#but keep on with your presumption that you can have an adult conversation

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

"Theodosius, thank you for joining us. My name is Alys, and I will be part of your welcoming team for your entrance to Shadowvale Academy. Do you have any questions for me?"

Theo glowered at the woman, who continued to smile politely back at him.

"Can I talk to my boyfriend now? Why are we still in stupid Arkhelios? I want to go back to Pleasantview."

Alys' serene expression never wavered. She gestured to her right and another adult appeared beside her. Unlike this Alys, he didn't look like a demon, though maybe Theo was being presumptive. It's not like he looked like a demon most of the time either.

"My name is Leofric," the man said, smiling a little too enthusiastically. "I'm going to be your therapeutic guidance counselor. If you ever need to talk about your thoughts or feelings, I'm at your service. You can talk to me about anything, and it will stay between us. It's going to be a difficult transition, and sometimes demons can be a little too, uh, expressive when their emotions bottle up. Part of taking control over your abilities means taking control over your emotions too. I'll help you work through your emotional stumbling blocks, so that you can graduate into a responsible, mature hybrid in complete control of himself."

"No, I'm fine," Theo insisted angrily. "I'm going back to Pleasantview."

The teen snapped his fingers to summon a demonic portal, but none appeared. He tried again and again, but with no result.

"We've been entrusted with your true name, child," Alys stated coldly. "You'll find that many of your abilities may be out of your reach until you learn to master them. Coming with us isn't a choice. I'm afraid Pleasantview will have to wait."

"No! It's not fair! I need to talk to Adam! I'm not going!"

Overwhelmed with fear, anger, and despair, Theo found himself bursting into tears. He tried to stop the tears in order to look intimidating, but he couldn't. All he could feel within him was a cyclone of those emotions, blurring out every rational thought.

"Change can be difficult, I know," Leofric said soothingly, putting a reassuring arm around the teen. "What you're feeling is natural, especially now that you've realized that your normal means of escape are no longer possible. This is all part of the process; it's only natural. Why don't we continue this conversation inside so that it can remain private?"

"Where are we?" Theo asked through his tears. "I don't even know this part of Arkhelios."

"Because your parents and elected leader are sheltering you," Alys replied. The tone in her voice dashed Theo's hopes of escaping. Hopefully the rest of his so-called team were nicer than she was. Somehow, he didn't think he'd be that lucky.

"This is the former residence of the Chun family and the current residence of the Chun Undead. It is a part of your journey and where we must begin."

"I don't remember this place," Theo insisted, staring at the walls, hoping something would spark in his mind and trigger a reason why he was being forced to be here. "Those are my parents on the wall, but I've never been here before."

"This is the area where President Bellamy houses the undead," Leofric explained. It's part of a small zoned area for Arkhelios' undead residents to embrace their second chance at life."

"This is the zombie containment area?" Theo gasped. "No one's been here but the president herself! How did you get access here? Aunt Lucy and Grandma petition the government every five years to keep this place sealed. No one is allowed here."

"I think you will find that there are very few places where we don't have access," Alys replied. "We had need of it and it was made available to us. For our purposes, we were also granted the help of the undead. Your president has been very helpful. "

Theo frowned. These weren't the same same kind of teachers the Pleasantview Academy had, and they were well known for their long reach within the country. Wherever he was going, it looked like he would miss the freedom of Pleasantview. Whoever these people were, they were impossibly powerful, both politically and magically.

"Theo! Theo Dorhack."

"Grandpa? Is that you?" Theo stared at the zombie that was creeping toward him. He certainly looked like Theo's father, and was a zombie, so logically that would make this man his Grandpa Ian.

Theo didn't really know what to expect of his grandfather. From his grandmother's rants, Ian had been a worthless, cheating bum who squandered their money with his whore mistress. There may be some truth to that description, but when Theo thought about how she usually spoke about him, he decided to give his grandfather some grace. Nearly everyone was actually better than how his grandmother described them.

"Hey, Grandpa," Theo greeted nervously. "How have you been? It's been awhile, huh?"

Theo vaguely recalled his father mentioning that Theo had met his grandfather when he was younger, but Theo had no memory of it. The zombie seemed to understand what Theo was saying, even if he couldn't respond in complete sentences.

"Sit down, Theodosius," Alys commanded, gesturing to the couch beside her.

Ian seemed to respond to the command, gently pushing his grandson towards the requested seat. Theo grudgingly gave into the command, seeing that he was outnumbered and nearly powerless.

"Now, before we can continue with your admittance, we need to measure the limits of your potential," Alys said. Theo perked up at the thought that he could stall the process, but abandoned all hope when Alys locked her eyes intensely with his. "This is in no way optional. If you refuse to participate willingly, we have your true name already. You will be made to complete the exams."

Theo tried not to show fear, but this woman was a professional. Even when she was merely watching him, flashes of terror flooded Theo, warning him against defying her.

"O-okay," Theo gulped. "What do I need to do?"

"We were hoping to chart your natural state to establish an estimate of your abilities," Leofric answered. "Your file indicates that you displayed a large amount of power in this location as an infant. There is a stain of demonic magic in this house that we were hoping to attribute to you, but from seeing you interact with the space, it looks like it belongs to another demon. Perhaps Dorhack, as this was once his domain. It will be added to our measurements, but we need to dig deeper. You will accompany us at dawn to the secondary location. Until that time, you are permitted to sleep. I'd suggest that you take this opportunity. Testing may be...tiring and the chance to sleep may not come again any time soon."

Theo stretched out on the couch he was sitting on, watching his team members watch him coldly. Falling asleep wouldn't be so bad, especially if it meant escaping this nightmare for a few hours. In his dreams, he could return to Pleasantview like he wanted. In his dreams, he could hold Adam again.

As soon as the sun rose, Theo was rudely awakened when a freezing cup of water was emptied on his head. Alys tried to remain impartial, but Theo swore that there was a devious sparkle in her eye when he woke up sputtering.

"We're leaving. Now."

With sleep still in his eyes, Theo walked through the portal Alys had opened for him. On the other side, he stood in front of a weathered, small house, surrounded by water. Theo recognized the area from his childhood.

"This is still Arkhelios," he stated. "Is this the school? This is down the street from where my dad used to live."

This was much closer to the water than where Roman used to live, but Theo could still see the lights of Arkhelios in the distance. He didn't fully remember the near bunker they had lived in before taking over the Bellamy estate, but he did remember how quiet it was. Very few people came to the island next to Arkhelios due it's size and lack of amenities.

"This, Theo, is where you were born. Your entrance into the world was here, so it stands to reason that this is the best place to connect with the root of your magic. We have your true name and the location and time of your birth. All we need now is to see how your body reacts to our conditions."

"Conditions?" Theo repeated, but Alys was already climbing the stairs that led to the house.

"Stand in the magic circle and reach out your hands," the demon commanded. Leofric lingered near her, writing something in a notebook.

Theo did as he was told and immediately felt a rush of energy. His outstretched arm began to waver with the intensity of it all.

Alys nodded her approval and looked over at Leofric.

"Okay, test one, attempt one. And...go."

She snapped her fingers and immediately, all the rush of energy Theo felt exploded, colliding into him at breakneck speed. Energy flooded his mind, and he could feel the weight of the horns on his head, indicating that he'd shifted into his dark form.

"This feels funny," Theo stated, noticing the energy forming around his hands. He felt the top of his head worriedly. "There's still the extra horns from before. Plus the wings. They're sort of a new thing. Maybe they're part of what's wrong with me?"

"Unlikely." With a snap of her fingers, Theo immediately shifted out of his dark form, hitting the ground as his regular self. The change happened before his body could even register the movement.

"Well, that's what happened the other day with Adam," Theo said, hopeful that the experiment had concluded for the day and that he could go home. "So, since you've got the data, I should probably-"

"Test one, attempt two," Alys replied, snapping her fingers again. Theo swore she looked excited at the opportunity to inflict pain and discomfort on him.

The rush of energy came faster this time, still nearly knocking Theo to his feet. The transformation felt nearly instantaneous. Theo could feel the power coursing through his veins, energy exploding from his fingers. Every second, he felt as though he was about to burst from the amount of energy coursing through him. This was how he felt with Adam. The wild, unyielding power that threatened to destroy him had taken over his body within seconds.

"Now hold that position," Alys commanded. "We're getting a good reading. Okay, now try to summon energy to your hand, just what you did with Apprentice Darktide."

Theo obeyed the order, despite the amount of pain that he felt while doing so. Energy crackled in the air around him. His eyes felt like they were burning in their sockets. The room faded away from his vision, leaving him with nothing but endless darkness. Theo was sinking into darkness as an unnatural light shone within him, destroying his ability to concentrate on what was happening to him. He was going to explode from the magical pressure building inside of him. There was only darkness and pain and fear and....

Theo's mind snapped back to attention the instant it collided with something impossible to ignore. A tiny light in the darkness called to him, offering him shelter from the chaos of his thoughts.

The more Theo reached for the light, the more familiar it became. He could feel an unmistakable warmth unfurl around him, easing the fury of the energy forcing the shift into a dark form.

Adam, I finally found you.

There could be no mistaking the change in the air. Even Ian could sense that something had changed, despite not having the capacity to voice it in words. Theo didn't appear to be struggling nearly as much as he had before.

It was impossible for Theo to fight the urge to stay in his dark form, but he was making an incredible effort resisting it. He was no longer breathing heavily and was able to maneuver his hands together to expel whatever he could of the power burning within him.

"Fascinating," Alys exclaimed, putting away her notes in order to fully observe what she was seeing. "Finally, a reading that makes sense. Leofric, when we get back to the school, please send our gracious sovereign a message. The situation is as she thought it might be. The boy is stable here where he entered the world, while using a secondary source's power."

"That's wonderful," Leofric replied. "He can follow a fairly standardized course of study then. I'll have most of his entrance package ready within an hour of our arrival." He paused for a moment, running different scenarios through his mind. "And the secondary source? Do we need to contact them?"

Alys shook her head, still marveling at the teen in front of her. With every passing second, the boy seemed more calm, more in control of himself. Provided the right elements, this little hybrid was more than capable of growing into the threat the Sovereign envisioned. Once he learned to control his abilities, who knew what he could do, especially when paired with this secondary source?

"Only the Sovereign and Master Maricourt need to be informed," she decided. "They are our employers. The magic that they have said this boy can produce...well, the Ocean never gifts such power to a single person. You remember the stories. How odd to finally see such a thing in person."

Leofric nodded, still unsure of what his opinion on the matter would be.

"I'd be more inclined to believe the boy is the result of blood and contracted magic," he suggested. "This Dorhack and his daughter making contracts with powerful families and performing illegal magic would also explain the boy's abilities."

"No, this has the stink of a deity all over it. Impossible life magic, pairing the boy off to be grounded by another? You're far too young to know this, but our controversial life deity came into being due to circumstances much like this. Maybe this all started with Dorhack, but even he couldn't pull this off."

"I disagree. Blood magic amplified by a broken curse can easily explain this," Leofric replied. "I suppose we'll see when he gets settled in and starts training which one of us is right."

Alys snapped her fingers again, releasing Theo and sending him crashing to the floor, his dark form immediately vanished.

"It's a bet. Take Mr. Bellamy through the portal and get him settled. I'll be along shortly."

She gestured towards a wall, opening a portal that would lead Leofric and his young charge to the school.

"I have a feeling that this will be one of our more memorable students."

[heartpascal]

Hello! I absolutely adored if the door wasn't shut series- I think I've read it the entire thing four times since I first came across it (which was just yesterday). Your writing is so beautiful, and honestly the FEELS!! I can relate to the reader character so well, and they are so well written. Some of my fave parts are the angstier parts (especially after the Jesse incident and they were hiding in their shop). I know too well the feeling of not being good enough, and the fear of being left behind by everyone I love.

I'm just wondering (and this might be me projecting too), but does Joel know the extent of what he did to the reader? Like I totally get he did it to keep them safe, but he left them after they showed a bit of vulnerability (telling them they want to go home/being scared). I know he's apologized, and I know he knows it was wrong to take away their choice, but does he know that it's really messed up for him to have done that after the reader was so vulnerable with them? It sounds like they weren't super touchy-feely from the beginning, so the fact that they told them were scared. It was exactly like how they said to Tommy, about how they look in the mirror and see all the parts of themselves that was not good enough (or not enough to be loved and kept in people's lives). By abandoning the reader, Joel basically said the reader was too 'much' for them, and that their fear was a burden. My heart literally aches when I read the conversation with Tommy bc that feeling of rejection- especially after such a vulnerable moment would kill me.

Anyways sorry for the ramble! I just love this series so much, and I wanted to hear your perspective on it. And I love that the ending wasn't super wrapped in a neat bow- there was still animosity and how it doesn't feel like complete forgiveness but just a moving forward. I think it'd be interesting to see Joel's POV in all of this, especially at the end when he probs has to come to terms that he'll never 'get back to before' per se, and Tommy/Maria has most likely replaced him in being their safe space. Apologies if that was presumptive, and not what you had in mind with the ending, but I really don't see the reader going back to having that level of trust with him- not like they have with Tommy/Maria now.

okay i think this is like one of my favourite asks concerning this series ever. first of all, THANK YOU!!! omg. you’re so kind :’)

now let’s get into it >:)

i’m going to have to say no, joel doesn’t know the extent to how badly his actions effected reader! or at least he doesn’t quite understand the full extent of it. i mean we’ve gotta think like … this man was a fully grown adult when the world fell apart, you know? he became guarded, sure, but that wasn’t the way he grew up!!! whereas that would’ve been the way reader grew up, never knowing who to trust, never knowing where danger was gonna come from, never having a safe place to admit how r felt.

i’d say that when joel sorta saw that vulnerability it scared him because he was so used to reader being closed off, yk? which kinda only proves reader’s fears to be right, which is just so :( but we do know that joel consistently doesn’t think he’s good enough to protect ellie (and therefore reader too) so that definitely feeds into his reaction too. joel had his reasons for doing what he did, but at the time of them leaving reader behind he didn’t even think about how it could effect them!! he was concerned for their physical safety rather than any emotional or personal things.

i do love a bit of angst but even i’m a bit like :( when i remember what i put reader through in that series LMAOOO. they’re gonna have to go on a long journey to ever get even remotely close to joel like they had been before. but you’re absolutely right, it’s never gonna be like it was before, and that’s something that both joel AND r will have to come to terms with :(

and also NO PLEASE I LOVE HEARING YOUR THOUGHTS!!! never apologise this is my favourite thing. i love talking about this with you guys!!!

i think on some levels reader will never have that same level of trust or safety with anybody after joel. like i think it’ll have left a permanent mark, and they won’t be able to fully have faith or trust in someone again.

r’s relationship with tommy and maria is probably the closest it’ll ever get to what they had with joel, but it’ll never be quite the same. or maybe it will, but i imagine it’d take a very long time to get there. tommy and maria already know that all they can ever do is just be there for reader as much as they can, even when r thinks they won’t be. i’m sure they’ll have spoken to each other about how they’re gonna be all up in r’s life for as long as they possibly can, until their dying breath, honestly.

thinking about joel in this series is so sad, because when we think about what happens with ellie a bit later on as well it’s just so … sad. bc *tlou 2 spoilers kinda* when he and ellie fall out, that’s gonna effect his relationship with reader, too. it’s gonna feel like another betrayal, another reason that it feels impossible to trust him, even though r would be glad he did what he did. but yeah, joel would be lonely for sure, but he’s just glad that they’re both alive and safe, even if it’s not with him anymore.

i was originally going to do a part 6 to that series, but the ending of part 5 was just so … satisfying to me? like it’s realistic in my eyes!!! they’re never gonna be the same, that’s true, but there’s something. and joel would take whatever something r would give him.

[casspurrjoybell-18]

Mutual Desire - Chapter 49b

*Warning - Adult Content*

Mr Webster turned his head abruptly towards Alexander Nabokov and everyone did the same including Damien Clark before quickly looking away again and staring at the floor. 

No need to point out that the most uncomfortable silence of all time didn't take time to pollute the room.

"Can we resume to where we left off just before Mr. Clarke honored us with his presence or do you still have other comments to share?" Nabokov emitted in a tone that showed nothing about the emotions he was feeling right now.

"Yes. I just want to make sure there is no..."

"We have a legal department which manages this kind of problem, if there is a problem. So, I don't really understand why this subject which I remind you, has nothing to do with Mr. D'Alonzo's program, is being brought into this conversation."

Damien couldn't resist anymore, he had to visualize the scene that was taking place at the moment. 

He had to see ‘ass licker’ being roughed up. 

Revenge could be so... wonderful sometimes.

"I just wanted..."

"Can we continue, because I have other matters to deal with and I imagine that you as well, correct?" Nabokov interrupted the asshole for the umpteenth time, his voice starting to show signs of impatience.

Webster cleared his throat, an embarrassed look running all over his face.

"Yes, of course."

