak of it if he could avoid it.

"It's one thing when they belong to Wen dogs," Jiang Cheng said. "It is one thing if Jin Guangshan rattles our front door asking for spoils of war. I can refuse him, I can say that Yunmeng was there first and only claimed their due. But I cannot have people under my protection come to me, asking me why a member of my sect threatened to have ghosts eat them alive if they did not give away their omega."

"I couldn't find any," Wei Wuxian said. "They've all gone from the houses, all married. So, you can rest easy. I'll be looking farther ahead now, not from people who answer to Yunmengjiang."

"And what will you do when you find them, Wei Wuxian? Will you bring them all here? Shall we find every single unwedded omega in the country a room in the Lotus Pier?"

It was Wei Wuxian's turn to grind his teeth in frustration. He pushed himself off of the window ledge, standing so that Jiang Cheng had to look him right in the eye. "And what of it?" he asked. "You said it wasn't a problem when I brought them with me, you said you didn't care."

"I said this for four of them, three of whom have no family to claim them anymore," Jiang Cheng replied. "I did not say that you could just go around kidnapping people, or that our sect would be here to fend off angry visitors asking for their omega back."

Wei Wuxian understood, then, why Jiang Cheng looked so distraught with the whole thing.

"Did someone come asking for Zhu Yuansu?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Jiang Cheng spat, red in the face with shame. "Earlier today. They won't leave before they have him back."

So this was why Jiang Cheng had refused Jiang Yanli so harshly when she had asked if he planned to dine with her and the children.

Wei Wuxian remained silent a long while, looking at Jiang Cheng in a daze, watching shadows cover his face as daylight faded behind him.

"They're not of Yunmeng," he said eventually. Each word pulled itself out of him painfully. "You could just refuse them."

And he saw the expression that washed over Jiang Cheng's face. He knew before he even replied that his words would cut deeply.

"If I did," Jiang Cheng declared, "our sect would be nothing more than a thief in the eyes of all others."

Wei Wuxian's jaw ached. Who cares? he wanted to ask him. He wanted to grab his collar and shake him, to ride the emotions flooding him even through the gaping hole that the absence of his core had dug; he wanted to tell Jiang Cheng, Who cares about keeping face now? Why is this more important to you than the rest?

Jiang Cheng had once defended him before the other sects. He had once called Jin Zixuan callous in Gusu after the Jin heir had called Wei Wuxian omega and nothing else. He had claimed Wei Wuxian to be a talented cultivator, a disciple of Yunmeng, in front of Wen Chao.

Why couldn't he show the same bravery for Zhu Yuansu?

"He doesn't even want to stay," Jiang Cheng said, seeing that Wei Wuxian had no words in him to reply with. His tone was not begging, not fully, but not far from it either. "Sister told me all about it, she said he hasn't come out of his room in weeks. She says he doesn't like being outside like you."

"You don't know anything," Wei Wuxian replied.

Jiang Cheng grabbed his shoulder tightly, painfully. "No, I don't," he said. Each of his fingers felt like a blade digging through cloth and skin. "I don't like it, I remember the state he was in when you found him, but he's recovered now. He's healthy again. If he wants to go back, who are you to stop him? His family wants him."

"You don't understand—"

"I will not put our sect in danger again because of you!"

Wei Wuxian's mouth closed.

"You can't take every single one of them, Wei Wuxian," Jiang Cheng said. The edge of despair in his words had thickened—each of them felt like a slap to the face. "You can't protect them all. I don't have the means, I'm sorry, I know that this is important to you. I know this."

"Why are you apologizing," Wei Wuxian said slowly, "if you've already made up your mind?"

Jiang Cheng shuddered. He seemed to realize just how tightly he was holding Wei Wuxian's shoulder; his fingers loosened and left him entirely.

The weight of them remained on Wei Wuxian's skin like ghosts.

"You can't shelter them all," he said. He sounded grieved, which made it all the worse. "It's a fool's dream. I'm doing all I can, I'm trying to rebuilt what father and mother left me, but I can't—"

His voice choked. Despite the strength he had regained, despite the comfort of the war being far behind him, Jiang Cheng looked completely exhausted.

He was overseeing all the repairs of the main house. He was training and recruiting people, finding masters to teach the ways of cultivation in his stead when work buried him alive. He asked Wei Wuxian for no help in this, even though he wished to; even though, for weeks now, he had looked at Wei Wuxian in anger, wondering why Wei Wuxian wasn't offering to teach.

And, in truth, did Wei Wuxian have a right to ask this of him? Did he have a right to populate the sect whose destruction he caused with people he wanted to save, when Jiang Cheng would be the one to deal with the consequences?

"The children can stay," Jiang Cheng said once his emotion had gone way. He stood once again to the full of his height, his chin lifted forward, the way it always was when he made a promise.

The way it was when he had told Wei Wuxian, I'll keep all the dogs away from you.

"Jin Guangshan has no right to ask for them in the first place."

"They are of the Wen sect," Wei Wuxian replied faintly. "I doubt many of the sect leaders will care."

"Even I can put this aside for three children who had never set foot outside of their house before," Jiang Cheng said. "Wei Wuxian, I swear it. I won't let anyone have them, just like I wouldn't let anyone have you."

Coldness spread through Wei Wuxian from fingertips to toes.

He breathed in and out softly. He let his freezing lungs warm with the fire that the servants did light in all the torches of the corridor. When he thought he could speak again without feeling a heavy weight at his back, he pleaded, "Let me try to convince him."

"I've already told Zhu Yuansu that his family is here," Jiang Cheng replied mournfully. "Wei Wuxian—"

Wei Wuxian turned his back to him and walked away.

Only a few seconds seemed to go by as he traversed the Pier toward the quarters where Zhu Yuansu and the children slept—the ones he and Jiang Cheng had slept in, once, before Jiang Cheng took his mother's room in the washed-out pavillion standing above the river; before Wei Wuxian discovered that he could not sleep there without feeling his own heart tear away from him.

He felt no wind upon his skin. He smelled no water and no mud, no flowers, no berries. He hardly seemed to see anything, except for the half-open door of a room which had not allowed anyone in or out for days.

"Zhu Yuansu!" he called.

But there was no answer. The room was empty, the bed made, the candlewax cleaned off of cabinets and tables, as if no one had slept here in days. Wei Wuxian kept calling for the name as he ran through the halls of his home, looking for a sign of the man, for a trace of winescent.

He found it near the stables. Zhu Yuansu had taken the long way toward the main hall, no doubt afraid to cross paths with anyone. He sneaked there between shadows and walls, looking like a thief, a murderer caught red-handed. He had put on again the ragged clothes that he had worn when Wei Wuxian first met him.

"Zhu Yuansu," he called him breathlessly, stepping onto the damp grass.

Zhu Yuansu stilled at the sound of his voice. His achingly sweet scent thickened the air with his fright, and Wei Wuxian was not ready for it to be directed to him, for those eyes to stare at him as if he were not made of the same fabric, but instead someone to resent and fear.

"Young master Wei," Zhu Yuansu said softly. Fearfully.

Wei Wuxian took a step forward. "I told you not to call me that," he said. "You don't need to be formal with me."

"I wouldn't dare," Zhu Yuansu replied.

He bowed until his back was as straight as a ruler.

"Don't bow to me." Wei Wuxian could not stop his own blood from rushing up his neck. "Do not bow to me," he spat out, all of his skin hot to the touch.

"It is what should be done," Zhu Yuansu said stubbornly, "when meeting someone of higher status."

"I am not of higher status."

"Can you prove it?"

"Why would I lie about this?" Wei Wuxian exclaimed, desperate.

He felt torn three ways over, his misshapen skin laid awkwardly upon his bones, his back bowed with anger, his fingers crusted with dirt from grabbing at grass, from trying to pull away.

"Why would I lie to you!?" he howled. "Why would I fucking pretend to be something I'm not, what could I possibly gain from claiming to be omega? You tell me, Zhu Yuansu! You tell me what your status has given you except grief, you tell me what I could possibly envy about being like you!"

"Perhaps," Zhu Yuansu replied, "you would hate yourself a little less if you were."