Damien lowered his head, unable to contain a smile he wanted to hide. 

The day had started very badly but now everything seemed to be going well. 

Damien thought he had obtained Nick's forgiveness and his best friend would probably have his project be approved and Webster had been put in his place. 

Yes, everything was fine.

"But beforehand, I'm waiting for you to apologize to Bettman and Mr. D'Alonzo for your useless reproaches and to Mr. Clarke for your unfounded presumptions."

Damien quickly looked up at the mention of his name and what Nabokov had said. 

He wanted ‘ass licker’ to apologize? 

Well damn it. 

Damien was amazed to say the least. 

It was one thing that Nabokov brush off Ass Licker because he too seemed annoyed by the fact that he was wasting his precious time and as a businessman, time is money. 

But now, Nabokov requested from Webster, who seemed to have an important position in his company, to apologize. 

Damien wasn't sure what to make of such a thing but a grin formed on his mouth. 

Nabokov continued to show him different facades of him. 

Damien was delighted that the Russian man would come to Nick's defense, despite Webster's status in the company. 

It did something to his heart.

"I apologize, gentlemen, for getting carried away. It's just that I care about the success of this company. I hope you understand," Webster explained, his face doing its best to not seem irritated.

"Keep going," Alexander Nabokov ordered, addressing Nicolas D’Alonzo with a weak head movement.

Damien didn't take long to take a sit next to Bettman, which he should've done a long time ago. 

His eyes met Nick's and Damien nodded as to encourage him to continue his presentation. 

Twenty minutes later, the presentation came to an end and during it, Damien Clark religiously avoided eye contact with Alexander Nabokov.

"Well, I think the changes speak for itself," Bettman said, addressing Nabokov. "Nicolas has made great improvements and I think his software has potential and has deserved its commercialization."

Damien agreed with Bettman's words a hundred and ten percent, even if his opinion wasn't impartial. 

Nick had worked hard and been very rigorous to the point of continuing to update his program and make necessary changes. 

Damien really didn't see how the program wouldn't get approved. 

It's in the bag.

"And I still hold my position," Webster objected, adding his grain of salt.

"An antivirus is not the most exciting project. We are looking for something new, something fresh to offer, not recycled things."

Damien couldn't hold himself back any longer. 

How could that fucking bastard dared devalue all of Nick's work without knowing what he had to sacrifice and how much work he put into? 

And his shitty argument was that the project was not the most exciting. 

It was totally disrespectful and Damien wasn't going to stay behind and let someone put his best friend down. 

He'd rather died before allowing such a thing to happen.

"I don't agree," Damien said firmly, looking at Webster straight in the eyes.

Sudden silence fell in the room. 

Damien felt all eyes on him.

Nick probably must have been watching him with an astonished look, surely failing to believe that his best friend could stand up to the director of a big billionaire company.

 If only he knew that Damien stood up to someone a thousand times more powerful. 

Repeatedly.

"No one really values the product offered. The important thing is the brand attached to the product. Do you think that if Apple decided to commercialize cosmetics overnight that they wouldn't still have mass customers? It's the brand that interests people and if your company is as lucrative and known as you claim, then people won't care that another umpteenth antivirus has been created and they will buy it anyway, because your brand is attached to it and because you have already established a trust with them with your other products."

The silence became even heavier and stifling, after Damien's monologue. 

Damien hadn't taken his eyes off Webster. 

The two enemies glared at each other. 

The tension increased every second.

"That's marketing 101," Damien added, concluding his monologue with this insolent remark, an arrogant grin telling Webster to go fuck himself.

Surprisingly, ‘ass licker’ didn't have the reaction Damien expected of him. 

Instead of refuting with a bloody remark, he only turned to Nabokov, as if seeking permission from his boss to defend himself with a derogatory reproach that impatiently waited to escape his mouth. 

This tactic seemed to work, because after a few more seconds of silence, Nabokov spoke.

"The meeting is over," Nabokov announced abruptly. "I would like to have a word with Mr. Clarke. Alone."

A dead silence immediately dominated the atmosphere in the room. 

No one moved, much too surprised by this simple sentence uttered by Nabokov, Damien being the first.

"Now," Nabokov added coldly and calmly, looking at his employees one by one.

Everyone suddenly rose from their chair at the same time, except Damien who could only watch the scene unfolding in front. 

The three men and Bettman left the room and Nick followed but not before casting a confused look at Damien in the process. 

Damien swallowed hard, as he watched the door close. 

It was now official, he was now alone with Nabokov, in this room which strangely now seemed much smaller. 

Four empty chairs separated him from Nabokov and that still wasn't enough. 

Even a wall wouldn't have been sufficient. 

Damien turned his head slightly and glanced at the one who was responsible for his discomfort and Nabokov stared at him just as much.   

The tension was palpable, notwithstanding the distance between the two men. 

Damien didn't move an inch, remaining motionless, as if he was making a movement, he was going to receive an electric shock. 

His heart was beating like a drum, ready to come out of his chest. 

The intimidating man's presence alone caused inexplicable effects on him.

Unable to bear Nabokov's gaze any longer, Damien bowed his head and stared at the floor. 

He had no idea how he was going to get out of this mess and Nabokov's clutches. 

Damien hadn't organized any plan because he believed with certainty ‘due to Nabokov's promise’ that this kind of situation wouldn't happen again. 

Damien couldn't have been anymore wrong. 

One thing was certain. 

Nothing was certain in life.

[janiedean]

Dude you need to stop. OP hadn't even been aggressive, they just made a random statement on their own blog. It's a personal space. Why do you all have to feel personally offended when 1) it was ONE POST on someone's personal blog, and 2) you're the first whining about how everyone is always offended at nothing! How insensitive. Maybe they were being dramatic, but then what? Show a little compassion, if it bothers you so much just fucking ignore it and move on, jesus. Are you 12?

Also seriously, you're constantly whining about how fed up you are about wank and "Discourse™" in your fandoms, but then you're also continuously participating in said wank by upping it up and up. Ever heard it takes two to tango? Kettle, meet pot?

my dearest darling anon, wow, you really got irked over a post that has..... 50k notes and it’s not such a personal thing anymore at that point. I mean. 50k notes. it’s not just PERSONAL. but however, let’s go over this.

a) it’s my blog. I reblog what I want. If anything, assholes on tumblr who keep disguising their fairly immature rants as *venting* should stop, not me. also, that post has 50k notes and out of the reblogs on the version I reblogged, I didn’t even say the worst thing. did you send this message also to the previous three people in my reblog? :’)

b) one post? that reblog was already two, and if you go on that person’s blog there’s another three reblogs of that same OP with additions which are all OMG STRAIGHT PEOPLE SUCK SO MUCH. lol. venting. with fifty thousand notes. it’s not venting anymore when a post is that viral and they posted it on a public website most likely fully knowing that it would go viral since tumblr dot com is basically ‘straight is an insult but it’s okay to say it because who cares straight people can just take it *SHRUG*’. 

c) HOW INSENSITIVE! MAYBE THEY WERE BEING DRAMATIC! SHOW A LITTLE COMPASSION! okay, you know what?

I’m now going to take OP and reword it with my favorite subject when it comes to show you how this line of thinking is hypocritical af. and at least it’s something I am and I can relate to so y’all can’t accuse me of appropriating someone’s struggles.

good? good!

now let’s imagine this was the op:

Being in a room with religious people talking about religious things is so exhausting.

at that, someone asks me:

What the hell are ‘religious things’?

and I reply:

sunday school and reciting prayers and going to mass and confession talk and discussing about how saudi arabia is actually a very pro-feminist country (spoilers: I heard that irl myself) without being made to feel like you are making people uncomfortable and hearing catholic people talk about how horrible it is for them to talk to atheists and christians in western countries talk about how they are such victims and their lives are shit when what this really means is they are never told that they don’t have morals because of course they believe in a deity and so they are and homophobic and racist crap that drives me crazy like how the only true family is man and woman  and how great religion (ps: this was in the OP so thanks for assuming that all straight assholes in the world are also religious but okay) is and how the world is so lovely and kind and great because people have god watching out for them and he will always be with them and how religious people are like “this person is so lovely” when you know they think you’ll go to hell for being anything other than their religion or listening to religious people say atheists are the worst or talk about people who don’t want to attend religious ceremonies (ie. people who don’t want to go to masses held for dead people) as being weird or rude because WHY WOULDN’T YOU GO, or asking “but have you ever read the bible?” judgmentally as if the moment you read that you suddenly hear jesus speaking to you or getting annoyed at you when you tell them about how not nice it is to be asked all the damned time if you’re gonna kill someone one day just because you’re atheist is because it’s easy for them cause they are religious and wouldn’t know the first thing about it or having to tell people you ‘really don’t practice’ to people all the time cause they just assume you’re catholic and you’ll be getting weird looks if you don’t like, and ‘wait but really??? HOW???’ or “but you look so nice it’d be a pity if you went to hell just because you refuse to believe in god” or “well as long as you keep it for yourself but DON’T TELL YOUR GRANDMOTHER!!!” or having to hear religious people talk about how great christmas is or about the amazing shit they read in church or about how all holy books are ABSOLUTELY NOT WRITTEN BY MEN AND THEREFORE NOT FALLIBLE and about all the amazing movies about jesus or just watching people live super conventional lives and do really sexist old fashioned things just because no one is brave enough to question or think about anything… and worst of all knowing that if you were to say or talk about anything atheist everyone would get uncomfortable and not join in on the conversation and wish you had said nothing… and then people will be like “you hardly said anything”, “you’re so quiet”, “you don’t talk much”, “are you shy”, “you’re boring”.

No bitch I’m atheist and I don’t relate to nor am I really interested in any of the shit that you have been yelling to my face for the last hour.

now, I’ll tell you what would happen: ANY DECENT RELIGIOUS PERSON I FOLLOW WOULD ASK ME WHAT THE FUCK I WAS SMOKING AND IF I REALLY THINK ALL RELIGIOUS PEOPLE ARE LIKE THAT AND ALL RELIGIONS ARE LIKE THAT, AND EVERYONE WOULD ASSUME I WAS A PROPER FUCKING ASSHOLE BECAUSE I JUST GENERALIZED 70% OF THE PLANET IN A LONGWINDED RIDICULOUSLY EMBARRASSING RANT WHERE ON SOME THINGS I MIGHT BE RIGHT AND ON OTHERS I JUST SHOWED A HORRID AMOUNT OF IGNORANCE.

also, since atheists are all assholes, I’d just confirm their ideas that all atheists are assholes who think they’re so much better than anyone else.

does that post look so harmless, put like this? would it look harmless, if the category mocked was anything but straight people? let me tell you: it wouldn’t. not on here, anyway. and now we get to the best part of this frankly ridiculous ask that you of course sent on anon because like hell you’d say that to my face, hm?

Show a little compassion, if it bothers you so much just fucking ignore it and move on, jesus. Are you 12?

no, I’m 29. and OP of that post, who definitely fucking sounds like he’s twelve, because I could have written the above post about how religion sucks when I was in my dawkins phase and I was THIRTEEN and like two years later I already learned to be a little less dramatic, is twenty-seven. out of someone who’s almost thirty, I’d expect some maturity.

but never mind that. the point is: actually, I did it. I ignored a fucking shitload of posts like this since the year of the lord 2013 when they started becoming a thing on tumblr. I ignored posts saying that ‘the only good use straight allies have is getting thrown off a cliff’, I ignored posts about how horrid cishets are, I ignored posts about cishets ‘are like omg they want a cookie for being nice to us that should be the basics’ as if in some places just being pro-lgbt can’t get you fired or put you against your family or get yourself in a hospital, but of course hey, we’re straight, we’re the majority, we inherently oppress anyone who’s not, who cares, amrite? I had to watch this website spiral into a mentality where straight is an insult, basically, and so hey we have a post laughing about straight girls’s tastes, straight girls being into ***ugly boys***, straight girls being brainwashed by the patriarchy because they actually like men when they could be lesbians and be so much better off in tumblr’s amazing pastel unicorns and rainbows lesbian aesthetic where no one feels sexual attraction and everything is platonic and we don’t talk about bills because how fucking boring. I ignored all of that shit for years because y’all were VENTING and you could only do it online so hey what’s the harm in it, and guess what, I’m done. It bothers me so much because it normalizes a mentality where it’s okay to insult people for things they can’t change about themselves rather than aim at, like, HOMOPHOBES. WHO ARE THE ROOT OF THE PROBLEM. but nah, hey, I just have to scroll by the umpteenth post insulting straight people because they talk about things also lgbt people talk about APPARENTLY, because is2g I can assure you that in my fandom group of friends where *I* am camp straight 90% of the time and everyone else is not we actually fucking talk about mortgages and bills and how much renovating a house sucks and how it costs and how it doesn’t and about taxes and about how poor we’re going to be when we retire.

but apparently to OP all this kinda shit is just STRAIGHT TALKING. yeah, lol. anyway, this is kindergarten level attitude and people should have been told to can it years ago, and honestly given that ‘scroll by and ignore’ is an attitude I had for years to avoid conflict and it only caused me trouble, excuse me if I’m done helping feeding a mentality that’s completely fucking useless, because this line of thinking just alienates people. also wow now that I read this post I should feel bad for talking to my non-hetero friends about pretty much anything according to OP? some straight kid younger than me and more impressionable who might actually buy into this website’s bullshit reads this and what will they think? that every time they discuss anything with a gay friend nearby that person is seething inside and hating all of them? could happen. anyway, point is: that post is ridiculous, it has 50k notes and I’m 99% sure most of them actually agree with OP and I wasn’t taught to keep my mouth shut if I hear people saying dumbass things and everyone agrees. that’s not how you do activism. enabling this way of thinking is not helping anyone, least of all OP.

other than that: 

you're constantly whining about how fed up you are about wank and "Discourse™" in your fandoms, but then you're also continuously participating in said wank by upping it up and up

so excuse me, telling people who are actually fucking wrong and spew and enable actually dangerous concepts like idk the fact that people up until eighteen years old have the same decisional capacity as five year olds, that you cannot consent to sex if you aren’t eighteen and one hour old, that you can’t date someone older or younger than you even if you’re both of age because PEDOPHILIA and that consuming problematic fiction is wrong is UPPING THE WANK?

ANON, WHAT THE FUCK. so now if donald trump does ridiculous things and says dumb shit people who disagree should just shut up and let him work and ignore it when the things he does are dangerous? anti thinking is dangerous and keeping your mouth shut and going like ‘they’ll grow out of it’ is not going to work, it’s going to make the situation worse and it’s going to get people hurt.

telling people to FUCKING CAN IT and explaining them a few basic concepts about the difference between fiction and real life is not upping the fucking wank, and calling people out on fucking dumb opinions is not the same as enabling toxic ways of thinking. good lord, if someone irl tells me that interracial marriages are wrong and disgusting what should I do, shrug and let them think I agree or MAYBE EXPLAIN THEM THAT IT’S REALLY RETROGRADE TO THINK SUCH A THING?

I mean, do you need a power point to get the difference?

kettle meet pot like hell. I never started any wank, I never posted one thing purposefully offending an entire category of people just to VENT, none of my posts ever got more than 3k notes - honest I think I had ONE that got that much and it was convention pictures of SPN actors so sure as hell I’m not getting seen by 50k people so OP actually has more leverage than me in this discourse - and assuming I’m actually doing the same thing as OP when everything I’m doing is pointing out that it’s not a healthy way of thinking and that this fucking website is turning into a worse dumpster with every passing moment since at this point the fact that I was born being fine with my sexual characteristic and liking dick is apparently enough to decide that I inherently oppress minorities just by existing and it’s not a line of thinking that activists anywhere should support, is intellectually dishonest and frankly fucking laughable especially coming from someone who doesn’t even put their face to what they ask.

and anyway, OP is a grown ass man and can take care of themselves and of a few disagreeing opinions if he wants to be on a public website where his posts go viral.

and I have absolutely no obligation to keep my mouth shut about things that are imo very fucking dangerous slip-slopes.

there. and now, since I am not going to keep my mouth shut just to make you or OP feel better, you can click the unfollow button if you dislike my opinions that much or you can stick around and learn that sometimes being an adult is a thing that should happen, especially if you frame shit as activism.

anyway, I don’t even know who you are so it’s not like I’ll miss you personally. :’)

[i-make-fun-of-spn-characters]

I feel like you've given most spn related things some lil spice but I always love the spice on this : hot spicy take on the "Dean is the most horrible character and ruins everyone's life and Sam and Cas are poor little meow meows who only do bad things sometimes because tyran Dean farted in their direction" takes that are not really only said by anti-Dean peeps ? Obsessed with that incredible thesis and would love the added spice ❤

SPICY HOT HOT GHOST PEPPERS CAROLINA REAPERS HELP I'M BURNING

I really try to respect other people’s opinions, and I believe there are a wealth of ways to interpret a story, and I think that’s a deeply beautiful thing. This applies to interpretations I don't agree with and outright dislike as well. That said, some opinions are simply and objectively bad, dishonest, and/or demonstrably false, and I truly do not believe you can sit down and honestly watch through the show with an open mind about all the characters, truly pay attention to what they do, say, and believe, and come to the conclusion that this show is about an evil manipulative abusive man terrorizing his pure and sinless brother and friend. It is an interpretation built from cherry picking facts to suit an ugly, miserable theory, making Mount Everest out of a bunch of the tiny mole hills, making the worst possible presumptions of feelings and intentions, and holding characters to completely different standards in order to neatly divide them into "abused" and "abuser" in a way that, frankly, fetishizes the abused person. I despise this interpretation of the story with every fiber of my being, and I have absolutely no respect for the opinion of anyone who peddles it, regardless of who they cast as villain/victim (because people have also done this with the others—it’s just more “popular” to do it with Dean... I mean... does anyone else remember how people were shitting on Sam after his emotional reaction in 14.12? Calling him an evil abuser? Because I do).