Wei Wuxian choked. His lungs seared with the pain of it; his belly grew an ache right below his ribs, as if he had run miles without breathing properly.

"What?" he croaked.

Zhu Yuansu stared at him as if he were the one who should be pitied. "You ask me what I was given," he said. "I have a house. I have safety. I have a family—"

"Your family left you alone to starve!"

"They didn't have a choice, young master Wei," Zhu Yuansu exclaimed. "Who was it that made horrible things crawl over the village, who was it that made them all flee? They would have all died if they had not left as quickly as possible."

Wei Wuxian could hardly think. He could hardly blink even with the nightly wind wetting his eyes, so shocked was he by Zhu Yuansu's words.

"Tell me," Zhu Yuansu said to him, "what has your status given you?"

"I'm," Wei Wuxian stuttered. "I'm like you."

"No, you are not," Zhu Yuansi replied, his voice ripe with pity. "You may be omega, but you and I could not be more different."

Wei Wuxian drew back as if the man before him had unsheathed a sword.

"You were raised irresponsibly," Zhu Yuansu went on. His frail voice had grown stronger with every word he said, and it grew stronger now, until he looked to be the one imparting truth upon Wei Wuxian. "It skewed your vision of the world. It hurt you deeply, and I feel sorry for you."

"I was not hurt by freedom," Wei Wuxian snapped.

"Weren't you?"

Wei Wuxian had held his own against so many others in the past. He had spoken back to Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren, to Jin Zixuan, to Wen Chao. Earlier, he had spoken back to Jiang Cheng, in spite of how deeply indebted he was to him and his clan.

Why was it that in front of this man, this near-stranger who should be the one to understand him the most, he could not find a word to say?

"You hate yourself so much," Zhu Yuansu told him, his pitying eyes almost unbearable to meet, his frail and helpless body suddenly become nightmarish. "You hate your status, and you hate me as well. It's not your fault. People decided to expose you to the world without a thought for what would become of you, and it was irresponsible of them."

"You're wrong," Wei Wuxian breathed. "I don't hate you."

"You hate my way to live. Isn't it all the same, young master?"

No, Wei Wuxian wanted to say. He wanted more than anything to yell it at this foolish man, to make him understand that he was the one in the wrong. That Wei Wuxian had never hated him and never would.

Zhu Yuansu's eyes softened. He spoke to him then not as an omega, but as someone older; just as Wei Wuxian had spoken to Wen Linfeng so long ago in Qishan, and made her feel as if the very ground were slipping from beneath her feet.

"You can hardly look at me," he said mercilessly. "You do not like to speak to me, you do not like that I prefer to remain hidden. You wish that I were like those children of yours."

"They are not mine," Wei Wuxian replied, sickened.

Zhu Yuansu shook his head. "No," he said. "I dare say you would make a very poor father to any progeny of yours."

Wei Wuxian swallowed back the bile rising up his throat. He licked away the taste of grass from his lips. "They are happy," he forced out. "Can't you see that?"

"Of course they are. They're children, the eldest isn't even mature yet. They don't know that living like this will break them like it has broken you."

Wen Qing's voice came to him from a faraway memory, from before the emptiness and before the fall: Don't make the mistake of thinking every omega you meet is your friend, Wei Ying.

"So you'll just go back there," he said. "Just go back to that house, to being alone."

"Yes," Zhu Yuansu replied, "I will. I am lucky that they still want me. You should be grateful that your family wants you, too."

He meant that Wei Wuxian should feel lucky to be wanted at all.

Wei Wuxian did not move from his place in the shadows even after Zhu Yuansu walked away. He followed him with his eyes until his thin silhouette vanished behind a wider hall, and even then he looked to be slithering around like someone trying to hide something. Even now, he clung to shade and darkness as if it could fully hide him.

His wine-like scent made Wei Wuxian want to throw up long after he was gone.

Night fell over Yunmeng, clouded and dark, without a star in sight. Moonlight was but a halo through the thinnest of the clouds, and only the torchlight coming from open windows lit the space around Wei Wuxian enough for him to see. He sat on the grass with his head between his raised knees. He clutched his ankles with his hands until his knuckles ached.

It was Jiang Yanli who found him what felt like hours later, her voice soft and hurried, her cool scent like a balm for the nausea in him. "A-Xian?" she called in so kind a voice that the sound alone shivered within his chest. She was a way ahead, stepping slowly in the dark.

"I'm here," he replied.

His voice was as rough as if he had screamed for days.

"Oh, A-Xian," she said once she reached his side.

He must make for a very poor sight indeed, with his miserable face and dirt-stained clothes. Jiang Yanli kneeled by his side, hesitating for all but a second before putting an arm around his hunched shoulders.

"I heard," she whispered. "About young master Zhu. I thought you might be upset about it."

Wei Wuxian unstuck his tongue from his palate and asked, "Is he gone already?"

"Yes. He and his family left a while ago. Perhaps he left a message for you with A-Cheng, to say goodbye?"

Wei Wuxian laughed dryly. He shook her arm off of him with as much kindness as he could and pushed himself to his feet.

He almost fell when he managed to rise fully—his knees felt weak, and the grass and houses around him vanished for a second behind grey and black spots. Jiang Yanli caught his elbow when he swayed, calling his name in worry.

"Sorry," he breathed out. "I'm just… I'm just tired, I think."

"You haven't eaten yet," Jiang Yanli said pressingly. "Come now, follow me, I've left soup on the stove for you."

"You spoil me, shijie," Wei Wuxian replied.

It was enough to make her smile.

He didn't need her help to walk to the kitchen, thankfully. Jiang Yanli remained by his side without needing to support him as they crossed the different halls. The Pier was shrouded in silence at this time of night, most of the torches unlit, most of its inhabitants asleep. Wei Wuxian regretted for a moment not saying good night to Wen Yueying, who would surely pout at him for it the next day. She could hold such a grudge.

"Sit down," Jiang Yanli told him. She went so far as to pull a chair for him at the table and squeeze his shoulder while he sat. "I made lotus rib and pork soup for A-Qian and A-Ying. It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"Did they like it?" Wei Wuxian asked eagerly. "Your soup is always so good."

"Yes, they did. A-Qian even asked to be served twice."

Little Wen Yiqian had a fragile stomach, and often pulled faces at the dishes placed before him if he did not like the taste of them. Picturing him asking for more of his shijie's soup made Wei Wuxian feel a little less cold.

Then Jiang Yanli lifted the cover of the pot simmering upon the stove, and Wei Wuxian's smile faded. Gas surged again up his chest, much more potent than before, until he felt the burn of it at the back of his throat.

He rose hurriedly from his chair. It slid away from the table with a loud creak of wood, catching Jiang Yanli's attention before Wei Wuxian could slip away unseen.

"A-Xian?"

Wei Wuxian put a hand over his mouth. It was shaking badly, almost as much as his entrails shook. "Sorry," he forced out, "I need to—"

He only had enough time to cross the length of the kitchen, to push open the small door at its end which led to a vegetable garden, before he fell to his knees in the dirt and retched.

Nausea was common to him now, another symptom he attributed to the loss of his core easily—he couldn't eat without feeling it, couldn't sleep without feeling it, but it was not usually this violent. It had not been this sudden and overwhelming since his days in the Burial Mounds, where the very smell of the air was enough to have him on his knees for hours, his throat burning as he expelled what little he had managed to eat or drink.

He had not eaten today, and so there was nothing to expel but bile. It tore itself out of him like a stab wound through the stomach, making him shake from thigh to shoulder. Jiang Yanli called his name several times as she ran after him, and she was not afraid either to kneel again by him and push away his hair so that it would be spared his vomiting.

Her hands were cool upon his skin. After he was done—after an eternity of digging his own fingers into dirt in order not to fall—Wei Wuxian let himself rest against her side.

She never stopped stroking his clammy forehead.

He could not have told how long he stayed like this until he found the strength to speak. "I'm sorry," he told her. Saliva dripped from his mouth, but he felt too tired to wipe it away.

Jiang Yanli shushed him as if he were still a child. "Do you feel better now?" she asked gently.