The thing that always gets me about this take isn't just how dishonest, unfair, mean-spirited, and compassionless it is in its treatment of Dean’s feelings, circumstances, and intentions... but how deeply reductive and offensive it is toward Sam and Castiel, sucking away their identities to turn them into effigies to mourn for their sad, Stockholm syndrome-esque attachment to their "abuser". Further, it grips the heart of the show—the relationship between Sam and Dean, and then the relationship among TFW as a whole—in a tight, uncompromising fist and pulverizes it. It literally rips out the heart of the show (the RELATIONSHIPS) and replaces it with something unprepossessing of any merit: A miserable, 15 years long story about a malicious abuser getting away with terrorizing those closest to him for his entire life, while his poor abuse victims suffer through until they die for him/happy to be reunited with him because they “don’t know any better” and never ever learned better, I guess. What a stupid, sad sack of a story.

Castiel is a thousands of years old celestial being who has literally beaten Dean into the pavement under no form of mind control, and has shown over and over again that he will do whatever the hell he wants, regardless of whatever Dean thinks about being sidelined. If he thinks whatever he is doing is in Dean's best interest, he literally does not care how Dean feels about it. He will nod and smile and then fly off and swallow thousands of souls with Dean begging him not to, shove Dean out of the way to attack the big bad, leave Dean alone in Purgatory, refuse to come out of Purgatory so he can self-flagellate, fly off with the angel tablet, help Sam with the Book of the Damned, let Lucifer possess him without anyone's knowledge or agreement, come into Dean's room under the guise of apologizing for ghosting him so that he can steal The Colt out from under his pillow and murder someone, decide not to murder that person and still prevent Sam and Dean from helping by knocking them both unconscious, get himself killed, make a deal to trade his life for Jack's and never tell anyone, hide information and worries and ignore phone calls, ghost Sam and Dean, and bicker and fight with Dean as if they are a married couple. Love sickness and feelings of worthlessness (which Cas has a wealth of reasons to feel—many of which aren’t even related to Dean but to his heavenly family) are reinterpreted as the result of some sort of constant, terrorizing emotional abuse. Power and authority that Dean does not actually have is forced into his hands by these fans. Maybe listen when Cas says, “Hey—not everything is your fault.” Maybe listen when he says “I loved the whole world because of you”, calls Dean a role model, says he enjoys their conversations, offers to die with him and dies for him multiple times. Maybe treat these feelings as genuine and valid and HIS and not as the delusions of some poor manipulated baby. 

Sam is framed this way even more often than Cas, and it's a damn shame, because what I typically see is this: Sam’s development into a mediator and peacemaker is twisted and reinterpreted as coming from a place of weakness and/or fear. Rationality, maturity, wisdom, and compassion are not the traits of a scared, powerless child. They are the traits of a mature adult, who has been beaten down by life, and fought and raged against his circumstances, and somehow come out of it with more kindness and understanding and strength instead of less. He has made his own decisions whenever it was possible, within the set of circumstances doled out to him. From telling his dad to go fuck himself and going to college, to getting back into hunting to avenge Jess (NOT because of Dean—Dean took him home without complaint at the end of the woman in white case), to continuing to hunt after their father died because he wanted to feel close to him (Dean was actually weirded out and sort of disgusted by this), raging and fighting to save Dean from his deal against Dean’s wishes, continuing to hunt and working with Ruby (directly against Dean’s dying wish), drinking demon blood, jumping in the cage, leaving hunting to go be with Amelia, coming back to hunting to save Kevin, fighting with Dean over what he had with Amelia and threatening to leave if Dean didn't shut his mouth, leaving Amelia to go back to hunting (Dean ultimately suggests he go back to her—Sam chooses to stay), trying to kill Benny, demanding to be the one to do The Trials and saying he is going to SURVIVE them—that being the ENTIRE POINT, losing that resolve in a fit of depression but choosing to drop the knife, demanding space from Dean (and being given it), fighting to save Demon Dean who didn’t want to be found or saved, using the Book of the Damned against Dean’s wishes, telling Charlie that this is what he wants—that he used to want normal but now all he wants is to hunt with Dean and that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t have that, unleashing the Darkness in his desperation to keep Dean with him and even saying, “I would do it again” in the aftermath, saving the town being destroyed by Amara, getting into The Cage with Lucifer, leading a team against the British Men of Letters, nurturing Jack, punching Dean in the face when he was going to sacrifice himself, leading more hunters, wielding a gun against Chuck... and that’s just some highlights. Sam Fucking Winchester does not need your bullshit about him being some sad, scared, helpless baby lorded over by mean old Dean who has never let him do anything he wants. 

Yes, in the text itself, there is jealousy and resentment at times, and there is legitimate and righteous anger on Sam’s part on a few occasions. There is blame cast on Dean by Sam for some of these choices/circumstances. Some of those moments where Dean is blamed are legitimate, and some of them... frankly, are not. Within the framework of the fucked up dynamics of the way they were raised, Sam and some fans bristle when they feel Dean is casting himself as the parent he is not, but Sam also has been guilty in the past of trying to reframe himself as Dean’s child when things got tough. Neither of them is responsible for the origin of that dynamic, but they BOTH have responsibility to change it, and they both, ultimately, succeed in doing so. For Sam, his part comes in recognizing and learning to fully own his own choices. Recognizing that he is not a child, and he is certainly not Dean’s child, and it isn’t just “Mummy—loosen the grip”, but Sam has to too—not claim independence only to blame Dean for his choices when his own decisions have an ultimate outcome he is unhappy with. That is a legitimate arc that Sam goes through imo, but he comes out the other side of it, and he and Dean relate to each other much better as peers from then on—and I’d like to note that throughout the entire series, when they don’t relate as perfect peers and teammates, it isn’t always Dean “bossing Sam around”, but Sam also trying to sideline Dean and yes—boss him around. And when they lied and hurt each other and yes, even manipulated each other, Dean most certainly wasn't always the one doing the lying and hurting and manipulating. Always, always, ALWAYS, they both had an understandable point of view, and it was complex, and you could understand why they made the choices they did, even if you thought of those choices as being wrong ones. 

I also would like to point out (because this is basically what I see all of the time) that Dean being hurt by someone or simply voicing his feelings or opinion is in no way abusive or manipulative. Dean is certainly charismatic and loved and his returning love and respect is often deeply desired, but he is not an actual siren, who bends people to his will simply by speaking or being. People are, in fact, able to tell him “no”, and frequently FREQUENTLY do. Further more, no one is owed his affection, his unwavering loyalty, or his trust. He has a right to his boundaries, regardless of if it makes some poor sad sap feel deprived of the “wellspring of coveted love” while he works through things. He can be hurt and angry, and he can wear his heart on his sleeve at times, and he can be flawed, and broken. [Insert Castiel's speech from 15.18 here]. So can Sam. So can Cas. None of them are manipulating each other by virtue of getting angry, feeling hurt, being traumatized, needing space, or having differing opinions or feelings. Sam didn’t punch Dean in the face in 14.12 because he's a cruel, manipulative abuser trying to force Dean under his thumb. He didn’t work behind Dean’s back with Ruby, insist on doing The Trials, beg Dean to use Doc Benton’s alchemy, use the Book of the Damned to cure Dean, pump him full of blood to cure him of being a demon despite the fact that it might kill him, or scream at him and fight him for wanting to get in the Ma’lak box because he “doesn’t respect his autonomy” and “wants to control him” and “doesn’t respect his right to his own body”. He did it because he loves him desperately, and Dean could stand to fucking hate himself less, and he fiercely wanted Dean to live even when Dean didn’t want to or couldn’t picture what that could be like. He didn’t force Dean to do anything simply by opening his mouth to voice disagreement and swaying Dean when he did so. Now reverse that. 

Cas didn't beat Dean into the ground in season 5 because he wanted to terrorize him into never going against Castiel ever again. He didn’t go behind his back dozens of times, sideline him, go MIA, all because he wanted to manipulate and control Dean and punish him. He didn’t throw sassy remarks at him to shatter his self-esteem. Now reverse that. 

*Breathes*

Anyway, fuck "X is abusive” interpretations. 

[novelconcepts]

Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it. 

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like? 

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle. 

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun. 

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it. 

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from. 

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left. 

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity. 

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves. 

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated. 

She looked real. 

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available. 

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it. 

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours. 

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach. 

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good. 

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself. 

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system. 

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night? 

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons. 

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit. 

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough. 

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?” 

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a  different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively. 

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now. 

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart. 

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on. 

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette. 

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips. 

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says. 

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane. 

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?” 

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight. 

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make. 

[the-l-spacer]

Summary: In which Madeleine's latest attempt to hash things out with Espresso gets a little... out of hand.

This is my first cookie run fic i. genuinely can’t believe im writing for this game now. Anyways, hope ya like it!!

- 

He sees the knight striding towards him, spotless armour clinking smartly with each step he takes, cloak billowing ever-so-slightly behind him.

His lip curls, practically a reflex.

“Espresso. Do you have a moment?” Madeleine's voice, like his appearance, is meticulously crafted to capture the attention of anyone in his vicinity. A deep, resonant baritone that carries authority, brooks no room for disagreement, least of all disagreement from a particular surly practitioner of Coffee Magic.

Or at least, that’s what Madeleine likes to think. For all his chivalrous acts and airs seem to have no effect on Espresso in the slightest, who simply sighs and rolls his dark, bespectacled eyes.

“Do me a favour; skip the pretence that participation in this conversation is optional, and get to the point. I have research that needs attending to.”

Perhaps a few months ago, Espresso’s brusque reply would have stopped Madeleine in his tracks, wiped the genial smile off his face. But as it is, they’ve spent far too much time together (unwillingly, on Espresso’s part) for the other to be fazed by mere unfriendliness. So he simply barrels on as if Espresso had never spoken. “It appears as if that young band of cookies are keen on having us join their party.”

As one, they glance over to the campsite a little ways away, where Gingerbrave and Chilli Pepper are engaged in a mock-swordfight, wielding pieces of gathered firewood, with Wizard, Strawberry and Custard cheering on. Gingerbrave rushes forward, ‘sword’ held aloft, but Chilli Pepper sidesteps his attack, and before his momentum can carry him too far, grabs the scruff of his collar, and turns him to face her. “Sloppy work, kid. I could catch that coming from a mile away. Next time, try-” She pauses mid sentence, noticing Espresso and Madeleine’s gazes. She winks, and gives a two-fingered salute. “Hey! Wanna watch me spar with a buncha kids? There’s plenty of room on that log over there, but just a little warning, I charge adult spectators.”

Madeleine waves a hand. “No need to relieve our pockets just yet, friend Chilli Pepper. Espresso and I are perfectly content watching from afar.”

“And besides, we have better things to do,” Espresso adds, “Like being corralled by a paladin into having pointless conversations.” The last bit, he aims at Madeleine, who’s response is to grin wider.

If the irony in Espresso’s statement registers to Chilli Pepper, she doesn’t show it, and simply shrugs. “Don’t let me interrupt. You boys might wanna head a little further away to have that ‘pointless conversation’ though, it’s probably gonna get noisy up in this joint.”

“An excellent idea! My humblest thanks!” Madeleine sweeps into an exaggerated bow, and takes Espresso by the elbow. “My compatriot and I shall head a little further into the woods for our chat.”

Custard perks up at that, and shouts, “Be careful! There might still be cake monsters running around, and as king, I can’t let my subjects be hurt!”

“Not to worry, we’re more than capable of defending ourselves. If our previous encounters with those beasts suggested anything...”

As Madeleine talks, Espresso discretely tries to wriggle free from the hand on his elbow, but his attempts prove futile, Madeleine’s grip is loose but firm, forming a little cage around his arm.

He lets his arm go limp, and when the grasp loosens slightly in response, he flicks his free hand, around which (unbeknownst to the jabbering knight) shadows had been gathering for quite some time.

A tendril of magic whips around and strikes Madeleine’s wrist.

“-And as Knight of the Madeleine House, I was trained since I was but a little cookie, much like your merry band, to- ah!” When the tendril connects with a small thwack, he releases Espresso, jerking away as if burned (in actuality, the magic was really just a moderately heated slap. Espresso didn’t want to do any serious damage to Madeleine, after all.)

The seemingly permanent smile on the knight’s face falters, just for a second, and Espresso allows himself a moment of schadenfreude.

“Is... is everything okay, Madeleine?” Strawberry pipes up from her spot on the log.

“Quite alright, quite alright.” The ten-carat smile is back in full force, and once again, he waves his (non-injured) hand airily, though Espresso notes with some satisfaction the displeased side glance Madeleine shoots at him.

Espresso’s face pulls into a smile of his own, falsely sweet. “Well. Shall we be off, then?” He begins walking into the woods. True, he would much rather be tucked away in some quiet corner, poring over magical scrolls, but if he has to be subjected to this... chat, at least he can try to have some fun while doing so. Make Madeleine regret initiating contact, make him trail behind for once.

And sure enough, Madeleine follows after him, making long strides to catch up.

As they retreat into the forest, Gingerbrave shouts, “Come back in time for dinner! We’re having sweet jelly stew!”

“We’ll be there,” Madeleine replies, not needing to raise his voice for it to carry across the clearing where they had set up camp.

The other cookies give their final waves, and return to sparring, the sounds of cheering and wood striking wood fading the deeper in Espresso and Madeleine travel.

- 

Eventually, the noises from the campsite fade entirely, replaced by the chirping of birds, and the soft rustling of trees. The last of the day’s light dapples through the jelly forest’s leaves, and Espresso might have called the whole scene pleasant, if not for the cookie next to him.

They come to a stop in a forest clearing. “Is this far enough for your liking, oh Knight-Commander of House Madeleine?”

Madeleine leans against a tree, the light glinting off his armour. “You know, the attitude really isn’t necessary, and neither,” he cocks his head, glossy hair spilling over one shoulder, his reprimanding smile akin to a teacher lecturing a particularly irritating student, “was the use of dark magic back there.”

Espresso smirks. “Ah. Have I discovered your weakness? Is the pride of House Madeleine scared of a little magic? I just meant for it to tickle, really.”

A scowl begins to form on Madeleine’s face, before he schools it back into careful neutrality. “You must be intelligent enough to grasp my meaning. It’s not the act itself, it’s the…” He gestures loosely in the air, his right hand still slightly red, “... the spirit of it all. Cookies who fight together shouldn’t turn on one another. It simply isn’t right.”

“Mmm. Mm hmm. Of course it isn’t.” Espresso, in a bid to minimize the dirt from the forest floor getting on his robes, opts to hover just a little above the ground, and Madeleine has to crane his neck to meet his gaze. “And I’m sure wrestling the cookie you’re supposed to be fighting with into the woods is so much more excusable.”

Madeleine bristles. “You wouldn’t have agreed to this conversation otherwise, as you’ve made so abundantly clear in the past. All I did was ensure you wouldn’t be able to weasel your way out of the inevitable yet another time.”

“What about our current situation makes you think this conversation is inevitable?” Espresso snaps. “I’ve told you time and time again I don’t care for your company. Our paths crossed once, we travelled together briefly to achieve our own goals, and parted ways. We work together acceptably, and we tolerate each other, barely. What more is there to be said between us?”

“Well, for one,” Madeleine says, standing just a bit straighter, as if to deliver a set of prepared lines, “I was telling you, before we were interrupted, that Gingerbrave and his fellows seem eager to have us as travelers alongside them.”

“Yes. And?”

“And I’m sure you are as keen as I am on accepting their offer.”

Espresso stiffens. He hates cookies who presume things about him, and more than that, he hates when those presumptions are right. After a moment, he bites out, “Even if I was, what of it.”

“We’ll be traveling together once again. Serving as their protectors, and all that.”

“So what? As I said, we’ve travelled in each other’s companies before.”

“Yes, but I believe this will be our longest journey yet. They seek answers, a way to defeat the evil forces rising, and this is no easy feat.”

“I seek no such thing,” Espresso scoffs, folding his arms. “I only know that they’re searching for the Forgotten Academy, and that particular locality has a library I’ve been meaning to peruse for a while. I plan to travel with them until that point, where we will then part ways.”

“Even then, according to my maps the Forgotten Academy is weeks away. Maybe a month. Months, if we keep up our current pace. A considerable amount of time that allows for sour dough to spoil further. I simply think it… unwise, to allow things between us two to reach such a point.” Having finally said his piece, Madeleine pushes himself off the roll cake trunk, and starts towards Espresso, open palm outstretched.

No, not again. They had done this dance before, and Espresso isn’t planning to retrace those steps. He whizzes backward, out of Madeleine’s reach.

“I’m not interested in becoming friends, knight,” he spits. “And I tire of your constant overtures.”

Madeleine’s hand returns to his side in an impatient motion. “Must you insist on being this- this difficult?” He asks, voice fraught with frustration. “It is a simple offer. Put our differences aside and work together amicably, if only to to make our journey more tolerable for us and our companions.”

“Ahhh but there’s the rub, Madeleine,” Espresso retorts, “I’m afraid our differences are too great to reconcile. If that is all you have for me, I think I’ll be returning to camp. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but… you know better.”

He makes to leave, floating quickly away to leave the knight behind, but catches a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. Before he can react, Madeline moves forward, his armour and shield glowing. With a flash, the shield comes down on the edge of Espresso’s long, dark cloak, pinning it to the forest floor.

Both of them hear the telltale sound of ripping fabric.

“Don’t move.” Madeleine warns.

Espresso’s vision goes red. He gathers the shadows to him, wreathing his clenched fists in black swirls of magic.

He doesn’t move.

A pause, then the shield lifts.

Espresso doesn’t wait to rush backward, heading straight for Madeleine. This time, it’s the knight that finds himself unprepared, as Espresso grabs him, and with the help of his magic, lifts him in the air, slamming him against the trunk of the nearest tree.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” he growls.

Their faces are close enough now that Espresso sees the tiniest twitch of fear in Madeleine’s expression. He doesn’t yield, keeping him pinned to the trunk.

Madeleine speaks, holding both hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Now, now, I admit I was rather hasty, but there really is no need for-“

“- doesn’t feel nice, does it? Being trapped against your will?” Espresso cuts him off.

“Listen. I’m sorry things had to come to that point.”

Espresso sneers. Just as he predicted, Madeleine’s ‘apology’ is anything but. His mouth forms the syllables, but like a pedestrian one accidentally jostles on the street, his ‘sorry’ is merely a formality, said to hear the sound of his own voice.

Espresso doesn’t buy it, is what he’s saying.

“Save it. Save your pithy little apologies and insincere attempts at friendship for some other cookie.”

Madeleine’s face twists in indignation. “I’m not being insincere!”

Espresso drops him unceremoniously, the knight’s armour clattering when he lands on the soft earth. He tries not to betray his own fatigue, both in mind and body. Madeleine is heavy after all, weighed down further by his armour and weapons, making the act of holding him aloft (even aided by magic) one that had taken a not-insignificant toll on him. His feet touch down lightly on the ground, the glowing aura around him fades.

“Oh, spare me,” Espresso says coldly. “Every action, every toss of your hair or flick of your cloak, every word that comes out of your mouth betrays your insincerity.”

Having gathered himself, Madeleine finally snaps, drawing his sword from its scabbard with a metallic hiss. “How dare you.” His voice, a dangerous murmur, grows louder and louder, until it carries to the treetops. “I don’t know what I have done to offend you so. I attempted to be friendly, and reach out with offers of peace, as my family taught me to do for years, but you insist on rebuffing me, sullying my good name with your.. your insolence!”

The sword is pointed at Espresso’s throat, now, and the magician takes a careful step backward, keeping an eye on the gleaming blade. Madeleine doesn’t seem to notice, however, as he barks, “I’ve been lenient in the past, but as a cookie of honour, I can’t let such words continue to slide. The Divine, protect me!”

Celestial light bathes the forest clearing, surrounding Madeleine in its radiance. He lunges forward and swings his sword, a ray of light arcing from its blade. Espresso, caught unawares, finds himself knocked back, sent stumbling to catch his footing.

He regains his balance, clutching on to a tree branch, and counters the next light ray with an explosion of coffee beans that makes Madeleine's attack fizzle out.

“You know I’m right about you,” Espresso taunts, “in fact, we both know this is all a little charade you put on, because-” he plants his feet firmly in the ground, bracing himself against a third wave of light magic. “- beneath all your bravado, your shiny armour and fancy new weapons, you are empty.”

“That’s not true!” Madeleine roars, attempting to close the distance between them. But Espresso splays his hands, and a swirling vortex forms, pulling the paladin backward and into its dark center. Madeleine staggers in pain.

“You’re just a selfish glory-seeker, as slow and soulless as the monsters that- gah!”

Dexterity had never been his strong suit, so when Madeleine’s retaliating attack comes, he doesn’t dodge quickly enough. He sees the sword swing, feels an impact across his face, before his world goes blurry.

His glasses!

A lance of panic spikes through his chest.

He can’t see. He can’t see and he can’t look for his glasses either because if he steps on them that’s it. And Madeleine will win or worse he’ll just leave him here, in the middle of the woods.

The attacks stop coming.

The forest is silent once more, but for the two cookies’ heavy breathing.

Then, Espresso hears the crunching of leaves, sees the blurry shape of Madeleine stride towards him. He readies his magic. Madeleine passes him, and bends down over a spot Espresso can’t quite see.

A familiar metallic object is pressed into his hand.

“Your glasses.”

In a flash, Espresso has them on again, and exhales in relief when the forest comes back into focus.

“I never meant to knock them over. I’m sorry.”

Espresso is about to respond, but Madeleine says, “We should not have let our discussion escalate like this.”

“I’m sorry. We?!” Espresso’s recently restored vision colours. “When it was you who dealt the first blow? You, who initiated this discussion in the first place, who-” He trails off, righteous indignation fading slightly when he sees Madeleine, who stands at arm’s length away from him, both hands resting on the pommel of his sword, his expression unreadable.

“..Yes. Fine. As allies, we shouldn’t have turned on each other like this.”

Madeleine says nothing, so Espresso continues. “But as our previous attempts at civility have shown, you are incapable of holding a conversation without trying to domineer over me, push me into situations I do not want to be in. And I… I admit that I went too far in my personal assessments of you, but the fact remains that I simply cannot work with you beyond what we already are. Allies, and nothing more.”

For the second time, Espresso begins walking back to camp. Madeleine makes no attempt to stop him. “Thank you for retrieving my glasses. Good evening.”

Before he can fully retreat into the copse of trees, he hears Madeleine’s voice, saying, “Wait.”

Espresso pauses for a moment, and continues walking.

“Wait. Please.”

The word ‘please’ sounds so strange on Madeleine’s lips, and Espresso realises he can’t recall if the cookie had ever said the word in all the time they had worked together.

He turns his head.

Madeleine is leaned against a tree, arms folded and a foot kicked up against the trunk. His face is hidden by a curtain of hair.

“You are from The Republic, yes?”

Thrown by the sudden question, Espresso says, “Yes. The both of us are.”

“You’re aware that The Republic is a peaceful nation. No conflict within its gates, no monsters to be found without.”

Where is this going? Espresso responds, “Safe, sterile, and utterly boring. I’m aware.”

“Then what,” Madeleine turns his face away from Espresso, addressing the trees, “what use do you think such a nation has for soldiers? For knights?”

Oh.

Madeleine laughs, not his usual hearty guffaw, filled to the brim with bravado, but a short and bitter exhalation. “Do you know what it’s like to be, as you called me, the ‘slow’ one, in a family of scholars and politicians? For your only prowess to be your physical strength, in a place where that skill is entirely unnecessary?”

“But the knight order you lead-”

“- is purely for show. Just cookies dressed up in shiny armour to remind the other kingdoms we’re not to be trifled with. None of them have actually seen a day of real combat outside of sparring.”

Espresso is back in the clearing, picking a position next to Madeleine so he doesn’t see his sympathetic expression.

“Then… the reason you and all the knights were sent out?”

“As I said, my mission was to seek the legendary Soul Jam that is supposed to grant us cookies eternal life. Not that anyone in the Republic really expects us to find it.”

“They wanted to get rid of you, then.”

Madeleine visibly flinches at Espresso’s words. “I wouldn’t put it so bluntly, but… yes. I’m welcome back home, of course. If I were to return, I’d be met with trumpets and fanfare, but not much else, and certainly not anything approaching respect from those who truly matter.” The knight clenches his fist. “This quest is to be my saving grace. My only purpose, and the only way one like me can conceivably bring pride to House Madeleine. The only way I can be of use”

Espresso regards Madeleine, the revelation casting the cookie in a new light.

“So.. yes, Espresso. I am a selfish glory-seeker. Perhaps I have no other choice but to be.” Madeleine’s previously ramrod-straight posture is gone, and in its place his fists are clenched, shoulders hunched inwards, his hair tumbling forward, shielding his face from view.

And a small part of Espresso feels the strangest urge to push that hair back, to place a comforting hand on the paladin’s shoulder. Anything to stop what has to be the strongest — the most annoying, surely, but the strongest nevertheless — cookie he knows from curling into himself, from hurting like this.

But he holds himself back. All he lets out is a soft, “I think I know how you feel. Not entirely, but some of it.”

Madeleine turns to look at Espresso, a blank expression on his face. “You do.”

The mage lets a spark of magic fly from his hand - a single, glowing coffee bean surrounded by dark shadow. “You have called what I do ‘black magic’ in the past.”

Madeleine, suddenly stricken, says, “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘black magic’, but-”

“- Listen. You have, countless times. And it annoys me to no end, but I understand why. It does look like it, no?” He conjures more coffee beans, letting them spin in circles around him. “I’ve had this ability since I was a child. It did not come from dark origins, I did not make a pact with evil forces to obtain it, as some have believed. It simply was. My magic, like your physical strength, is a part of me.”

Madeleine simply nods.

“But people don’t understand Coffee Magic. Whenever I demonstrated my abilities, I’d be shunned, the respectable citizens of our beloved Republic saying that I was a child of Dark Enchantress Cookie.”

“Espresso…” His magic fizzles out, and now, it is his turn to look away, incapable of facing the pity that is surely in Madeleine’s gaze.

“I was barred from every magic school. I had to learn, and practice, and make it on my own. If I didn’t have Latte Cookie, I don’t know how I would have-” Espresso shakes his head. “No matter. All I am saying is that I do know how it feels, not to belong. To have to carve a place for yourself among people who can’t respect you.”

A hand settles on his shoulder, and Espresso almost flinches. He looks up, and his gaze meets Madeleine’s, earnest and apologetic. “Espresso, first and foremost, I am sorry that I ripped your cloak in trying to keep you here.”

Espresso’s eyes travel to his torn (and expensive) wizard’s cloak. “It’s fine. I’ll just have to get it repaired once we return to camp.”

Madeleine continues. “And I’m sorry, truly sorry that I misjudged you based on your magic. That I pushed when I should have respected your wishes. Respected you.”

And this time, Espresso believes Madeleine’s words. He lets his own hand creep upwards to rest over the knight’s.

He sighs. “And I apologise, too. I made undue assumptions about you, and let these assumptions colour my actions. I treated you poorly, and for that, I’m sorry.”

When their eyes meet again, it is as if the forest goes silent, nature’s rustle and hum being forgotten as the two look at each other, and for the first time, understand.

Of course, no moment can truly last, and it is Espresso who breaks the spell, gently moving Madeleine’s hand off his shoulder. “Naturally, don’t think this means I’ll let you strongarm me into doing whatever you want me to. You still irritate me. Incessantly.”

Madeleine chuckles. “Naturally. Besides, I do not imagine such actions will be necessary in the future. I think we understand each other perfectly clearly, now.”

Espresso lets a grin creep across his face. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Don’t assume you know everything based on a tidbit of my past. I encompass multitudes, Knight-Commander.”

“In turn, I request that you not write me off just yet,” Madeleine responds teasingly. “I may not know everything about you, but I would be very interested to,”

Both their eyes widen, Madeleine realising the forwardness of his statement. “That is. I will give you the space you need, certainly, but if you ever feel like-”

“- Wait. Stop.” Espresso takes a breath, lets it out. “I- I do feel the same way. You’re a good fighter, and I did not let myself give you a fair chance.”

He crosses the short distance between them, and extends a hand. “I’m Espresso Cookie of The Republic. Founder of the Coffee Magic School. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Madeleine regards the outstretched hand in wonder.

"... Don't make a big deal of it, knight."

He puffs out his chest, taking Espresso’s hand. “And I’m Madeleine Cookie of The Republic. Servant of The Divine, Knight Comm-” He stops himself, clears his throat. Then, he smiles and simply says, “I’m Madeleine Cookie. It’s an honour to get to know you.”

[fayeimara]

Meant To Be Series || One For Every Billion

6. By My Side | Pt 1

- July 20th -

The park is as close to empty as it can be when your group arrives early in the morning. Since you've been staying with the Kageyamas, you drive up with Miwa and Tobio, meeting up with your mutual cousins, Ren and Shin, at the entrance to the park's hotel.

You've all made sure to capitalize on early access passes and are staying overnight to make the most of your time, so everyone drops off their things first before deciding what to do in the time you all have before the park opens to all regular pass holders.

The rest of you are just waiting on Miwa to meet you all back in the lobby from her room (she takes the longest, honestly) and you're pulling on the thigh-length sleeveless cardigan you grabbed to wear over your shorts and tank combo, when you finally hear her voice as she crosses from the elevator bay to your group by the doors.

"Okay kiddos, I'm off to the adults only section of this place so call me if you need anything. But try not to, you know?"

Well, Miwa is the eldest of the group here and you're sure she only came along because her best friend decided they could make a mini girls' vacation out of it and brought along her own younger siblings as an excuse.

Tobio looks a little frustrated when he replies, "Neesan, it's way to early in the morning to find a bar."

"Are you kidding me? Of course I'm not drinking. Yet. We're just going to the theme spa!" She happily exclaims, waving her hand in the air delicately, "So you know, try not to get lost or get hurt, because I don't want you interrupting some serious r and r."

Ren rolls his eyes at his cousins' interaction, as if he's any better. You're well aware he also already has plans to ditch the rest of your group when his friends arrive. Thankfully Shin interrupts before Tobio's easy temper is tripped.

"Hey let's hit up the new coaster! I want to see Tobi throw up!"

Okay, not helping. But you do want to try the new roller coaster, as well, you're a huge fan of any adrenaline inducing activities and there are only so many times you can try the ones back home before you're used to all the dips and twists. This new one is supposed to have the highest drop record internationally so far.

"Tobio you won't throw up, right?" You try to coax him to agreeing, "I think you'll enjoy it!"

He gives you a dry look as if to say, You didn't put any effort into that. So you shrug and decide to bribe him, "I'll buy you milk after."

He contemplates it for a moment before nodding. Success, as usual.

Miwa claps her hands together in excitement, "Perfect! Okay, so I've given Y/n the contacts for Eiko's sister and brothers. They're around here somewhere so please take some time to say hi. Tobio already knows Hikaru and Hiroshi so I'm sure you'll all get along great!"

Before any of you have time to respond, she's bounced off, presumptively towards the waterpark and spa area. Okay then, you turn back to your cousins with a big smile that only Shin returns, making him your favourite of the day. You're all for the deadpan look when you're bored or annoyed but you're actually so happy to be here, you love amusement parks.

"So... let's hit some coasters?"

"Yeah!" Surely, you can all guess who answers.

After spending about an hour hitting up several of the most popular rides and possibly traumatizing Tobio before the main rush of people arrive in the park, you get a buzz from your phone, sitting tight against your waist in an inner zippered pocket of your cardigan, with your cash and cards. It's really a pain to have to carry bags and even more so to have to stress about having it stolen so, being an avid coaster enthusiast, you like to keep your items simple on days like this.

Quickly moving out and to the side of the exit line to pull out your phone, you see a notification from Hana, the girl who is Miwa's friend's little sister.

, You look up and find your cousins also stopped when you @sakusasimpbot anding right by you. Thank god, you didn't want to have to drag them back here if they'd wandered away to the next ride.

"Hana and her brothers are on this ride so I told her we'd wait for them here."

Ren is typing on his phone but speaks up, "I'm about to head out to meet up with my friends." Finally finished with his own chat, he looks up at the rest of you, "Will you guys be okay from here? We can meet back for lunch."

Tobio just shrugs while you nod, Shin speaking for everyone when he tells his brother, "Yeah, yeah. Just go already, the 'real' adult already ditched us a while back so no need to act all mature here."

"Shut up, Shin." Ren returns his brother's smirk with a glare, which slides back into his expressionless gaze after he rolls his eyes and faces you and Tobio.