"Yes," he lied.

He felt miserable.

It was impossible to tell if she believed him, but either way, she helped him to his feet and walked him to his room. They went the long way around the kitchen rather than traverse it again, for which Wei Wuxian was grateful.

He washed his mouth and hair with weak hands while she prepared tea for him. He could hear her through the door of the little water room, walking hurriedly around his bed, leaving and then coming back a few minutes later.

"I brought you something light to eat," she said once he emerged from the little room. There was a steaming bowl of plain rice on his bedside table, as well as tea in a rust-colored pot. "I know you probably feel sick, but you need something on your stomach, A-Xian."

"Thank you, shijie," he replied.

He ate the rice more for the relief on her face than out of true desire. Even this much rested queasily in his belly. His throat ached still from the minutes of retching.

Jiang Yanli stayed with him until he finished the tea. She sat by his side in a chair as he lay in the small bed and took his hand in hers. Her fingers stroked over the little scars on his knuckles that had gone so white and thin, they were nearly invisible if one did not know they were here.

Zhu Yuansu's accusations rang through him like the aftermath of falling, like hitting ground after tumbling down a cliff: You hate yourself. You hate your status.

"A-Xian," his shijie murmured, her cool hand squeezing his in spite of how sweaty it was. She sounded desolate. "You're not well at all, are you."

"I'm fine," Wei Wuxian mumbled. "I must've caught a cold, walking alone tonight."

"It was rather chilly…"

He could tell that she had more she wanted to ask him.

He would have to be an utter idiot not to notice how much time she had spent with him recently, how careful she was to put food before him when he shared meals with her and the Wen children, how she inquired each day after his sleep, worry wrinkling her forehead. Jiang Yanli had always cared for him in a way no one else did. Not Jiang Cheng, who was proud and awkward. Not Jiang Fengmian, who had feared his wife's reprimands.

Wei Wuxian held Jiang Yanli's hand tightly. "It looks like I'll always need my shijie when I'm sick," he joked feebly. "I feel like I've gone back to being ten years old. A little cold and I need you to tuck me in."

"A-Cheng is just the same," Jiang Yanli smiled at him. "The both of you, I don't know how you'll ever manage on your own."

"You'll just have to always be with us so we don't die of sickness."

She poked his forehead with a finger of her free hand in false anger; then she stroked wet hair out of his face, laying the flat of her palm there as she used to whenever a bout of sickness took him.

Those memories of his childhood did not feel like dreams at all.

"Don't worry about me," Wei Wuxian told her. "I hate when you worry."

"How can I not worry?" she asked, barely louder than a whisper. "A-Xian, you do not eat, you do not sleep… You disappear for hours each day, and we hear such horrible tales from the places you go—do you truly think us so heartless, that we wouldn't worry when we see you like this? Did you think we wouldn't care at all?"

Their linked hands wetted with her tears. Hers was shaking in his grip, now, and he was the one to hold her rather than the other way around.

"I thought at first, surely it is the war," she went on haltingly. "As long as you were alive, I could wait. I thought after everything was over, after we came home, you would tell us what happened to you, but you did not. Where were you? What happened to you? Why do you look so ill all the time?"

Wei Wuxian swallowed and replied, "I can't tell you. It would make you more miserable if I did."

His words only served to make her shake with silent sobs.

He stroked her hand with his cold and clammy fingers. He knew his decision to be sound; he knew how badly she would take to knowing how he had lived in the months before he escaped the Burial Mounds, and he knew that should she learn of it, she would grow sick with guilt herself.

As for the rest, it was as Zhu Yuansu said: Wei Wuxian should feel lucky to have a family at all.

"I'm fine, shijie," he told her as gently as he could.

Her chair groaned against the wooden floor when she left it to kneel by his bed. Wei Wuxian did not protest the arm she spread over his middle despite the nausea still clogging up his chest and throat, and simply let her hold him and dampen his sheets with tears. He stroked her hair with his free hand, breathed in the cool beta-scent of her which always roamed through the halls of the Lotus Pier. She cried silently against him. Never did her hand let go of his.

"I'm just fine."

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[alternislatronemhq]

Congrats, Karli, you have been accepted to AL for the role of Sirius Black (FC: Rob Raco). Wow, Karli, well done! As I was reading your app, I found myself totally taken in by your characterization of Sirius. You really understand him the way that I had envisioned him for this plot — the slightly immature, bitter, grudge holding mischief maker who has had to grow up and be a parent because of the loss of his brother and best friend. You really had a grasp of the plot and I found myself getting so excited to play Lily alongside you. Just, really great job, I’m so excited to have you here! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist.Welcome home, we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — Karli age — 29 pronouns — she/her timezone — CST activity level — Probably an 7-8 right now. I’m off work for summer break with a few things to do here and there, but I’m typically on every day and doing replies every couple of days. It might lessen in the fall months but right now, I’m VERY free!

IC Overview

name — Sirius Orion Black age — 26 | 3 November 1959 gender — Cis-male sexuality — If asked, Sirius would say he doesn’t like labels. He’s fluid - people know that. He sleeps around with many genders, but doesn’t really make an announcement about it. He also doesn’t work for it. If someone wants to have sex with him, he’s likely pretty open to it. But he also isn’t going to put in much effort to make it happen. He’s not a relationship-type of bloke and, even though there are people out there who think they can “change him,” no one has been able to yet. In more modern terms, he’s likely pansexual, aromantic (on the spectrum of little romantic attraction over no romantic attraction). But he wouldn’t know that, nor does he really care to know it. Sex is sex. That’s all.

patronus — Sirius has always struggled with producing a corporeal patronus. Perhaps it was the necessity of focusing on one good thing that made the spell work - or maybe it’s just that Sirius isn’t as good with the abstract stuff as he likes to think. During the moments where it did work during the war, it was a large black dog, unsurprising to anyone who knew of his animagus form. He liked to smirk at James - or perhaps Remus or Peter, if they were around - whenever it popped from his wand. After the war, however, there wasn’t much use for the spell. The last time he performed it had been during his extracurricular project with Dumbledore… and he was surprised at what he saw. No longer the dog moving swiftly, brightly from his wand… but, instead, a brilliant form of a stag, large hooves and antlers that once matched James’ patronus. However, when the stag turned towards him, showing the familiar markings around its eyes, Sirius realized… it wasn’t just James’ old patronus, but rather Prongs himself. It had taken his breath away for a moment, causing a near-fatal distraction that needed Dumbledore’s help to escape.

boggart — Sirius’ boggart is a silver mask, but not for the reasons one might expect. He is less afraid of being a follower of Voldemort than he is about what that would mean about him. It would mean he conformed to what his family wanted - and conformity is Sirius’ biggest fear… or, at least, that’s what he’d tell someone. In reality, especially with another looming war, he is likely more afraid of Harry ending up like his father - or dead. But, in the moment, conformity would be Sirius’ biggest fear.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

[+] Loyal - There’s a reason Sirius’ animagus form is a dog - he is loyal to those he cares about. In the past, this was in relationship to the Marauders, particularly James more than anyone, but has changed as the years have gone by and things shifted. He is now mostly loyal to Harry - and, by extension, Lily. The problem with Sirius’ loyalty is that it can be very dark. Peter is out - and that’s forever. There is no coming back with Sirius once he views something as a betrayal and that includes someone he used to love.

[+] Intelligent - It’s not something easily identifiable by just looking at him, but Sirius is smart. In the books, he was one of the only people ever to escape Azkaban. In school, he hardly had to study and managed to keep up good grades and make his way through Hogwarts without trying. He’s careless in this intelligence sometimes, assuming he just knows without really thinking much about it. His “smarts” do well in both books and streets - he knows how to navigate life at the bar where he works and that different sort of nightlife. He’s a good dueller, able to use intuition to anticipate the moves of his opponent. The intelligence he does have helped to design the Marauders Map, become an animagus, and find and destroy the Horcruxes with Dumbledore.