"We'll be fine, Ren, we're all in the same place and can call if anything." Your turn to reassure him where Shin clearly failed to even try.

Ren studies you for a moment before turning and throwing a casual, "..'kay." over his shoulder. You're sure you, Tobio, and Shin all share a mutual eye roll at that.

Shin has pulled up the park map on his phone, looking for a place where your group might want to grab a snack or drink, when the next line of people exit the ride.

Linking your arm with Tobio, you scan for a girl and two guys that look around your age. It's not hard because there really still aren't many people in this area of the park yet and the guys in question make an immediate beeline for the three of you when they lock eyes with Tobio. Right, since they know him already.

Hana is a pretty brunette with a bright smile on her face and you can immediately tell she's a fellow coaster enthusiast, if not adrenaline junkie, because of that wild happy look in her eyes.

Just as their group reaches yours, you smile back at her and say, "It's a really good one, right?"

"Yes!" She happily exclaims, "I felt like I was flying off the seat!"

You laugh at her enthusiasm, "Exactly, completely weightless."

Tobio introduces you and Shin to Hiroshi and Hikaru, who immediately tell you both to just call them Hiro and Karu. The two brothers have a relaxed vibe to them as well and, you swear, Karu and Shin click instantly. Not surprising, since they have a very similar outgoing and playful vibe, although you can attest from personal experience that Shin is probably the more mischievous and troublesome one. Karu has more of a happy and fun feel, if you're reading him correctly.

Hiro is equally nice and outgoing, with a slightly more chill personality that offsets Tobio's quiet intensity pretty well.

Hana is amazing and your first impression of her is only improved as you all sit down and talk over refreshing drinks at an outdoor café. She reminds you a lot of one of your friends back home, Aspen, in that down to earth and cheery kind of way so you immediately feel a sense of familiarity with her.

You find out that the siblings are each about a year apart, which coincidentally lines them up with Shin, you, and Tobio respectively. You had a feeling Miwa and her friend were pushing all of you to hang out here together for a reason. You definitely think she wanted her brother to spend time with a friend, especially after how tough things had been for him at school and with his club lately.

You look over at him when Hana briefly interjects into his and Hiro's conversation, completely relaxed for now with a bottle of cold milk in his hands. Yeah. He catches you looking and blinks in surprising, honestly shocking you when he returns your smile to him with a very small one of his own. You haven't seen him smile for quite a while, at least not the past several weeks you've been staying with his family. Probably not since the last time you saw him about a year and a half ago.

Oh, Tobio, you think as you look away to study the people passing by, I hope you're okay. He was always serious and direct, even as a little kid, but he never hesitated to smile when he felt happy. Does that mean he hasn't felt happy lately? For how long?

You have to shelf your concern away so you don't dampen the mood of this trip for everyone. Looking back to the others to make sure they're all finished up, you ask, "What do we want to do next?"

"None of us have tried these ones across the park," Shin speaks up, "So maybe make a circle this way back around?"

You catch Hana's disappointed expression just before she wipes it away and says, "I was hoping to try the new one, it's supposed to be exhilarating!"

"They already went on it, Hana." Karu gently replies but you shake your head and say, "Sure, but I loved it. I'd be really happy to go again!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! Why don't we split up? If the guys actually start from the other side of the circuit they planned, we should catch up to them in no time and group back up."

Karu and Hiro exchange looks and shrug, Karu stating, "I'm okay with that if you guys stick together and message us updates so we know you're safe and also don't miss each other as the park fills up more." He looks to your cousins and asks, "What about you guys? What do you think?"

Tobio's still looking at where you pointed out your plan of action on the map displayed from Shin's phone but it's really Shin who you have to make sure agrees. After all, Tobio is younger than you by a year, but Shin is older than you by that same length. Even though it's never something you think any of you typically consider, you remember the little incident last summer where he got chewed out by Ren and hope he's not decided to be a little more strict with you.

You catch him looking at you with a sardonic gleam in his eye and realize both your thoughts are probably very aligned. If he does decide to veto your idea, it won't be because he believes he needs to be strict, it'll be purely out of his innate need to torment you. Ugh.

"Okay," What? Ahh, now you're even more suspicious but it sounds like he's accepting your plan, "keep the sound on your phone high though, and call immediately if there's an emergency."

Yeah, sure, at this point you have a line of people who've told you to call them right away but if he hasn't considered that, you're not saying it.

So instead, you brightly agree, "Of course!" earning a doubtful look from him.

Oh well. You reach for Hana but she's already grabbing your hand instead and you both rush away to the new ride calling over your shoulder, "See you later!"

You both ignore whatever they call out after the two of you, giggling and debating where you want to sit on the ride instead.

"Y/n!" You hear a familiar voice call out your name in excitement just as you both reach the line up for the first ride and you feel butterflies take flight in your stomach, spreading electric tingles through you with the flutter of their delicate wings. Wow. Well, you know even before you turn around who it's going to be.

Prev | Next

Masterlist

Behind The Scenes!

-Y/n and Toru can really dance around the things they really want to talk about, even when some things are called out directly by both...

-Y/n doesn't always catch herself calling him 'Toru' out loud (or over text even), clearly that's what she calls him in her head <3 but she usually is aware of what name she's using when she speaks it out loud, or she just avoids calling him directly at all

-But much like when she says 'I'm sorry Toru' in that 4th panel, it happens... she didn't realize it, it was just a heartfelt apology that she was trying to genuinely express

-She won't say she wasn't expecting him to ask to spend his birthday with her, even if they've messaged constantly for the past year

-Which is why she felt so bad when he reached out about it early in the month... and why she wasn't focused on how she addressed him... but then calls him Oikawa in the next panel

-He notices all the slips, whether he teases comments or not

-Tobio and roller coasters... :'D

A/N: Hmm, I wonder who this new person could be... lmao, hope you guys have liked part one so far, the ride only gets wilder from here ;)

Taglist: @delusivist, @prettyinblack231, @kac-chowsballs, @sakusasimpbot, @hawkthekinnie

[kendrixtermina]

Have you seen the anti-edelgard tag?

Nope, I try to excercise self-control to keep my blood pressure down & not spend my precious free time getting in a rage

These days ‘anti’ or ‘critical’ are usually codeword for ‘purity police’ (a shame, because  real nuanced criticism is an important thing) 

If you want to really laugh at puritans, try to catch them talk about something they enjoy. 

Same logic as a middle aged catholic man raving about all the sexy advertising these days but then the same ridiculous man will gush about a music video with background dancers who are just as naked but slightly chubbier, or a certain aBBA music video where a boink scene is implied by touching the woman’s face, & he’ll be transparently trying to convince himself that he’s not horny he’s righteous “Look how healthy they look!” (as if saying ‘you’re ok cause you’re more attractive’ isn’t the same sexist y’our value is your appearance’ shtick) or “See how tasteful this is!”

Obvsly he just likes his stimulation to be more subtle but that doesn’t make him better than someone who’s personal taste would point them to an explicit industrial metal song about anal. We all like out personal taste for the same reason which is that it makes us feel good. Wether that good feeling is warm & fuzzy & adorableness, or sexual pleasure, or feeling understood, emotional catharsis for our own experiences that will be different for everyone etc. 

Fundamentally they’re sad ppl who cannot just enjoy things, they must be convinced it’s pure & righteous before they’re allowed to have joy. Somehow they don’t feel comfortable saying “I prefer Dimitri/Claude because personal taste or because he happens to be like me”  he needs to be the Only Acceptable Option. 

It’s not like there’s zero ppl like that on the Edelgard side (it’s usually the ones that downplay the other leader’s reforms) but the other two can more easily be twisted into “Perfect box ticking Rightheous Option”... often at the price of overlooking some of their edgier attributes that imho are what make them interesting, especially Claude. (Dimitri is someone who wants to be a straight hero but has great difficulty in the process, but Claude is definitely an anti-hero.)

Those are the same ppl who are surprised that Danaerys wasn’t played for a straight “perfect social justice savior” like there is a single ‘proper hero’ in that whole show and it hasn’t been about subverting expectations from day 1. Same reason you shouldn’t hype up a real politician as a savior even if they’re ‘on your side’ they can turn out to be flawed. Reflect maybe why it is that you want such a savior so badly... or go watch a show that does have ‘classic’ heroes. There’s no need you need to be into gritty stuff just cause everyone else is, plenty of adults watch fluffy cartoons these days, there’s whole genres of anime that are just healing & wholesome, like that is a legit valid option; heck,  I watch flufy cartoons when I’m in the right mood. So plz let us edgy/gritty/dark content fans have our fun in peace ok? 

As for that post you mentioned, it’s clearly venting about some particular teamup AU they didn’t like that isn’t representative of teamup AUs overall, which they are probably distorting in the usual callout culture pattern (oversimplification ->presumption of guilt->  essentialism).

That’s all I’ll say on the subject; I have no interest in going through individual anti posts & dissecting them & getting into drawn-out fights that sort of thing convinces no one, helps no one & just eats precious time. 

You don’t need to feel bad for your opinion, & you don’t need some internet personality to confirm to you that your opinion is OK. I’m no authority of any kind. If it makes sense to you in your head and you’re obvsly not the only one that thinks so (Edelgard has her own reddit for pete’s sake) that should be enough.

Not that I’m better - Not spending hours on useless youtube arguments is a skill I had to learn. It’s a common weakness for my personality type(s) and still I don’t always manage to shelf it in face to face conversations. But it IS a good skill to learn cause our time is precious. Instead of hate-reading the anti tab you could finally take care of household errands  or read/ write tons of [Insert your OTP here]

Ppl are gonna have different opinions and that’s just a fact of life. 

[lookwhatilost]

conversations that people aren’t ready for (but I’ve probably whines about on my own time): letting go of The Fear

I’d consider The Fear to be the primary thing that isolates me from the women around me as i really don’t have a lot of patience where it concerns entertaining it. I’ve met few of them who don’t participate in this culture of panic, and I get sick of male friends treating what I tell them as though I do.

The Fear as I define it is the practice of women making one another more afraid of men than the actions of the men in their proximity themselves. it’s your mom sending you an article about a sexual harassment incident a mile away from you, in a part of town you never visit, with “just so you know”. it’s the well meaning idiot who brings up the word “grooming” in relation to your, an adult’s, partner whos a few years older than you, or pulls out “abuse” or “gaslighting” because you had an argument. it’s the stranger who comes up to the bar and asks if everything is alright because you’re there alone, and asks you if you’re safe to walk back after two drinks in two hours. it’s the mutual on social media who circulates the copypasta about poisoned m&ms. she’s usually white, cis, and straight. she’s almost always smart enough to know that victim blaming is wrong, and typically smart enough to know that gender is not a set of essential characteristics. but she keeps doing this. she really wants you to believe that being perceived as a woman puts you in a world of danger. why?

I suppose there are a couple reasons: “not all men, but all women”. this being used here to mean that all women have experienced some flavor of unwanted sexual attention. and, sure, I have. but I don’t really think I’m in any sort of danger of violation because some guy parked at a red light yelled something at me. in fact, lately I’ve been getting a rise out of yelling “drink cyanide” back to them. it’s funny. they look like you just insulted their mother. I’ve been pestered at bars by men I wasn’t interested in plenty, but they’ve not been particularly fussy if i express disinterest. i can only name two times in the span of 9 years when I had interactions that concerned me. i had plenty a sketchy interaction with the lead bartender at b&b, but he cut his shit out the second he realized that I was going to fire back and humiliate him. i don’t enjoy when any of these things happen, but they’re not potent enough sources of stress to build my decisions around. for every street I’ve walked down to be met with a cat caller, I’ve crossed 50 more where I was left alone. For every creep at a bar or concert, there have been hundreds of others who either ignored my presence entirely, carried on a casual conversation without subtext, or said “sorry for making assumptions. enjoy your night!” when I told them I didn’t share their intentions.

the one that I think is the more likely culprit stems from a quote I came across while researching a video, a temporarily-shelved commentary piece about true crime, that mentioned something about “the shared trauma of womanhood”, a phrase so fucking presumptive I almost had to laugh at it. if my anecdotal evidence proves nothing, neither does anyone else’s. it’s all one giant empirical smear. perhaps the matter could be shut down by disclosing that my mother was the abusive parent, or that I was sexually assaulted by a woman, but no stranger is entitled to this information about me. and even if the genders were changed, what would this really change? was any violence against a woman prevented by the knowledge that it could happen? was there any benefit to the fear?

the subtextual panacea, the don’t do this, don’t do that, scans eerily similar to misogynistic gender prescriptions. don’t act as though a man does it. you’re unfit for, uhhh, I mean, you’re unsafe if you behave this way. a woman’s place is in fear of the world around her. and it’s never men telling me this, it’s women. if men echo it, it’s coming from a place informed by women in their lives. it’s the greatest trick the devil ever pulled.

if someone’s working through a traumatic experience, then, like, they’re entitled to do that in their own time and space. but let’s be fucking real here for a second – I’m white. I come off in my day to day more as a woman in frumpy clothing than I do nonbinary or anything other. my current partner is a man, so homophobic violence isn’t really something I need to be vigilant about. statistically speaking, I’m fucking fine. really. even then, men are more likely to be victims of violent crimes, but men don’t have an analogous tradition of scary stories to tell in the dark. there’s really no reason to implicate the people around you in this narrative, and surrounding yourself with the narrative that the world is a dangerous place for a woman to be begets nothing in the healing process. traumatized people traumatizing one another, over and over again. I’d rather be mugged again then spend a single second enabling it.

so I don’t. I’m going to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, barroom regulars – be part of the scene, listening, anonymous, recording. I’m going to talk to everyone as deeply as I can, travel West, and walk freely at night. All of it spoiled by nothing, because I’m not going to let anyone spoil that for me.

[fics-of-my-mind]

Trust - Chapter VII.

'Nick, just leave me alone,' I said answering the phone. My voice was way too whiny for my liking.

'Talk to me, please,' he replied sounding tense and a bit worried. 'I know that I didn't have time to talk, since Priyanka interrupted us, but...'

'Yeah, and now that you have, do you expect me to just be on standby and jump into a conversation when you give me the honor of talking to me?!' I asked, my bitter self trying to push him as far away as possible.

'No, but...'

'I'm not just someone that you can go to whenever you feel like it, then don't give a shit about for days.' I know that I was overreacting, yet I couldn't stop myself. I was irritated and having period cramps and the two together didn't lead to any good.

'I'm sorry that I made you feel like that,' he said calmly, and I hated that only from hearing his voice I was already feeling calmer. 'I just couldn't get away, Priyanka knows that something is up.'

'And what is that?' I asked quietly, biting my lip. Not that I was in the mood for this conversation but we might as well did it now. 'What are we doing?'

He was quiet for a while. Then I could hear him sigh deeply.

'I don't know.' His voice was uneasy and unsure.

Warnings: mature content, BDSM content Pairing: Nick Jonas / Other Female Character This fanfiction can also be found on Wattpad by fnntth

I don’t own Nick Jonas or any other recognizable characters. This fanfiction is completely fictional, its only purpose is entertainment.

Chapter VII. - Play me your guitar, that song I love

Nick’s texts are bold

Milla’s texts are italic

'What have you been doing today?' Nick asked. We've been on the phone for the past twenty minutes, the mood between us extremely flirty and light. I guess that's what FaceTime sex does to you. I would've expected it to be awkward, but we weren't at that phase yet, I guess. We were avoiding talking about last night like real mature adults.

'Not much,' I shrugged. 'I've been fangirling,' I brought up the topic. Truth is, I wanted to talk to him about some recent discoveries I've made in the past few hours, just didn't know how to bring up the topic.

'Oh, really?' he asked cheekily. 'I thought as a great Jonas Brothers fan for life there is nothing new for you,' he noted, and I could almost see the conceited smirk on his face.

'There is barely anything about you that could surprise me, but...' I started, biting my lip.

'I'm not going to like this, am I?' Nick asked, his senses working perfectly.

'Probably no.' There was a pretty big chance that he is no going to like the topic, but after everything I've read on Tumblr and Wattpad for the past few hours – really, I could still be surprised of how easy it was to get lost in the sea of information and theories -, I needed to know what was true. 'Demi Lovato,' I said her name, having a feeling that he'd get the idea of my recent reads.

'I had a feeling you weren't just going to let that go,' he noted, sounding a bit frustrated. I didn't care. Nick knew almost everything about me and my life, it was only fair if I got to take a glance in his.

'Well, I mean, she is one of my teenage idols. I love her voice, I've loved her songs.'

'Yeah, so did I,' he sighed deeply. I imagine this must've been an uncomfortable topic for him, but wasn't the point of this whole 'friendship' to be open with each other? Most of the things I've told Nick made me very uncomfortable too, but I still did it.

'Something happened between you two,' I started.