[+] Open-Minded - Not the best word for this with Sirius, who can be incredibly stubborn and unwilling to change, but there is a reason he didn’t chuck out a werewolf as a friend, despite the teachings by his family. While Sirius himself is rather indifferent to these sorts of things, he does listen - and maybe, in part, this was due to James - and try to be better. Once, as a child, he thought muggleborns were scum… then he grew up, met more open-minded people, and followed their lead. He tries and that’s more than some others.

[+/-] Highly Emotional - Sirius is impulsive and uses emotions to make decisions before he thinks it through. This is what led him to trying to kill Peter the night James almost died - this is what leads him into at least half the arguments he has. He didn’t think through the “Prank” with Remus and Snape… just did it… because he thought it would be funny. That being said - this isn’t always a bad thing. He feels big and that means happiness, too. He can make Harry laugh more than anyone because he loves to joke around and play with him. He’s protective and those emotions come into play whenever someone is trying to mess with his family. It can just sometimes be hard for someone to truly know what they might be getting with him, as he can often flip from one emotion to the next rather quickly.

[-] Jealous/Distrustful - Sirius doesn’t accept change very easily when it comes to his outside world, particularly friendships. He wasn’t very keen on Lily in the beginning of her relationship with James because of his fear that she would “take his best friend away.” It made him mean - even aggressive - towards her, until James put a stop to it. When he finally realized that Lily could be in love with his best friend and he could still have his friendship, he cooled down and was more willing to bring her into his life. It wasn’t until the war that she truly became part of his family and that’s stuck with him since then, especially more so since James didn’t wake up. He’s now more likely to side-eye others she brings around, suspicious of them and their intentions, particularly if it is a man he’s worried about trying to hit on her. He doesn’t trust easily but, once a person has earned it, it’s much easier for him to open up.

[-] Resentful/Vindictive - Sirius Black knows how to hold a grudge. Once someone is dead to him, they are dead to him. He has made it a point that he will kill Peter Pettigrew one day and that has not gone away. Even though there’s part of him glad that he never got the chance five years ago (despite his best effort), he hasn’t given up hope. It’s not just good enough for Peter to die… he wants to be the one to do it. There’s also the grudge with Remus. While this one is to much a lesser extent, he’s angry that Remus hasn’t forgiven him, but has forgiven everyone else. He’s wary of Remus being around Harry because he thinks anyone around his godson should have to be okay with him. This is an argument that often peaks with him and Lily. He’s apologized to Remus - he hates himself for what happened to James - it’s about time Remus just got over it and realized that.

[-] Ruthless - Sirius is willing to do anything to get something done. If it had come to it during war, he wouldn’t have been above torture of a captured Death Eater and definitely killed without blinking an eye. His world is often very black and white - therefore, the good guys were good and the bad guys were bad. He’s willing to do what it takes to make sure he gets revenge for James. He’ll do anything to get the Horcruxes and take down Voldemort. He’ll do whatever he has to in order to protect Harry.

character biography —

Born to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, Sirius Black was the son his parents wanted - or so they originally thought. Cousins, Walburga and Orion married one another only to produce an heir. There was no love within their relationship, just duty - when the first son came, they were almost thrilled. But perhaps Sirius’ mother was just as suspicious as him because she forced her husband into bed again and again for a second child… just in case.

As if turned out, they would need it. Regulus was a docile baby, while Sirius had been finicky. They played well together as they aged and, despite being one another’s deepest confidants, there was clear favoritism from his parents to the younger son. This was rarely violent, but Walburga, particularly, made it clear that she preferred the way Sirius’ brother learned the proper pureblood ways so much more quickly than he did. Orion was rather indifferent to his family in general, preferring the young girls at the underground clubs - sometimes a bit too young for society’s tastes.

Despite many not realizing this, Sirius did try to be the son his parents wanted… at first. He believed what they believed - he did what he was told. But he screwed up often. Questioned things without thinking them through - talked out of turn. Whenever Regulus messed something up, Sirius would try his best to take the fall, ensuring any wrath of his mother stayed on him over his younger brother. As he grew, he began to see more of the world. But it wasn’t until he met James Potter on the train to Hogwarts that he began to change his beliefs. When he talked about the dangers of mudbloods, James set him straight - made sure to keep that word out of Sirius’ mouth. When he questioned the sanity of Muggles, James shrugged and said he thought they weren’t all that bad. It opened his eyes to something new. They were joined by Remus and Peter that year - and, while Sirius loved them, too, he truthfully could care less about expanding the group in the beginning.

The closer he got to his new friends, the farther away he got from the Black family name. He stopped writing home - stopped paying much attention to Regulus. In his young mind, he didn’t realize how detrimental this might be to his brother, but he was wrapped up in this new life. Gryffindor - change - rebellion. It was intoxicating. James became the most important person in Sirius’ life and he clung to his friend with all he had. They pulled pranks as a group, learned about Remus, found a way to help him. The Marauders were born and a map was made and life was good. It didn’t matter that the shadow of his brother donned in Slytherin robes hung over Hogwarts sometimes because Sirius ruled the school. Grimmauld was Regulus’ - Hogwarts was his.

When he decided to tell Severus Snape about the Willow, he hadn’t been thinking. But, really, nothing happened! Remus was being rather dramatic, in Sirius’ opinion! It was just a prank! Why couldn’t anyone else see that? They were mad at him for a while - probably some of the darkest times in Sirius’ life at school, the inability to be with friends - but they came around and it was restored. Things were good - things were right.

Then the war came and it was like the Marauders were thrust into adulthood with Sirius clinging to the life they had. The Order made sense for all of them - they were built for a revolution. But it wasn’t as much of an adventure as they assumed it would be. People died every day - battles were brutal. But Sirius still took it less seriously than he should’ve. He revelled in the fight, laughing alongside his best mate as they shot curses at those fucking cult-followers. He cracked jokes about Voldemort’s dick being so small he had to make an army to try and make up for it. He smiled with blood running down his face into his lips, tasting the iron. He was fearless - and reckless. War wasn’t a game, but Sirius treated it as one.

And it made some people angry. Perhaps that was why Remus suspected him for the spy - or maybe it was lingering distrust over the Willow. Sirius couldn’t help his old prejudices coming up as war grew into their veins, swimming through their blood. A werewolf. Remus had always been able to hold secrets… perhaps this was one of them.

When James was targeted - well, young Harry, but James - Sirius didn’t hesitate to name Remus the spy. James may not have been able to see it… but Peter, Sirius said. We’ll use Peter! No one will suspect! And perhaps that judgement was his worst mistake of all. For Peter was the spy. Peter would come to betray them. And when Voldemort died, there wasn’t much time for celebration because less than a week later, James was found on the ground of Godric’s Hollow, unable to wake up.

Sirius knew who was at fault -it was him! He did this! His own idea! - and that person would pay. It was so much easier to react with vengeance than feel his own guilt. So much easier to want to kill his old friend than cry over his own mistakes. James was as good as dead - and Peter would die, too. Sirius knew the officials would arrest him for the murder - that he would spend his life in Azkaban - but he didn’t care. He searched for Peter the night of James’ torture with the attempt to kill him. But Peter was a rat - and there were thousands of them in London. Whether Peter was using his animagus form or not, Sirius had been unable to track him down before getting apprehended by Aurors. He stayed two days in a holding cell, grieving the near-loss of his true brother - until Lily was able to prove that the secret keeper had never been Sirius, after all.

Since that day, he vowed to do what James would’ve wanted him to do - he looked after Harry and Lily. He became the godfather he was supposed to have been. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stop thinking about the murder he tried committing that night. If Peter were to ever resurface, Sirius would be ready. It was a good thing that he had the locket - that he had Dumbledore and the Horcruxes. It was something to keep his mind occupied. If he couldn’t kill Peter, then he could at least work on killing Voldemort, who started this entire war in the first place.

Those months after James, he spent his days with Harry and Lily and his nights searching for the Horcruxes. He would wind up back at Lily’s place in the middle of the night and crash on her couch. Eventually, he officially moved in, getting a job at a pub located right between Diagon Alley and Knockturn - causing many different types to enter into the place. These days, he still splits his time - almost like he has two lives; one where he helps raise Harry, the other in an underground nightlife world of darker wix and Horcruxes. He hasn’t forgotten his friend - James is at the forefront of everything Sirius does - or his promise to avenge him. But stopping a potential war and making sure Harry has everything he needs is just as important. Sirius has grown more responsible in the past five years, but he still holds on to much of the person he once was. There’s a chance he’ll end up doing something reckless again - something he can’t take back.

plot ideas —

ONE. I think exploring the interpersonal relationships will be the most interesting thing in this rp. This isn’t a huge action rp (as of yet) and so the quieter moments within relationships is what I’m eager to do. What will it be like trying to co-parent with Lily, when Sirius isn’t even really the parent? I think they likely butt heads and argue from time to time, while also relying heavily on one another. It’s probably in the realm of unhealthy at times, given Sirius lives with them and has devoted his new life to them. Sirius is still very much about James. So, if Lily were to try and move on with someone new, this would be very likely to anger him, even though she deserves a life with love. Then there’s Remus to think about - Remus blames Sirius, but Sirius also blames himself. He just doesn’t think Remus should hold that grudge, while forgiving others in his life. They both thought one another was the spy, after all. I also think it’ll be fun to see how Sirius and Fabian play out together as friends, particularly since they both lost a brother. I’m also looking forward to exploring relationships not within the connections and learning about these characters within this world.

TWO. James wakes up. I see you included “James Potter” as a potential plot drop release – I’m assuming this might mean he wakes up. If that’s the case, I don’t think it’ll be as easy as it would seem for Sirius. He would be glad his friend is back, of course. But it’s also complicated. Harry is only six years old - and lived a whole life without his dad. James would be this “mystery guy he’s heard about” and likely not about to jump into his dad’s arms. I don’t think Sirius would make him, either, which might be frustrating for both Sirius and James. It would complicate their relationship a lot - Harry is his kid now, after all.

THREE. Horcruxes. I think it’ll be important to bring other characters into this, especially since it’s doubtful there will ever be a Dumbledore. I’d like Sirius to be given tasks to ask others for help - and do these missions without Dumbledore present. He’s had to learn more responsibility in the past 5 years, but Sirius was never the leader (that was James), so it would be interesting for him to have to take on a leadership role.

FOUR. Fuckbuddies! I’m not really here for shipping, especially with a character like Sirius, but I think he probably has a few people he’s slept with a couple times. I’m honestly up for anyone for this, but I don’t think just anyone could end up in a romantic relationship with him. First off, he’s aromatic and it’s really hard for him to have a romantic connection. It would take time and a lot of chemistry to ever break Sirius past just sex with someone. But give me fuckbuddies all the way.

FIVE. Sirius may be more responsible than 5 years ago, but that doesn’t mean everything about him has changed. While he’s a good parent to Harry and around very often - his schedule is extremely flexible - that doesn’t always mean he knows what he’s doing. He’s likely to give in rather quickly if Harry were whining and is easily frustrated. While he has good influences around like Molly or Lily, he doesn’t always listen to what they have to say (look at him in OOTP!) and just does what he wants. I’d like to explore how his more passive parenting style might affect Harry and the people around him.

[artlessictoan]

Day 3 - Family

eyyy looks like we’re back to my fave theme that is the hardest one to write! why do I do these things to myself.. this one….. this one got kinda very dark at points. I uh………. yeah, tw suicidal thoughts, it’s only implied and he gets better but please avoid this chap if you need to

just a lil reminder that in these fics I’ve altered ages a little so the sibs are each a couple years apart instead of being born basically back-to-back, for poor karura’s sake. also autistic kank hcs abound!

(ao3 version)

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Day 3 - Family

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Age two and the world is far too big and scary for him.

Outside there is wind and sand constantly brushing his skin with their feather-light touch that turns his skin inside out, and his mother insists upon holding his hand loosely wherever they go, no matter how her grip rattles down to his bones; he much prefers inside, where it is cool and quiet and he’s allowed to play alone with his toys as much as he likes, even if Temari keeps trying to take them for herself.

Family is a word mother keeps repeating to him, broken up into small, slow sounds, eyes wide and hungry as she waits for something, he doesn’t know what, but he knows that the word is the long sigh when he flips his bowl onto the table, is a firm press of lips against his forehead every night before he falls asleep.

---

Age three and he realises how much he misses routine.

There doesn’t seem to be any explanation for why mother hasn’t taken him out for several days now, no reason for father’s sudden disappearance from family dinnertime, just the reassurances of his sister as she pulls him away from mother’s room, she’s tired, she needs to sleep, c’mon I’ll tell you the story with the owl again, you like that one, mother will get well soon, then we can all go out together, .

Family is worry and feeling the sharp pain of a missing presence at his side, wishing he could be big and strong like Temari, so he could help make mummy feel better.

---

Age six and he hates how everything is being kept from him.

Father has been spending less and less time with him and when he does, it’s only to instruct him on jutsu and frown when metal does not shiver at his touch; Temari is busy with her tutors, he can’t remember the last time they said hello without her apologising; uncle Yashamaru’s hair is wilder and his eyes darker every time he sees him, apparently his little brother is doing well, but he wouldn’t know, he hasn’t seen him since he was a baby.

Family is trying to piece together the broken fragments of an old life, work out what he did wrong and how he can make it right, it is asking father what he needs to do, is it picking up a weapon for the first time in his life.

---

Age ten and he can no longer feel his fingertips.

Chakra burns as he forces it from his body, it whips and flails like a desperate animal as he stretches it out further and further, a distant voice barks at him to focus, silk-fine threads snap and the puppet crumbles to the ground in a heap of fabric and wood. He holds his aching hand with a white-knuckled grip, bites his lip until it bleeds, holds his eyes wide open until the urge to cry burns away under the scorching midday sun.

Family is the wrinkled old men and women of the puppetry core, with their sharp tongues and hard glares, the ancient, crumbling papers that are quickly becoming the only thing he truly understands.

---

Age twelve and he is sick, sick, sick of it.

He’s not good enough, never has been, never will be. The Kazekage’s disappointment comes through in every curt, backhanded compliment that slips out of his slimy mouth and his tutors dismiss every win he takes, grinding away at his pride until he can’t bare to even look at himself in the mirror. When the first strokes of deep purple cross his features – paint laced with a mild poison, in Suna tradition – he claims it’s because he knows he is ready to call himself a true puppet master, whether the elders accept it or not, in private, he tells Temari that it’s because he’s seen the venom in the stares Gaara sends their father and has no desire to face an early grave, but when he’s alone, with nothing but a mirror to judge him, he knows it’s because he can’t bear that hate reflected back at him in his father’s eyes.

Family is never feeling safe, never feeling content with himself, because himself was worth less than the dirt on Gaara’s shoes. He spends a long time staring at the kunai, carefully sharpened to a dazzling gleam; Temari’s call from down the hall jolts him back to reality. Blade hidden back under his pillow, he welcomes his sister home with a smirk and a joke and tries to believe that the warmth in her tired eyes and weak smile prove his value to the world.

---

Age fourteen and he doesn’t realise how much he loves Suna until he leaves.

The air here is too sticky, the people too loud and the colours too garish. He finds himself urgently fidgeting every time he sits down, fingers going through the motions that would see a hidden blade spring from Karasu’s arm, a pack of senbon scattered in a wide arc, lethal, invisible gas released in the middle of a crowded street, only when a hand lightly slaps against his and a warning is hissed in his ear does he stop and recognise the exact same restless agitation in his little brother’s face.

Family is seeing the life and joy of the people around him and wishing for the simple, familiar distrust of home, where he knew where he stood and didn’t feel the aching want when he saw a trio of siblings playing in the street, running away laughing when their mother called them home.

---

Age fifteen and, for the first time in years, he can breathe.

New responsibilities and worries keep him busy, distracted from emotions that he refuses to look at, lest the old, comfortable claws of anger once again claim their rightful place at his throat, but suddenly he doesn’t have to rely solely on himself. Temari demands that he stop shouldering his burdens alone in an attempt to protect her, Baki-sensei shows up at their home unannounced bearing food, gentle, uncertain touches and sly warnings of political machinations. More than them though, Gaara is the one who finds him in his pit of heavy, guilt-laden quicksand and reaches out, not to pull him free, but to find comfort from one entombed in the same suffocating place.