'What do you think exactly happened between us?' he asked. I wasn't even surprised that he didn't just start to share the story right away, but rather made me tell him that I think went down. He could've just shot me down, saying that he wasn't going to talk about it, but for whatever reason he didn't. Maybe he presumed that if he wasn't going to share, I wasn't going to share either.

'You want to know how much the fans could see of it?' I asked. It was kind of interesting, talking with him about this. We got a basis of comparison about how much the outside world could actually guess about the events between two celebrities.

'I do,' he replied. 'I promise I'll tell you what actually happened, I'd just like to hear how the outside world perceived it.'

I could understand where he was coming from. This could give him an insight on how to do things if he actually wanted to keep his private life private. I felt so touched that he didn't even try to deny answering my question. I had no idea why he trusted me this much. I mean, yes, I've told him some of my deepest darkest fears and concerns, but I was a no one compared to him. My private life getting out in the open didn't matter, while his private life being leaked could lead to serious troubles. Not that I had any intention of betraying his trust, but the mere fact of Nick not being concerned about me selling him out, had me in awe. I don't think anyone has ever laid such trust in me.

'You and Demi were best friends. First your success as Jonas Brothers boosted hers, then after the band broke up, her success boosted your solo career. You did interviews together, mutually promoted each other, went on tour together.'

'Everything you've said is correct,' he replied carefully, waiting for me to continue.

'Somewhere along the line you started to have feelings for each other. You had the question whether or not ruining the friendship between you two was worth it, whether it could become something serious. I imagine you were the one that didn't want to risk it, since Demi wrote those songs about you.'

'I was,' he nodded. 'I'm not sure they were romantic feelings in the beginning anyway. Maybe it was just pure lust, I mean, we were both sexy, both single, maybe something just brought our attraction towards each other to the surface.'

'I think you were extremely annoyed about the songs,' I chuckled, continuing my presumptions. I loved those songs by the way, I always thought that Demi was an incredible artist and both Only Forever and Ruin The Friendship were amazing songs.

'Why would you think that?' he asked, sounding a bit amused.

'Because you're a control freak,' I shrugged. At this point of our acquaintance it wasn't an assumption, it was more of a fact. He didn't even try to deny it. 'And Demi just wrote a song with not only some hints, but your initials in the lyrics. Everybody knew it was about you, and, well, Ruin The Friendship was also kind of candid,' I explained. 'But I guess the songs did the trick in the end, didn't they?'

'I was so mad at her,' he said, reminiscing. 'I always tried to keep my personal life, most of my feelings under wraps, until at least I was sure of where things were going. Yet here comes Demi and tells the world about what was going on between us.'

'What is the 'you're only brave in the moonlight' thing about? Did you two sleep together earlier, or...?'

'No,' he replied instantly. 'But we did talk about crossing the line a few times, usually when we were both drained or tired or emotional and not thinking clearly.'

'So when did you two cross the line?' I asked, the fangirl in me being on her peak. This was amazing, I was getting details that I never thought I'd hear.

'Last night of tour,' Nick sighed. 'It would've been stupid to try anything until we had to constantly work together.'

'And what happened?' I continued the questioning. 'I mean, the girl was so clearly in love with you.' Not that I could blame her.

I didn't want to assume what exactly went down between them, I was hoping that Nick would tell me. Sure, I've read fan theories, even some fanfictions, but hearing the tale of two friends becoming more from the first hand seemed like the most reliable source.

'Yeah, she was.' His voice sounded sad, and I suddenly felt guilty from bringing up old scars just because I was curious. 'I wasn't. For me it turned out to be only lust and extremely deep love for my best friend. I'm not saying that it couldn't have worked, but... I was young and didn't think that a relationship I needed to work hard for, even if it was with someone as amazing as Demi was worth my time. I wanted to concentrate on my career and...' he stopped.

'And the friendship was ruined?' I guessed quietly. It was a sad story, something I really felt bad about.

'Exactly. We were stupid to ruin something great in our lives.'

'Did you try to fix it?'

'Sure. But Demi said she couldn't be my friend, that she needed time, then she started getting into bad crowds and using again, and...'

He didn't have to finish the story. Demi Lovato overdosed and almost died. The media was full of that story, and Demi was gone for a long time after that. I'm sure that there were parts that I could've asked about, like if Joe and his past relationship with Demi was a factor in all this, but I felt like this information was already much more that I could expect from Nick.

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'For asking, and bringing it up.'

'Don't apologize for wanting to get to know the real me, Milla,' he said quietly. He's said this countless times before, but I still felt like I was intruding in the private life he's worked so hard for to keep private. 'I don't apologize from asking about your life either.'

'It wasn't your fault, you know,' I said carefully, sensing that Nick was partly blaming himself for Demi's overdose. I mean, they were friends, then they did something stupid that they couldn't fix and the she almost died. I've known Nick for long enough to know that it couldn't be something that he took so lightly.

'Thank you, but­—' his answer was suddenly cut into half, when another voice joined in our very private conversation.

'Nick? What are you doing? Why aren't you in bed?'

Even if I didn't know the voice, I could've guessed. It was Priyanka.

My heart instantly started racing faster, and my breath caught up in my throat. Nick was also startled, judging from his lack of answer for a minute.

'I'll be right there, Pri,' he said uneasily, his voice a trembling a little, before disconnecting the call without another word.

This was more than enough to make me feel like a dirty mistress, someone that could be just shaken off when the wife entered the scene. Nick's 'I'm so sorry' text a few seconds later didn't exactly help ease my thoughts.

We've barely talked the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. It was all making me crazy and surprisingly sad.

So, I'm watching Camp Rock

I sent the text biting my lip. It was four days later and I had no idea where we stood. We went four days with not speaking more than some basic 'how was your day' texts and it was making me go crazy in my head. At least I've had work to take my mind off things, but it wasn't really helping.

After partly getting over the event of hearing Priyanka calling Nick to bed, my mind kept racing around that night. How aroused I was, how sexy Nick looked. How he had control over me, even though he was far, far away. How sensitive I was and what unknown things I've felt.

Not that I could fully let go of the wife thing. Feeling guilty was something I've never expected to come. Yet, as I kept thinking about Nick, about how much I wanted him, how he's been acting, the constant texts, phone calls, face times and opening up to each other, I couldn't help but feel guilt crawling into my bones.

He was married. Married to an amazing and beautiful woman. A woman loved by millions, fans shipping them all around the world. He's had a very public relationship, engagement and wedding to that woman. His family's welcomed her into their circle. Even though everything we've been doing seemed harmless, somehow I didn't feel like it was anymore. Not with sex being on the table, even if just as a conversation topic.

It clearly wasn't just a fan crush anymore. It started to turn into something real, with real things happening between us, even if just online, 6000 miles apart. I didn't know what to expect, what to hope, everything was making me feel crazy, especially the fact that we went days without a normal conversation.

I've missed his voice, his texts and it scared the shit out of me. I've never felt this about anyone, especially not someone like Nick. I don't know if it was the sex talk part of our relationship, or just the fact that for two months we were constantly connected to each other via our phones, but I missed him bad. So, I dug up my old fangirling ways and started watching one of the earliest programs I ever laid eyes on him: Camp Rock.

I or II?

2.

You started to be hot in this one.

started to?

I know you hate to hear it, but Joe was hotter than you back then

He didn't answer for minutes and I just started thinking that I shouldn't have said that when my phone buzzed again.

the only thing that matters is I'm hotter now

been hotter ever since the band went on a hiatus

I smiled at him not saying that the Jonas Brothers ended, but putting it as if it was just a hiatus. I knew he blamed himself, it was clear from interviews, even though he tried to play it cool. Always said that at least he got the band back together. But whenever we've talked about it, I could feel his guilt that was still there.

I don't know about that

Joe was so hot in See No More

is this a hint to give you my brother's number so you can stalk him?

I rolled my eyes at him. Even though I'd probably go into fangirl mode if he sent me Joe's number, he wasn't the Jonas I wanted to be connected to.

Don't worry

that damn shirtless selfie made you hotter

C'mon, we all know which selfie I was talking about.

I'm glad

Okay.

His answers were kind of short and emotionless. It's like he didn't want to talk, or he tried to keep the texting as short as possible. Any other time I would've assumed that he was with Priyanka, but now, thanks to us barely talking for days and what happened between us a few nights ago, plus almost getting caught, my mind was heading towards darker places.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe this should be it.

Maybe this was all he wanted. Some fun with a girl he was never going to see again.

Maybe now that it was risky for us to talk, he didn't want to do it anymore.

I wasn't going to push myself on him – not that I could really. If he wanted to talk, he'd text or call me. Otherwise I had to try and let this go. Not that this was going anywhere. He had a wife. We lived 6000 miles away from each other. He was Nick Jonas. Our lives weren't compatible, not at all.

I was just some girl, someone he passed the time while he was closed in his own home. Getting to know a stranger, that was interesting for the both of us. Maybe we mutually used each other to keep our minds off the current situation.

Anyway, I was a winner in this situation. I've gotten to know the Nick Jonas, the man that I've been a fan of since I was twelve. I got to learn things. I also understood better now who he was. And it wasn't just the 'Nick Jonas factor', it was also the fact that I've been talking to Nick. Just Nick. A regular boy. An amazing person. It was so worth it, even if this is it.

My stomach clenched when thinking about this being the end.

I didn't want that, I've gotten used to having him talk to me.

We went another three days with barely texting, and I was already mourning the relationship we've never even really had. I was like this at times, overthinking, letting go of things way too suddenly. I just couldn't really handle the feelings I was experiencing.

Being on my period didn't really help the case. It made my bad mood a thousand times worse.

By the time the weekend came, I was curling into fetal position on my couch, wallowing in my self-pity and thinking about how I've never truly appreciated that this was happening between us. It was like a shock, all happened so quickly and I just had to go with the flow. I was really thinking about letting go of Nick completely, like being so over-dramatic and unfollowing him on Instagram, but I couldn't make myself hit the 'unfollow' button. And, really, it was too much.

I was watching Gossip Girl, trying to get some comfort in my pain – both emotional and physical. Maybe it was a little exaggeration, but I was actually in a lot of pain. I felt more alone than ever, I wanted this coronavirus situation to finally be over, I wanted to see my friends and I wanted Nick. I would've given anything for a chance to hug him, or even, just to see his pretty face.

Yet, the moment my phone's screen lit up with his name, notifying me of an incoming call, I hit the decline button. Two minutes later, when he was calling again, I just let it ring.

I was cranky, I was whiny, I was hurting, and as much as I missed Nick, I was mad at him for ignoring me for so long.

The third time, it was a FaceTime call that I decided to ignore.

are you ignoring me?

I opened the text but left it on read. I just didn't feel it in me to communicate with him in any way. Not in my period pain, or the tiredness of the week. Not when my mind was in dark places.

so yes

Came the next text.

I won't leave you alone until you talk to me

I knew it wasn't just an empty threat. Nick definitely was the person to always get what he wants. This made me angry.

Not in the mood, Nick

what's wrong?

I scoffed and turned the phone facing down.

Nothing should've been wrong, yet I felt like everything was. I was having opposite feelings, part of me dying to hear Nick's voice and feel a bit better, the other part wanting to ignore him and let him go before he got even closer to me. He was already way too close.

My mobile buzzed with a few more text messages that I didn't even read, before he was calling me again.

'Nick, just leave me alone,' I said answering the phone. My voice was way too whiny for my liking.

'Talk to me, please,' he replied sounding tense and a bit worried. 'I know that I didn't have time to talk, since Priyanka interrupted us, but...'

'Yeah, and now that you have, do you expect me to just be on standby and jump into a conversation when you give me the honor of talking to me?!' I asked, my bitter self trying to push him as far away as possible.

'No, but...'

'I'm not just someone that you can go to whenever you feel like it, then don't give a shit about for days.' I know that I was overreacting, yet I couldn't stop myself. I was irritated and having period cramps and the two together didn't lead to any good.

'I'm sorry that I made you feel like that,' he said calmly, and I hated that only from hearing his voice I was already feeling calmer. 'I just couldn't get away, Priyanka knows that something is up.'

'And what is that?' I asked quietly, biting my lip. Not that I was in the mood for this conversation but we might as well did it now. 'What are we doing?'

He was quiet for a while. Then I could hear him sigh deeply.

'I don't know.' His voice was uneasy and unsure.

'I need an answer Nick,' I shook my head. Hormones were making me go crazy, so the next moment I was on the verge of tears. 'Is it just fun for you? Just making this whole quarantine shit go away faster? I...'

'No, of course not. You know that I'm not someone who just plays around with people,' he replied instantly, almost as if he was shocked that I'd even imply that he was just using this whole thing for fun. 'C'mon, I've told you things about me that I never told anyone.'

'Then wh—, you're married,' I said. Saying the word 'married' caused me to wince. 'Whatever this is, it isn't right.' We both knew it wasn't. Even if it just started off as innocent texting, getting to know each other, when the sex talks and constant flirting began, it stopped being harmless. 'Maybe we shouldn't talk anymore.' One teardrop made its way down my cheek.

'Don't say that,' Nick said quickly. 'You don't mean that.'

I stayed quiet. I really wanted to mean it, I should've. It would've been the right thing to do. I bit my bottom lip as more and more tears started following the first one.

'Tell me what's wrong,' he asked after a few minutes of silence on the line. His voice was deep, caring, and I almost felt better as he spoke the words.

'I'm just so... alone,. I've just realized how much, when you didn't have time to talk to me, I guess,' I shrugged, drying some of my tears off. These last few days showed me how lonely I exactly was. I felt stupid, not realizing it earlier that just because we were talking with Nick, he still wasn't with me. 'Whatever, Nick, I don't want to burden you with this, you have more important prob—'

'Hey, hey, hey,' he cut into my words. 'You are never burdening me, okay? I want to know how you're feeling. What you're feeling.'

'Lonely. And... guilty.'

'Don't,' he said, and I could almost see how frustrated he was. 'Out of the two of us, you shouldn't be the one to feel guilty.'

'Do you?' I asked in a small voice.

'Yes. All the time.' His voice was firm, hones, yet somehow sensitive. 'But I also feel happy when I'm talking to you. Free. Like I can finally breath. You're like coming up for fresh air after almost drowning.'

Words. He was good with them. And they were just what my sensitive and tired soul needed to hear.

'That's very poetic, Jonas,' I said sarcastically, with a tiny smile playing on my lips. 'Almost like you're a songwriter or something.' I could her a soft chuckle from the other end of the line, and it made my heart melt. 'You know what would make me feel better?'

'What?' he asked instantly, his voice so soft.

'If my favorite Jonas Brother sang to me,' I asked sheepishly. Honestly, I have no idea why I haven't asked him before.

'I knew I was your favorite.'

A/N: Thank you so much for your feedback on the last chapter! I’m so glad that I’m not the only person liking this story.

Please share your thoughts with me! Where do you think it is going? Do you like it? 

X

[reading-writing-revolution]

Very long, VERY with the read -

Copied:

--

"I have been purposely been absent from the online conversation about opening schools because I was keeping my head in the sand for as long as I could. But the words below from a Fairfax parent, Joe Morice, could not express any more clearly why we should be fully virtual in the Fall. It’s a long read but well worth it.

——-

To our fellow FCPS families, this is it gang, 5 days until the 2 days in school vs. 100% virtual decision. Let’s talk it out, in my traditional mammoth TL/DR form.

Like all of you, I’ve seen my feed become a flood of anxiety and faux expertise. You’ll get no presumption of expertise here. This is how I am looking at and considering this issue and the positions people have taken in my feed and in the hundred or so FCPS discussion groups that have popped up. The lead comments in quotes are taken directly from my feed and those boards. Sometimes I try to rationalize them. Sometimes I’m just punching back at the void.

Full disclosure, we initially chose the 2 days option and are now having serious reservations. As I consider the positions and arguments I see in my feed, these are where my mind goes. Of note, when I started working on this piece at 12:19 PM today the COVID death tally in the United States stood at 133,420.

“My kids want to go back to school.”

I challenge that position. I believe what the kids desire is more abstract. I believe what they want is a return to normalcy. They want their idea of yesterday. And yesterday isn’t on the menu.

“I want my child in school so they can socialize.”

This was the principle reason for our 2 days decision. As I think more on it though, what do we think ‘social’ will look like? There aren’t going to be any lunch table groups, any lockers, any recess games, any study halls, any sitting next to friends, any talking to people in the hallway, any dances. All of that is off the menu. So, when we say that we want the kids to benefit from the social experience, what are we deluding ourselves into thinking in-building socialization will actually look like in the Fall?

“My kid is going to be left behind.”

Left behind who? The entire country is grappling with the same issue, leaving all children in the same quagmire. Who exactly would they be behind? I believe the rhetorical answer to that is “They’ll be behind where they should be,” to which I’ll counter that “where they should be” is a fictional goal post that we as a society have taken as gospel because it maps to standardized tests which are used to grade schools and counties as they chase funding.

“Classrooms are safe.”