Family is support and comfort, it is warm meals eaten together to the sound of laughter, it is long, dark talks stretching long into the night, it is desperately clinging to the one person you thought would never understand and dragging each other back to the surface.

---

Age eighteen and he couldn’t stop the emotions escaping if he’d tried.

He still hated touch, hated how it made him feel trapped in his own skin and so uncomfortably close to another… but when they were finally home and free of prying eyes and constant attention, he pulled his siblings into the tightest, most painful hug he’d ever experienced. None of them let go, not even as they fell to the floor together – legs bent awkwardly beneath them – not when Gaara started mumbling every pain and fear he’d never let out, not as Temari finally broke down and howled, long and wretched and terrified, into his dusty, bloody coat, not when the hall became too dark to see, not even when Gaara had passed out from exhaustion and Temari fell into a light, fretful sleep; Kankuro refused to close his eyes or let go, keeping silent watch over them until the sun rose.

Family is horrible and wonderful and he will never, ever, lose a piece of it again, to do so would be to lose a part of himself.

---

Age twenty-nine and he has to wonder what the hell Gaara was thinking.

As much as he’d grown past his childhood hatred of those younger than him, there was a difference between tolerating children in specific situations, and suddenly having them infiltrate every part of your life. He wants to resent them for it, wants to pretend that he doesn’t get a kick out of Yodo’s games, doesn’t enjoy sharing his love of puppetry and art with Shinki, doesn’t feel a deep connection with the boy who loathed his own face.

Family is half-hearted protests and insincere complaints, poorly hidden laughter and smiles that warm him down to his soul. Araya lights up when he gives him a mask, cries when he assures him that there’s no shame in hiding, as long as it’s on your own terms.

---

Age fifty-six and he’s looking forwards to an early retirement.

The news that the three Kazekage siblings would be stepping down from their political posts had rocked Suna to it’s foundations, though Gaara’s calm words and unshakable faith in the next generation had soothed most concerns; they hadn’t done all they could in shaping the new world, but they had done enough, now was the time to let those with new ideas for change and progression take the stage. Now was the time to experience all those things they’d missed out on growing up.

Family is finding the time for the small moments as well as the big, it’s sticking together through the bad, in the hopes that one day you’ll be able to enjoy the good and the mundane and the thousand states in-between.

---

Age eighty-two and there simply isn’t enough time in the world.

He refuses to stop moving, no matter how his joints complain and eyes cloud; as long as he draws breath, he will live each day to its fullest.

Family is messy and confusing and he could never properly describe it, but if asked he would say it is the friends who stand by you, through thick and thin, the communities you build with like-minded people, the children you mentor, comfort, encourage and raise, the man who embraces you, sharp, broken edges and all, the siblings who push you to be better, to be your truest self, it is accepting someone as they were, good and bad and so terribly human, it is the comfort found in a gentle touch against the forehead.

Nothing in the world would ever be as precious.

---

[fewfavoritethings]

Chief Justice Roberts, Vice President Harris. Speaker Pelosi, Leader Schumer, Leader McConnell, Vice President Pence, and my distinguished guests, my fellow Americans, this is America’s day. This is democracy’s day. A day of history and hope, of renewal and resolve. Through a Crucible for the ages, America has been tested anew and America has risen to the challenge. Today, we celebrate the triumph not of a candidate, but of a cause. The cause of democracy. The people, the will of the people has been heard and the will of the people has been heeded. We’ve learned again that democracy is precious. Democracy is fragile. And at this hour, my friends, democracy has prevailed. So now, on this hallowed ground, where just a few days ago violence sought to shake the Capitol’s very foundation, we come together as one nation under God, indivisible, to carry out the peaceful transfer of power as we have for more than two centuries. As we look ahead in our uniquely American way, restless, bold, optimistic and set our sights on the nation we know we can be and we must be. I thank my predecessors of both parties for their presence here today. I thank them from the bottom of my heart and I know-- And I know the resilience of our Constitution and the strength, the strength of our nation, as does President Carter who I spoke with last night who cannot be with us today but whom we salute for his lifetime of service. I’ve just taken a sacred oath each of those patriots have taken. The oath first sworn by George Washington. But the American story depends not in any one of us, not on some of us, but on all of us. On we, the people who seek a more perfect union. This is a great nation. We are good people. And over the centuries, through storm and strife, in peace and in war, we’ve come so far, but we still have far to go. We’ll press forward with speed and urgency for we have much to do in this winter of peril and significant possibilities. Much to repair, much to restore, much to heal, much to build, and much to gain. Few people in our nation’s history have been more challenged or found a time more challenging or difficult than the time we are in now. Once in a century virus that silently stalks the country has taken as many lives in one year as America lost in all of World War II. Millions of jobs have been lost. Hundreds of thousands of businesses closed. A cry for racial justice some 400 years in the making moves us. The dream of justice for all will be deferred no longer. The cry for survival comes from the planet itself. A cry that can’t be any more desperate or any more clear. And now a rise of political extremism, white supremacy, domestic terrorism that we must confront and we will defeat. To overcome these challenges, to restore the soul and secure the future of America requires so much more than words. It requires the most elusive of all things in a democracy. Unity. Unity. In another January, on New Year’s Day in 1863, Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. When he put pen to paper, the president said, and quote, “If my name ever goes down into history, it will be for this act and my whole soul is in it." My whole soul is in it. Today on this January day, my whole soul is in this. Bringing America together. Uniting our people. Uniting our nation. And I ask every American to join me in this cause. Uniting to fight the foes we face: anger, resentment, and hatred, extremism, lawlessness, violence, disease, joblessness and hopelessness. With unity, we can do great things, important things. We can right wrongs. We can put people to work in good jobs. We can teach our children in safe schools. We can overcome the deadly virus. We can reward — reward work and rebuild the middle class and make healthcare secure for all. We can deliver racial justice, and we can make America once again the leading force for good in the world. I know speaking of unity can sound to some like a foolish fantasy these days. I know the forces that divide us are deep, and they are real, but I also know they are not new. Our history has been a constant struggle between the American ideal that we are all created equal and the harsh, ugly reality that racism, nativism, fear, demonization have long torn us apart. The battle is perennial, and victory is never assured. Through Civil War, the Great Depression, world war, 9/11, through struggle, sacrifice, and setbacks, our better angels have always prevailed. In each of these moments, enough of us, enough of us have come together to carry all of us forward, and we can do that now. History, faith, and reason show the way, the way of unity. We can see each other not as adversaries but as neighbors. We can treat each other with dignity and respect. We can join forces, stop the shouting, and lower the temperature. For without unity, there is no peace, only bitterness and fury, no progress, only exhausting outrage; no nation, only a state of chaos. This is our historic moment of crisis and challenge and unity is the path forward. And we must meet this moment as the United States of America. If we do that, I guarantee you we will not fail. We have never ever ever ever failed in America when we have acted together, and so today at this time in this place, let’s start off fresh all of us. Let’s begin to listen to one another again, hear one another, see one another, show respect to one another. Politics doesn’t have to be a raging fire destroying everything in its path. Every disagreement doesn’t have to be a cause for total war, and we must reject the culture in which facts themselves are manipulated and even manufactured. My fellow Americans, we have to be different than this. America has to be better than this, and I believe America is so much better than this. Just look around here we stand in the shadow of the Capitol dome as was mentioned earlier completed amid the Civil War when the Union itself was literally hanging in the balance. Yet we endured, we prevailed. Here we stand, looking out on the great mall where Dr. King spoke of his dream. Here we stand where 108 years ago, at another inaugural, thousands of protesters tried to block brave women marching for the right to vote, and today we mark the swearing-in of the first woman in American history elected to national office, Vice President Kamala Harris. Don’t tell me things can’t change. Here we stand across the Potomac from Arlington Cemetery where heroes who gave the last full measure of devotion rest in eternal peace, and here we stand just days after a riotous mob thought they could use violence to silence the will of the people, to stop the work of our democracy, to drive us from this sacred ground. It did not happen; it will never happen, not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Not ever. To all of those who supported our campaign, I am humbled by the faith you have placed in us. To all of those who did not support us, let me say this hear me out as we move forward, take a measure of me and my heart. If you still disagree, so be it, that’s democracy, that’s America. The right to dissent peaceably within the guardrails of our Republic is perhaps this nation’s greatest strength. Yet hear me clearly disagreement must not lead to disunion, and I pledge this to you I will be a president for all Americans, all Americans. And I promise you I will fight as hard for those who did not support me as for those who did. Many centuries ago, St. Augustine, a saint in my church, wrote that a people was a multitude defined by the common objects of their love defined by the common objects of their love. What are the common objects we as Americans love that define us as Americans? I think we know. Opportunity, security, liberty, dignity, respect, honor, and yes, the truth. In recent weeks and months have taught us a painful lesson. There is truth and there are lies, lies told for power and for profit, and each of us has a duty and a responsibility as citizens, as Americans and especially as leaders, leaders who have pledged to honor our Constitution and protect our nation, to defend the truth and defeat the lies. Look, I understand that many of my fellow Americans view the future with fear and trepidation. I understand they worry about their jobs. I understand like my dad they lay at bed staring at the night — staring at the ceiling wondering can I keep my healthcare, can I pay my mortgage? Thinking about their families, about what comes next. I promise you I get it, but the answer is not to turn inward, to retreat into competing factions, distrusting those who don’t look like — look like you or worship the way you do or don’t get their news from the same source as you do. We must end this uncivil war that pits red against blue, rural versus urban or rural versus urban, conservative versus liberal. We can do this if we open our souls instead of hardening our hearts if we show a little tolerance and humility and if we are willing to stand in the other person’s shoes as my mom would say just for a moment stand in their shoes because here’s the thing about life, there’s no accounting for what fate will deal you. Some days when you need a hand, there are other days when we are called to lend a hand. That is how it has to be, and that is what we do for one another, and if we are this way, our country will be stronger, more prosperous, more ready for the future, and we can still disagree. My fellow Americans in the work ahead of us, we are going to need each other. We need all of our strength to preserve--to persevere through this dark winter. We are entering what may be the toughest and deadliest period of the virus. We must set aside politics and finally face this pandemic as one nation, one nation. And I promise you that this as the Bible said weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning. We will get through this together, together. Look, folks, all of my colleagues I have served with in the House and the Senate up here, we all understand the world is watching, watching all of us today, so here is my message to those beyond our borders. America has been tested and we’ve come out stronger for it. We will repair our alliances and engage with the world once again, not to meet yesterday’s challenges but today’s and tomorrow’s challenges. And we’ll lead not merely by the example of our power, but by the power of our example. We’ll be a strong and trusted partner for peace, progress, and security. Look, you all know we’ve been through so much in this nation. And in my first act as president, I’d like to ask you to join me in a moment of silent prayer, remember all those who we lost this past year to the pandemic, those 400,000 fellow Americans, moms, dads, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, friends, neighbors, and coworkers. We will honor them by becoming the people in the nation we know we can and should be. So, I ask you let’s say a silent prayer for those who’ve lost their lives and those left behind and for our country. Amen. Folks, this is a time of testing. We face an attack on our democracy and on truth, a raging virus, growing inequity, the sting of systemic racism, a climate in crisis, America’s role in the world. Any one of these would be enough to challenge us in profound ways, but the fact is we face them all at once, presenting this nation with a — one of the gravest responsibilities we had. Now we’re going to be tested. Are we going to step up, all of us? It’s time for boldness for there is so much to do. And this is certain. I promise you we will be judged, you and I, by how we resolve these cascading crises of our era. We will rise to the occasion is the question. Will we master this rare and difficult hour? Will we meet our obligations and pass along a new and better world to our children? I believe we must. I’m sure you do as well. I believe we will. And when we do, we’ll write the next great chapter in the history of the United States of America, the American story, a story that might sound something like a song that means a lot to me. It’s called American Anthem. There’s one verse that stands out at least for me, and it goes like this. “The work and prayers of century have brought us to this day. What shall be our legacy? What will our children say? Let me know in my heart when my days are through America, America, I gave my best to you.” Let’s add — lets us add our own work and prayers to the unfolding story of our great nation. If we do this, then when our days are through our children and our children’s children will say of us they gave their best. They did their duty. They healed a broken land. My fellow Americans, I close today where I began, with a sacred oath. Before God and all of you, I give you my word I will always level with you. I will defend the Constitution. I’ll defend our democracy. I’ll defend America. And I will give all, all of you, keep everything you--I do in your service, thinking not of power but of possibilities, not of personal interest but the public good. And together, we shall write an American story of hope, not fear; of unity, not division; of light, not darkness; a story of decency and dignity, love and healing, greatness and goodness. May this be the story that guides us, the story that inspires us, and the story that tells ages yet to come that we answered the call of history. We met the moment. Democracy and hope, truth and justice did not die on our watch but thrived, that America secured liberty at home and stood once again is a beacon to the world. That is what we owe our forbearers, one another, and generation to follow. So, with purpose and result, we turn to those tasks of our time, sustained by faith, driven by conviction, devoted to one another in the country we love with all our hearts. May God bless America and may God protect our troops. Thank you, America.

President Biden, Inaugural Address

[leonawriter]

To Change A Sombre Morrow (chapter nine)

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Characters: Genesis, Angeal, Cloud... Hollander.

Summary: Communication is key. Sometimes people are trying to help, and sometimes, they really... aren’t.

...

Angeal found him once he had made a strategic retreat back to his own rooms.

Having arrived still with his coat blackened in places and in a bad mood, he'd been blessed with the sheer amount of people who had suddenly found somewhere else to be, and he had showered, leaving his shoulder free of bandages for the first time in over two weeks, made a quick report to Lazard, pointed out that he'd not arrived yet by the time Hojo's alarms had gone off for something being wrong at the reactor, he'd had every right to be exhausted. 

But instead of kicking his boots off and collapsing onto his bed for a few hours, there he was, sitting on his old sofa with his coat in his lap and a heavy duty needle and colour-matched thread in his hands. 

"Well. That's not something I'd ever imagined you doing in your down time."

Genesis' hand slipped, and he swore when the needle jabbed his thumb instead of the leather. Now that he knew that his degradation hadn't truly stuck as he'd thought it had on his return to the past, it wasn't as much of a disaster as it could have been, but the anxiety of wondering how much the new wound would take to heal caused his heart to skip a beat.

A single Restore should have cured most of what he'd suffered in the reactor, but Vincent had been vocal about how much had been needed. Which was aggravating, which made him question why he was doing this, rather than handing it in to be repaired professionally, now that he could in fact do that, but...

"I had to learn," responded eventually, once he'd accustomed himself to Angeal's presence again and managed to get back into the flow. "You understand."

They couldn't exactly expect other people to fix the clothes they'd ripped apart when their wings had burst forth and they'd either forgotten or been unable to make allowances for anything in the way. 

He smiled, bitterly, at the remembrance of how it had been him and his own damn words that had caused Angeal to gain his wing - wings, there'd been two of them, though still on the same side - in the first place.

"Actually, no. I can't say that I do." Genesis stilled. Remembered that of course Angeal wouldn't know. This Angeal hadn't been through that. Idiot. "But fixing things is a useful skill to have."  If only fixing the rest of this messed up situation I'm in was as easy as fixing my coat, then perhaps I would call it a skill. "By the way, what caused that?"

Angeal motioned to the tear that Genesis was still mending. It was a good thing he'd already changed into a different set of clothes, or Angeal would have the other hole, the one in his shirt, to worry over as well.

"Nibel dragon," he lied, not meeting Angeal's eyes as his attention was back on his work. "The same reason why the coat is burned in places."

It wasn't as though the dragon he'd accepted the mission to go out there in the first place for hadn't been fearsome in its own right; it simply had not, however, been enough to cause as much of a challenge as some of the monsters he'd faced that had been mutated by Sephiroth's will. Even as he was, it had been perfectly manageable for a SOLDIER First Class of his calibre.