At the current distancing guidelines from FCPS middle and high schools would have no more than 12 people (teachers + students) in a classroom (I acknowledge this number may change as FCPS considers the Commonwealth’s 3 ft with a mask vs. 6 ft position, noting that FCPS is all mask regardless of the distance). For the purpose of this discussion we’ll say classes run 45 minutes.

I posed the following question to 40 people today, representing professional and management roles in corporations, government agencies, and military commands: “Would your company or command have a 12 person, 45 minute meeting in a conference room?”

100% of them said no, they would not. These are some of their answers:

“No. Until further notice we are on Zoom.”

“(Our company) doesn’t allow us in (company space).”

“Oh hell no.”

“No absolutely not.”

“Is there a percentage lower than zero?”

“Something of that size would be virtual.”

We do not even consider putting our office employees into the same situation we are contemplating putting our children into. And let’s drive this point home: there are instances here when commanding officers will not put soldiers, ACTUAL SOLDIERS, into the kind of indoor environment we’re contemplating for our children. For me this is as close to a ‘kill shot’ argument as there is in this entire debate. How do we work from home because buildings with recycled air are not safe, because we don’t trust other people to not spread the virus, and then with the same breath send our children into buildings?

“Children only die .0016 of the time.”

First, conceding we’re an increasingly morally bankrupt society, but when did we start talking about children’s lives, or anyone’s lives, like this? This how the villain in movies talks about mortality, usually 10-15 minutes before the good guy kills him.

If you’re in this camp, and I acknowledge that many, many people are, I’m asking you to consider that number from a slightly different angle.

FCPS has 189,000 children. .0016 of that is 302. 302 dead children are the Calvary Hill you’re erecting your argument on. So, let’s agree to do this: stop presenting this as a data point. If this is your argument, I challenge you to have courage equal to your conviction. Go ahead, plant a flag on the internet and say, “Only 302 children will die.” No one will. That’s the kind action on social media that gets you fired from your job. And I trust our social media enclave isn’t so careless and irresponsible with life that it would even, for even a millisecond, enter any of your minds to make such an argument.

Considered another way: You’re presented with a bag with 189,000 $1 bills. You’re told that in the bag are 302 random bills, they look and feel just like all the others, but each one of those bills will kill you. Do you take the money out of the bag?

Same argument, applied to the 12,487 teachers in FCPS (per Wikipedia), using the ‘children’s multiplier’ of .0016 (all of us understanding the adult mortality rate is higher). That’s 20 teachers. That’s the number you’re talking about. It’s very easy to sit behind a keyboard and diminish and dismiss the risk you’re advocating other people assume. Take a breath and think about that.

If you want to advocate for 2 days a week, look, I’m looking for someone to convince me. But please, for the love of God, drop things like this from your argument. Because the people I know who’ve said things like this, I know they’re better people than this. They’re good people under incredible stress who let things slip out as their frustration boils over. So, please do the right thing and move on from this, because one potential outcome is that one day, you’re going to have to stand in front of St. Peter and answer for this, and that’s not going to be conversation you enjoy.

“Hardly any kids get COVID.”

(Deep sigh) Yes, that is statistically true as of this writing. But it is a cherry-picked argument because you’re leaving out an important piece.

One can reasonably argue that, due to the school closures in March, children have had the least EXPOSURE to COVID. In other words, closing schools was the one pandemic mitigation action we took that worked. There can be no discussion of the rate of diagnosis within children without also acknowledging they were among our fastest and most quarantined people. Put another way, you cannot cite the effect without acknowledging the cause.

“The flu kills more people every year.”

(Deep sigh). First of all, no, it doesn’t. Per the CDC, United States flu deaths average 20,000 annually. COVID, when I start writing here today, has killed 133,420 in six months.

And when you mention the flu, do you mean the disease that, if you’re suspected of having it, everyone, literally everyone in the country tells you stay the f- away from other people? You mean the one where parents are pretty sure their kids have it but send them to school anyway because they have a meeting that day, the one that every year causes massive f-ing outbreaks in schools because schools are petri dishes and it causes kids to miss weeks of school and leaves them out of sports and band for a month? That one? Because you’re right - the flu kills people every year. It does, but you’re ignoring the why. It’s because there are people who are a--holes who don’t care about infecting other people. In that regard it’s a perfect comparison to COVID.

“Almost everyone recovers.”

You’re confusing “release from the hospital” and “no longer infected” with “recovered.” I’m fortunate to only know two people who have had COVID. One my age and one my dad’s age. The one my age described it as “absolute hell” and although no longer infected cannot breathe right. The one my dad’s age was in the hospital for 13 weeks, had to have a trach ring put in because she could no longer be on a ventilator, and upon finally getting home and being faced with incalculable time in rehab told my mother, “I wish I had died.”

While I’m making every effort to reach objectivity, on this particular point, you don’t know what the f- you’re talking about.

“If people get sick, they get sick.”

First, you mistyped. What you intended to say was “If OTHER people get sick, they get sick.” And shame on you.

“I’m not going to live my life in fear.”

You already live your life in fear. For your health, your family’s health, your job, your retirement, terrorists, extremists, one political party or the other being in power, the new neighbors, an unexpected home repair, the next sunrise. What you meant to say was, “I’m not prepared to add ANOTHER fear,” and I’ve got news for you: that ship has sailed. It’s too late. There are two kinds of people, and only two: those that admit they’re afraid, and those that are lying to themselves about it.

As to the fear argument, fear is the reason you wait up when your kids stay out late, it’s the reason you tell your kids not to dive in the shallow water, to look both ways before crossing the road. Fear is the respect for the wide world that we teach our children. Except in this instance, for reasons no one has been able to explain to me yet.

“FCPS leadership sucks.”

I will summarize my view of the School Board thusly: if the 12 of you aren’t getting into a room together because it represents a risk, don’t tell me it’s OK for our kids. I understand your arguments, that we need the 2 days option for parents who can’t work from home, kids who don’t have internet or computer access, kids who needs meals from the school system, kids who need extra support to learn, and most tragically for kids who are at greater risk of abuse by being home. All very serious, all very real issues, all heartbreaking. No argument.

But you must first lead by example. Because you’re failing when it comes to optics. All your meetings are online. What our children see is all of you on a Zoom telling them it’s OK for them to be exactly where you aren’t. I understand you’re not PR people, but you really should think about hiring some.

“I talked it over with my kids.”

Let’s put aside for a moment the concept of adults effectively deferring this decision to children, the same children who will continue to stuff things into a full trash can rather than change it out. Yes, those hygienic children.

Listen, my 15 year old daughter wants a sport car, which she’s not getting next year because it would be dangerous to her and to others. Those kinds of decisions are our job. We step in and decide as parents, we don’t let them expose themselves to risks because their still developing and screen addicted brains narrow their understanding of cause and effect.

We as parents and adults serve to make difficult decisions. Sometimes those are in the form of lessons, where we try to steer kids towards the right answer and are willing to let them make a mistake in the hopes of teaching better decision making the next time around. This is not one of those moments. The stakes are too high for that. This is a “the adults are talking” moment. Kids are not mature enough for this moment. That is not an attack on your child. It is a broad statement about all children. It is true of your children and it was true when we were children. We need to be doing that thinking here, and “Johnny wants to see Bobby at school” cannot be the prevailing element in the equation.

“The teachers need to do their job.”

How is it that the same society which abruptly shifted to virtual students only three months ago, and offered glowing endorsements of teachers stating, “we finally understand how difficult your job is,” has now shifted to “screw you, do your job.” There are myriad problems with that position but for the purposes of this piece let’s simply go with, “You’re not looking for a teacher, you’re looking for the babysitter you feel your property tax payment entitles you to.”

“Teachers have a greater chance to being killed by a car than they do of dying from COVID.”

(Eye roll) Per the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety (IIHS), the U.S. see approximately 36,000 auto fatalities a year. Again, there have been 133,420 COVID deaths in the United States through 12:09 July 10, 2020. So no, they do not have a great chance of being killed in a car accident.

And, if you want to take the actual environment into consideration, the odds of a teacher being killed in a car accident in their classroom, you know, the environment we’re actually talking about, that’s right around 0%.

“If the grocery store workers can be onsite what are the teachers afraid of?”

(Deep breath) A grocery store worker, who absolutely risks exposure, has either six feet of space or a plexiglass shield between them and individual adult customers who can grasp their own mortality whose transactions can be completed in moments, in a 40,000 SF space.

A teacher is with 11 ‘customers’ who have not an inkling what mortality is, for 45 minutes, in a 675 SF space, six times a day.

Just stop.

“Teachers are choosing remote because they don’t want to work.”

(Deep breaths) Many teachers are opting to be remote. That is not a vacation. They’re requesting to do their job at a safer site. Just like many, many people who work in buildings with recycled air have done. And likely the building you’re not going into has a newer and better serviced air system than our schools.

Of greater interest to me is the number of teachers choosing the 100% virtual option for their children. The people who spend the most time in the buildings are the same ones electing not to send their children into those buildings. That’s something I pay attention to.

“I wasn’t prepared to be a parent 24/7” and “I just need a break.”

I truly, deeply respect that honesty. Truth be told, both arguments have crossed my mind. Pre COVID, I routinely worked from home 1 – 2 days a week. The solace was nice. When I was in the office, I had an actual office, a room with a door I could close, where I could focus. During the quarantine that hasn’t always been the case. I’ve been frustrated, I’ve been short, I’ve gone to just take a drive and get the hell away for a moment and been disgusted when one of the kids sees me and asks me to come for a ride, robbing me of those minutes of silence. You want to hear silence. I get it. I really, really do.

Here’s another version of that, admittedly extreme. What if one of our kids becomes one of the 302? What’s that silence going to sound like? What if you have one of those matted frames where you add the kid’s school picture every year? What if you don’t get to finish the pictures?

“What does your gut tell you to do?”

Shawn and I have talked ad infinitum about all of these and other points. Two days ago, at mid-discussion I said, “Stop, right now, gut answer, what is it,” and we both said, “virtual.”

A lot of the arguments I hear people making for the 2 days sound like we’re trying to talk ourselves into ignoring our instincts, they are almost exclusively, “We’re doing 2 days, but…”. There’s a fantastic book by Gavin de Becker, The Gift of Fear, which I’ll minimize for you thusly: your gut instinct is a hardwired part of your brain and you should listen to it. In the introduction he talks about elevators, and how, of all living things, humans are the only ones that would voluntarily get into a soundproof steel box with a potential predator just so they could skip a flight of stairs.

I keep thinking that the 2 days option is the soundproof steel box. I welcome, damn, beg, anyone to convince me otherwise.

At the time I started writing at 12:09 PM, 133,420 Americans had died from COVID. Upon completing this draft at 7:04 PM, that number rose to 133,940.

520 Americans died of COVID while I was working on this. In seven hours.

The length of a school day."

[langwrites]

Merc Work

I have no excuse for this other than needing a break from my NaNoWriMo break from Kei.

Be warned: It has no ending.

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

On a half-decent day, Kei would wake up with the dawn in a world without alarm clocks. If the day was especially good, she’d do so in her own fucking bed and not be on a ridiculous solo mission that’d gotten blown so thoroughly off track that she couldn’t see the proper path with the Hubble telescope. Waking up in an unfamiliar continent was already a sign of a bad time, and then the power of an unfeeling cosmic gearbox threw in the unasked-for bonus of pervasive xenophobia while surrounded by European fantasy analogues. Especially while being trailed by three Academy students on what should have been a harmless trip to visit the graves of their family. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back was the comparatively minor setback of Kei being on third watch. Sleep was for people who didn’t have a demonic turtle sitting in their lap. And who weren’t “new meat” by local standards.

So, between having to join up with a mercenary band to avoid dealing with racist jackasses through the power of numbers and swords, the apparent tech levels not supporting indoor plumbing, the safety of her students, and sitting in the cold for two hours before sunrise… Well, Kei could be forgiven for feeling a bit crabby.

Ha.

You hush. 

Never.

Kei considered the complete inability to actually keep Isobu from intruding on any conversation he liked, then sighed. There was such a thing as a hopeless fight, even for her. 

Isobu folded his armored forelegs under his belly. Had you not been transported here alongside the children, would you have joined this mercenary band to begin with?

Kei made an “I dunno” noise without opening her mouth. I mean, the sheer isolation would be an absolute nightmare. I know my limits a bit better now. 

The spiritual wreckage of her left arm attested to that issue. 

Isobu looked down, over the edge of Kei’s lap and toward the forest around Remire Village. They were probably about ten meters into the crown of the oak tree Kei chose as her lookout post for the last week, with only minor modifications to the branches. The only real change between this night and others involved Isobu being a lookout alongside her, rather than haunting the nearby river and stealing fish for his own amusement. 

And for feeding the kids, but that hadn’t happened since they’d joined the Jeralt mercenaries last month. 

Even if Kei didn’t trust rowdy men and women to look after a bunch of kids with special powers, she did trust Isobu to keep track of them. If the mercenaries got into a skirmish with bandits or anyone else, Kei ordered Kaito, Aiko, and Roku to hide with their spiky guardian as their sole point of contact with the group. When the situation was safe, Kei would call for them. If it wasn’t… well, that wasn’t going to happen. Kei had seen the local idea of what “power” meant and was left unimpressed. 

Nothing could get past me if it tried.

There’s a sentiment I can get behind. She’d survived worse than angry knights chasing her with spears.

The only one Kei wasn’t entirely sure of was the mercenaries’ second fiddle. The Ashen Demon, sole child of the Blade Breaker, went by Byleth Eisner (or just Byleth) to everyone else. They were half their father’s bulk and didn’t resemble him much in either coloring or general features. The lack of visible emotion on their face left most people around here fairly unnerved, but Kei found it was actually something of an advantage upon joining the mercenaries. Because people like Jeralt were already used to Byleth’s culturally-remarkable flat affect, they had an easier time giving some slack to Kei’s preferred mask of complete professional stoicism. 

The kids didn’t bother hiding their feelings about the whole thing—they latched onto Byleth insofar as they did anyone, perhaps because they were the smallest adult available who wasn’t Kei. 

But Byleth also had a job, and that job included enough of Kei’s personal stabbing quota to disqualify them from combat babysitting duties. 

Though she’d asked once about it anyway.

Byleth’s microexpressions were difficult to read. She left the conversation with the impression they were more confused by Kei’s willingness to approach them than insulted by the presumption, and thus joined Kei and her ducklings at dinner on occasion like they had a standing invitation. 

They basically did. Kei wouldn’t shoo away people who liked her cooking, and Byleth didn’t get loudly drunk all damn night. 

Don’t worry, though. You’re still the indisputed babysitting champion of the battlefield.

Pah. Isobu swatted Kei’s hand with one of his tails. 

Rowdy for a clone, aren’t you?

Insulting for a host, are you not? Isobu reversed it, because of course he did. And it is not as though this clone could be destroyed by anything less than your brute strength.

Fair.

Normally, Kei could have continued this line of thought for some time. Bantering with Isobu was a peaceful way to pass a watch shift. He had good night vision. She had the ability to interact with the world as a human being. These things were very complimentary. 

And Isobu used his sensitive eye, adapted for exploring the sea, to spot the problem before Kei heard it. Smoke at night was difficult to see without decent moonlight, at least for humans. Isobu poked at her brain to draw her attention to it. Likewise, the orange flicker of distant flames was just barely visible in Kei’s periphery if Kei angled her vision, like she would if observing the stars. 

That is going to be our problem in short order.

Isn’t it always? Kei replied, leaning as far sideways as she can to see through the modified canopy. Any farther and gravity would be held at bay only by chakra usage. Time to get up.

Indeed. And that was when Isobu opened his mouth to roar.

It was a tiny noise, relative to his true form’s size, but the sleepy village below them started to stir. The mercenaries were used to the sound of Isobu’s dying rabbit screams by now. 

And down.

Kei shoved Isobu off her lap, sending his spiky ass tumbling out of the tree to land among the three kids piled up in their camping bags. Kaito stirred first, patting sleepily at Isobu’s ridged belly before sitting up. This dislodged Roku and Aiko in order, just in time for Kei to land about a meter away with her finger in front of her face in a clear shh gesture. 

None of her three charges moved a muscle. 

“All three of you need to hide,” Kei told them, in the language no one around here spoke. 

One by one, she hugged each of them tightly enough to convey the seriousness of her request. Three pairs of cautious eyes met hers, in turn, and then they scrambled to hide their possessions under thickets in the village’s outskirts. No bandits could know there might be someone here to chase. 

After about a minute, she picked up Isobu’s little clone and placed him in Kaito’s shaky arms.

The kids knew she’d come back. The mercenaries had fought in five skirmishes since they joined like glorified camp followers, and not one of those battles featured a single opponent Kei couldn’t destroy with her eyes closed. 

But this was their comfort zone. Each time Kei left them, like a mother wolf leaving her den, she stripped that security like a worn bandage. 