Angeal seemed accept the story however. Which was a relief.

"All right," Angeal said. "You look like whatever you faced back there, you..." he sighed. "Just, so long as you know you can come to me if you need to get anything off your chest. Sometimes dealing with things on your own isn't the only honourable thing to do. That's what we have friends for." 

Genesis' hands stilled, but he found himself unable to say anything in response until Angeal had already left, at which point he held his head in one hand, knowing that the rest of the tear would have to be put off, given the way his hands were now shaking.

If you knew what I have done, and what I know - about us both - then you wouldn't say such things. It might be better for both of us if I never tell you. 

Visions - memories - of Zack, broad-shouldered and with Angeal's Buster Sword a central part of his silhouette, came into his mind. A symbol of his failures. 

Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul, pride is lost... would you still consider yourself a monster and throw yourself on another's blade if I weren't trying to turn you against everything you once stood for?

He found it ironic, that he could still grieve a man lost long ago when he could walk out into the corridor and be face to face with him within a matter of minutes.

The tear in the leather was fixed before he could be called back into the public eye, to paperwork and meetings. Just the same as how he had always been frustrated with his inability to do more delicate work when he had made his first attempts years ago now, the repair was serviceable, but clearly visible even from a distance, and especially so if one knew that there was not supposed to be a jagged line of crimson thread, made all the more obviously out of place by how his coat had no other scars to it.

Back when he had first learned, it had been out of necessity, since it was hardly as though anyone else around would fix an ex-SOLDIER's clothes. And a coat that recognisable would be a liability, to take to an outsider. So he had learned. Because it was - had been - one of the few things he had thought to take with him, that he'd been able to and wanted to keep, when he'd left.

...

"You know, you don't have to keep going around in that tattered old thing. The world's hardly all that friendly to Shinra anymore, but there's places and people who don't care, for one reason or another."

They'd been walking down the streets of Kalm, and although it was broad daylight and the glow in their eyes from the mako in their blood wasn't so visible, people still looked at them - both of them - with suspicion.

"I'm offended. You think so little of my handiwork?"

"Huh?" Cloud's eyes had widened at the fact that Genesis had, indeed, made the repairs himself. Ducked his head and looked away. Genesis had wondered far too many times how this hesitant person so lacking in self-confidence could be the same one who had saved the world multiple times, and then defeated him, too. "Sorry."

Genesis had sighed, irritated. 

"No, you are right in one respect. It has seen better days. But it is also useful like this." The place where his wing came out at, he had left open, having tired of having to seal it closed each time he'd flown, was an inches-long buttonhole hidden under the length of his hair. Other places, he'd added pockets and pouches for useful items and materia. "And besides, I set aside my pride as a SOLDIER once already. Dressing as anything else would feel like - pretending to be something that I am not."

Angeal would ask me where my honour had gone, I'd imagine, he'd thought to himself. 

"Well, I was never really in SOLDIER," Cloud had said, and there was none of the pain or regret that usually coloured the words. This time, at least. "But... pride like that. It reminds me of him."

Genesis hadn't said anything to that. It had been clear who'd been meant by it. Zack was someone they both had in common, after all.

It would be a while before either of them spoke again, and when they did, it would be because yet another person had given the two of them a look Genesis had used to connect mostly with the way people reacted when his forces had gone into a town - suspicion, distrust, sometimes outright hatred, and a healthy dose of fear. All of which had been, in retrospect, completely warranted.

"They look at you the same way they look at me," he'd remarked bluntly. "Don't they know who you are?"

Cloud had stopped in the middle of the street, and his expression when Genesis had turned back to face him again had been flat acceptance. It had been odd, in a strange way, the way in which that expression now reminded him uncomfortably of Sephiroth.

"I'm no-one special." Which was a blatant lie if ever he'd heard one. "They look at you and they see Shinra, they don't care if you were in it just for the money, or because you thought you could do some good, or if you enjoyed it. They don't care if you saved the world. Shinra damned us all, and I'm not going to resent them that."

And Cloud had given him a look, much like Sephiroth had done sometimes - though at the same time, it was completely different, completely open and at the same time, so very hard to get a read on - and started walking again, leaving Genesis far behind and trying to catch up, trying to understand what had just been said.

He had always associated 'hero' with widespread adoration, the way that Shinra had made Sephiroth into a hero, the way that the hero was beloved of the goddess and all he met.

The idea that this, too, was a simple fantasy was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet at the same time there was some heavy part of his heart that had already begun to understand that this would be the case some time ago. 

...

He felt fingers grasp at his arm through the leather of his coat as he was walking down the corridor to his office, and it's only the disorienting, lurching feeling of knowing that he isn't there as an intruder or fugitive that reminds him of when he is, that holds him back from slamming Hollander into the wall.

It's a close thing, though. Very close. He still brushes the hand away a little more forcefully than he usually would with the non-enhanced, and feels dark satisfaction from the way Hollander winces.

"This had better be important."

Never mind that he suspected he knew exactly  what this was about. 

The scientist's eyes narrowed, watching him warily as he shook out his hand - and those were things he could see more clearly now, in ways that he'd been blinded to before. Hollander had never had his interests at heart; it had always been about his own selfish desires... and his own need need to survive above all else.

"You think just because you went off like that, no one would figure something was wrong, is that it?"

I was right.

"Nothing is wrong."

"Your friends certainly thought there was something up, the way they were worrying."

And that is just the sort of low blow that would have me come crawling back to you, time after time. The constant, steady stream of Hollander telling him, time and time again that he was the only one that could possibly save Genesis, could possibly figure out how to find a cure.

"Oh, and I suppose that you were worried as well, were you? Save your breath," Genesis said, lips twitching into a snarl.

Hollander had the gall to shake his head, as though Genesis was simply some unreasonable child. Knowing the scientist's role in his very existence, perhaps that was all he would be viewed as - until the day came when Genesis no longer needed to pretend to love the Shinra Company like he had done before at this age, and Hollander could find himself with Genesis' Rapier through his chest for crimes he clearly had every intention of still carrying out.

"I don't think you understand just how serious this is - if what seemed like it should've just been a minor injury was bothering you so much back then-"

"You don't seem to have been listening to a word I've been saying." The words came out dangerously low, his wing just itching to be released and spread itself for extra dramatic effect. "I had an infection." True enough, if Jenova could be considered a virus. "I got better. And now, you and your concern are... unnecessary."

How long had he wanted to say those words, to see the reaction on this man's face, when he revealed, even in as thinly veiled a way as this, that he had found the cure that Hollander had been unable to in all his years of searching? 

The look of shock that he'd been after was tempered by doubt, but Hollander was shaken. 

Perhaps a normal infection, a normal wound, could be healed with time and enough healing magics, but degradation...

"Went to someone else, did you?"

Genesis rolled his eyes. Not in the way you're thinking of. You never did take the concept of the Gift of the Goddess seriously. Why would you now? 

He turned his back on Hollander, pointedly turning himself back in the direction of his office. 

"Infinite in mystery is the Gift of the Goddess. We seek it thus, and take to the sky."

He only made it a few paces away when Hollander's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"That's it, isn't it? And - your coat. Interesting place for a repair job."

For a terrifying moment, Genesis' blood turned to ice, and he forgot to breathe. It had, after all, been Hollander who'd known that the results of Project G would be prone to mutation. He hadn't even seemed entirely too surprised to see a wing sprout from his back, only citing curiosity that there was only one.

They stood there, Genesis knowing that his reaction was all but a complete admission, and Hollander unwilling to give any ground, seconds stretching by for far longer than they had any right to, before a Second Class came racing past, knocking the tension out of the air and letting Genesis breathe again as well as pick up his feet to keep moving.

It doesn't matter what he knows or doesn't, he reassured himself. All that does, is that he knows that I will not be going along with whatever he says, just because he thinks that he has some form of power over me. 

...

AN: For reference, Hollander is completely barking up the wrong tree on everything other than his suspicions that Genesis was degrading, and also that the repair is hiding the existence of some form of mutation.