Even only after a month of immersion, the kids picked up the local tongue fairly fast. They were young and adaptable and Kei was the only human adult around who spoke Japanese to them. Until they heard it again, from either her or Isobu, they’d stay out of sight. The waiting, though, never really got any easier. 

“They’ll never find us,” Roku said, tugging gently at Aiko and Kaito’s wrists. The oldest, at barely eleven, and already forcing himself to be the most responsible. 

“Bye, Sensei,” Aiko said reluctantly, before Roku curled his arm entirely around her to keep her from running off. 

“Stay safe,” Kei told her. She looked directly to Kaito and added, “Be good for Isobu-chan.” 

Kaito didn’t say anything at all, instead just fixing Kei with a stare like he’d forget what she looked like if he didn’t. This lasted until Isobu ordered Roku to get all three kids away from there, and he did. 

All three of them disappeared into the forest. They knew how to climb trees like bear cubs—or shinobi—which would have to be enough. And if a single enemy got near them, Kei would probably need to cut a grown man in half. Perhaps several.

Byleth would help.

I’ll let you know when it’s safe to be out here again, Kei thought to Isobu. 

You should know that I was not designed for an arboreal existence. I have many prehensile tails, but I am not a squirrel.

But you’re so cute!

Flattery will get you nowhere. With that sassy rejoinder, Isobu did the equivalent of flicking Kei in the forehead.

Kei headed to the village’s front gate, cutting directly through the forest with the ease of someone who’d been in and around the wilderness her entire life. She could hear another group crashing through the woods at high speed, relative to normal human averages, and a larger group likely in pursuit. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. 

Hidden Mist. Though the hand seal for this technique was more of a stance, she could still put her detection trick in action. She just had to make sure it was concentrated on the pursuers, not the pursued. Deliberately leaving voids was useless for her strategies, but it probably kept people from breaking their necks unnecessarily.

And it let her know that the slower, louder group was thirty strong.

She kept going until she reached the village’s gates, spotting a mercenary named Arkady on duty. Backlit by torches, his five earrings caught the light and gave him away. 

“Back from the camping trip already?” Arkady asked, a note of alarm creeping into his voice. “Where are the kids?”

“Safe,” Kei told him. She slid into place on the opposite side of the gate, hand on the borrowed steel shortsword that’d carried her for the last month. Her katana was not to be wasted on bandits around here. Or in sparring. “But hidden. Someone is heading this way.” 

Arkady paused, eyed the forest, and then nodded. “I’ll wake the captain and his kid. Stay here.”

Kei let him go and drummed her fingers against her sword’s hilt, waiting. The crashing was getting closer, and her kids were fifty meters away in a tree. Even while dead certain Isobu was with them, her nerves refused to settle.

Strictly speaking, she didn’t need to keep herself and her team so far away from the mercenaries. They were a rowdy crew, but they were only of the rough-and-tumble sort. They expressed affection by going out drinking and slapping each other on the back and fighting shoulder-to-shoulder through wind and rain. Since Byleth had been with Jeralt since before he founded the company, presumably the various members would be at least peripherally trustworthy with children.

Kei, as a nineteen-year-old with dependents who had one half-cracked voice between them, only trusted the company on the battlefield. 

Arkady returned without Byleth or Jeralt, but he did have Marcel. The two of them were like a pair of piratical brunet bookends and cracked jokes anytime they weren’t on the job. It made her students edgy around them, but they were well-liked within the boisterous mercenary crew. Like many soldiers of fortune, they wore a fair amount of jewelry to emphasize their success, which was some of the best advertising around. So was the mess of scars, though only Marcel was missing a chunk of his nose. 

“What’s the matter?” Marcel asked, right before the group Kei’d been hearing for the last sixty-odd meters finally crashed out of the woods at nearly the same volume it started.

Three muddied, twig-strewn teenagers stumble up to the pool of torchlight, panting. 

Kei pointed at them, because it was faster than bothering to explain herself.

One white-haired girl and a dark-haired boy, at complete opposite ends of the “has this person seen the sun in the last decade” skin tone spectrum, while the tallest is the blond boy in the middle. If not for the torches, Kei wouldn’t even be able to call them “kids” in any meaningful sense, but she did know what school uniforms look like. Kei wandered out of her education as a baby adult, by one reckoning or another. Both of them. She hadn’t been able to look up information on the internet for unfortunately obvious reasons, but in a world where bespoke tailoring is a norm rather than a luxury and damn near nobody wore customized clothing unless they were rich, Kei’s intuition was subsumed by screeching alarm bells. 

Third watch on a morning  when they were supposed to be marching north into the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and now this. Kei’s private list of complaints kept getting longer.

“Scarface,” said Marcel, while the kids caught their breath, “why don’t you back up?”

Kei did so, because these kids were likely to react to Kei’s not-Caucasian features with the traditional xenophobia displayed by basically every non-mercenary person from Fódlan so far. If she had to deal with weapons swinging at her face before the sun came up, they’d better be attacks from people she already wanted dead. She didn’t have the patience this early in the morning.

The motion caught the eye of the boy with the yellow shoulder-cape, but little else about Kei was too distinct once she was out of direct torchlight.

Well, mostly. 

Sort of.

She was wearing a haori, her armguards, and the local pants-and-boots combination because her sandals could be saved for special occasions. Instead of covering her face with a mask or even wearing her headband as intended, she tied it around her neck like an ascot. There was only so much point in pretending to be anything but foreign. Between her accent and facial features that she was not going to burn chakra trying to hide, it was something Kei kept in perspective. 

And the yellow-themed kid was still looking at her.

“Kid, eyes over here,” Arkady demanded.

Kei silently cheered at even a token attempt to direct attention away from her.

At this point, Jeralt and Byleth arrived. 

Jeralt was a huge, dull-orange mountain of a man with dirty blond hair and a braid and undercut combination Kei didn’t think would ever catch on. His scarred face told even more of a story than Kei’s did, and no one was quite sure how many battles he’d rushed into and out of alive.  Nor were they sure how old he was. More than anyone else in the company, Jeralt was a cavalry commander down to his metal greaves and could be trusted to lead the group to victory come hell or high water. 

Competing for second place was his shadow. Byleth, the quietest person in the company and therefore the one Kei’s students tolerated best besides the horses, was about Kei’s age. They were also one of the few adults shorter than Kei was. Their eyes were a distinct deep blue and their hair a dark teal, which almost blended in with the charcoal-gray clothes they preferred this late at night, punctuated by matte black armor along their arms and legs. The ghostly complexion stood out like the fucking moon by comparison. 

The two of them commanded all the attention better than a weird foreigner did. 

“Please forgive our intrusion,” said the blond one, bowing with his hand over his heart. Kei’s brain tried to calculate angles to assess formality before remembering that cultures were weird and American accents were weirder. He went on, “We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire.”

Jeralt visibly took note of the formality, then said, “What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?”

“We’re being pursued by a group of bandits.” Oh for fuck’s sake. While the blond noble kept talking—and he was a noble, because Kei had much more experience with the blunter speech patterns commoners used. Couldn’t be anything else. “I can only hope that you will be so kind as to lend your support.” 

“Bandits? Here?” Jeralt’s gaze flicked to Kei.

She nodded, because it was as good a designation for the enemy still shouting their way through the forest as any. Bandits had been trying to kill Kei since she was Aiko’s age. This wasn’t new.

Jeralt didn’t give the order to attack them just yet. Instead, he turned his attention back to the kids as they started talking. 

The white-haired girl said, “It's true. They attacked us while we were at rest in our camp.”

Not a great sign. Why had three noble children been exposed like that? In Kei’s experience, nobility tended to spend a lot more time cloistered inside protective structures, and even traveling daimyo tended to take a proper procession with them. Where were the guards? People died when they were caught alone. 

Maybe the fire she’d seen was a part of it?

As though to confirm her rising tide of suspicions, the noble boy in yellow said, “We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered. They’re after our lives…not to mention our gold.”

Well, then. If they were anything like the bandits Kei ran into during the initial month she’d spent as her students’ sole reliable defense, this wouldn’t take long. 

“I’m impressed you’re staying so calm considering the situation. I… Wait.” Jeralt’s body language went rigid. Like he’d just found an armed opponent in a darkened hallway. “That uniform…”

One of the group’s archers—Rickard—ran up with his bow drawn. He shrugged off Marcel and Arkady’s questions, attention locked on Jeralt so thoroughly that he nearly tripped over Kei on his way to report in. If she’d stuck her foot out, he’d have slammed face-first into the village’s defensive wall. 

“Bandits spotted just outside the village.” Rickard gestured out at the forest. “There are a lot of them.”

Byleth turned their head toward Kei, making an inquisitive gesture with their hand. One of the many, many reasons Kei’s students liked them was because they were willing to pantomime nearly everything if necessary. And while body language didn’t often cross national boundaries, Byleth was willing to learn almost anything Kei put in front of them.

Kei held up three fingers on her right hand—counting her thumb—then brought all five of them together to a single point.

Byleth’s gaze sharpened. 

Jeralt considered Rickard first, then said to the kids, “I guess they followed you all the way here.” He’d caught the gesture conversation with Byleth, and said to his child, “We can’t abandon this village now. Come on, let’s move.” 

Byleth nodded. 

“Hope you’re ready,” Jeralt grunted. “Kid, you take these three into cover and pick off anybody you can reach. Rickard, you’re with Marcel and Arkady. Rally the rest.” Then Jeralt only had Kei left to address. “And you. Your job is skirmisher. Don’t let them get around the village’s defenses.” 

Kei bowed, arms held rigidly at her sides. “As you wish.”

Jeralt waved her off, so Kei decided this was an excellent time to make herself scarce.

[b-radley66]

Lines I Loved Writing

Or, I should say a ‘scene.’ This is from a story I’m currently writing, called No Chains Shall Sully. It’s a scene between Ahsoka and an OC, probably my main OC, with some hints of his origin. I’m kinda proud of the language and the emotions in this one, just wanted to share. It takes place about 5-6 years after Order 66. I hope that you enjoy it. 

Ahsoka chokes back a cry, remembering where she is, as well as who is asleep in the room next to this one. She comes back to herself, the Force falling away from her mind like a ripping veil. She fights to bring her breathing under control, as her heart fills. She reaches up and wipes the tears from her eyes at what the vision—maybe even a memory had shown her. 

The one image sticks in her mind—the last one, like the final picture in a holoslide presentation. She wonders if it is real; there is a sense of a dream—or a nightmare—in the vision. A nightmare because of the sense of darkness surrounding it. 

She takes a deep breath, reluctantly focusing on the three inhabitants of the vision. She chokes back a sob at the sense of doom among the two adults. She can see the flames surrounding them in the ship.

Ahsoka takes a moment to analyze the faces of the two. She’d seen a portrait of Jamestyn Blackthorn once, a full-length painting completed when he was still the holder of the Covenant Chain. She  does smile as she thinks of the features; features that are now as familiar to her as his own, with some subtle differences. But the same eyes, albeit a different hue, their warmth and laughter apparent. A different type of smile, one with power and confidence, but even with a sense of hope and empathy. 

She shifts her mind to the woman, a woman in the same style of clothing she’d seen on the New Mandalorians she’d met. A woman who’d look equally at home in beskar’gam, wielding a WESTAR and a beskad, much like Bryne’s description of his late wife, J’ohlana Wren. She closes her eyes, seeing her first look at Bryne’s mother. She sees the dark bronze skin, slightly darker than Bryne’s but with those sea-green eyes. Eyes that stare into hers—eyes that she could stare into for hours, since their feelings and emotions for one another had changed in the galley of an Outer Rim pirate-ship, over a half decade ago. She feels the tears start again as she catches her first glimpse of Nadara Shysa. From a conversation over breakfast food in some hole-in-the-wall diner; she remembers Bryne saying he’d never seen a holo of his mother. 

Something grasps her heart, nearly ripping it to shreds, as she sees the desperation on their faces, along with something else.

Resignation.

Her heart calms as she sees something else present. Hope, as they place the toddler, his eyes probably the calmest of them all, in a lifepod—one that looks like it was designed for a child. Her eyes focus on the small amulet hanging from his neck. She sees Jamestyn kiss Bryne—or Jame—by the name his parents gave him, along with Nadara. They both touch the amulet. She feels her vision shift and concentrate on the bit of beskar. She notes its size and shape—a small disk surrounded by a stylized wreath. She can just make out the triangle shape—two triangles, offset, actually, with a line bisecting it—in the middle of the two, right where the second triangle’s apex overlaps with the first. 

She realizes where she’s seen the interior symbol before. On a heavy chain on a young girl’s shoulders, in silver, rather than gold. A young girl who is the center of attention in a large keep on Jame’s homeworld. A young girl staring out at the crowd with those same wide gray eyes of her grandfather. 

Jamelyn Blackthorn. Jame’s niece, on the day that she had accepted the title of Elector-Presumptive of Corellia. The guarantor of the people’s rights, from both the tyranny of their own government and outside foes. Along with the Covenant-Hope, the Protector.

The ‘Presumptive’ aspect would disappear on her sixteenth birthday, if she was on Corellia, if she chose to accept the full authority and responsibility. 

A move that would keep Jame as the Protector and in her fight against the Empire and its darkness.

Ahsoka senses movement near her. She doesn’t start, as she feels the familiarity of the person. A familiarity she’d sensed at the edges of the vision, as if he was watching as well.

She rises and crosses over to the now-open window, engulfing Bryne in a leaping hug. They kiss for several moments. As always, she locks her eyes on his face. She rests her forehead on his when they come up for air other than their own. She can sense his pain, as well as his grief. 

“You saw?” he asks. 

“Yeah, Bait,” she replies. “What does it mean? Is it real?”

He takes a deep breath before answering. “Yeah. I think so. At least the gist of it.”

She feels a puzzled look come over her features. She waits for him to explain.

“I think it gibes with what I’ve been told by others. But I’ve never seen that amulet.” He looks down. “But I’m getting a sense of something else, as well.”

“Deception?” Ahsoka asks, her voice even.

“Yeah. Something similar, but slightly different from what I felt on Felucia, Runt. When there seemed to be so many competing versions of my master’s death in my head. Hell, in the galaxy as well.”

She digests this. “Well, Phygus did manage to find that the Imperial version gibes with one of those. That she died at the Temple.”

He says nothing for several long moments. “Yeah. But she wasn’t on Coruscant. I saw it myself.”

Her eyebrow markings raise into her headdress. “Maybe, but she was on Coruscant briefly before that. Obi-Wan told me that she’d gone there to find and protect the Chancellor when Grievous attacked.”

He sits down, heavily. His own voice chokes. “I never knew. I didn’t even feel her during the battle. I never saw her after it. One of the other ‘deaths’ that I’d heard about was that she was slaughtered by Grievous after he captured her.”

“We reconciled this, Jame,” she whispers, “it was all the Asundrance. Along with mis-direction and legend from that time.”

“I think that’s what I’m feeling now. Like I’m being manipulated.”

“By Soma Jess?”

“Maybe,” he replies. “I’ve got to figure out how to get her out of my, and by extension, your head.”

“I’m sorry, Jame,” she whispers, moving her lips to his again. “I shouldn’t have even suggested meeting with her after I met her.”

She feels him touch the tip of her nose with his lips. “No, love,” she feels against her skin, “you were trying to help me get over something I should’ve gotten over soon after it happened.”

He shakes his head, as if filing these emotions away. He breaks away, then looks out the window. “There’s something more pressing.”

Ahsoka can tell that this takes an effort, to shove aside these emotions and that knowledge.

“The Force user. The Zabrak that we encountered on Felucia. Maris Brood—the padawan who was so jealous of me being chosen as  Ti’s padawan. I saw her and sensed her, at least when I was close to her.”

He rolls his eyes as the Smirk starts on her face. “Jealous of you? From what  I’ve seen in your brain, she got over it real quickly.” She can tell that he’s waiting on further grief from her. “The Many Rides of Padawan Taliesin Croft.”

He snorts, then grows serious. “I think she’s still working for the Empire. That may be where some of, but not all the darkness is coming from. He looks into her eyes. “I think we should abort. Cut our losses and run.”

At that moment, Jillan Bykos walks in, knuckling sleep from her eyes. Ahsoka sees her silver eyes widen when they fall on Bryne, wrapped in her hunt-teacher’s arms.

“Go back to bed,” Ahsoka says quickly.

Jillan grins. “I don’t know. It suddenly seems more interesting out here. I didn’t know you had it in you, Tano.”

Ahsoka breaks free from Bryne—probably a little more forcefully than she’d meant to. She stamps her foot, wincing at the reversion to her youngling days, as she does, and points to the bedroom. “Go.”

She rolls her eyes as she sees the teenager appraising Bryne’s figure in his gardener’s outfit. Ahsoka feels Bryne’s laughter start to bubble up. 

Jillan obeys. Finally.

She shoves him, but grins sheepishly. “Great. Just what I need. A teenaged crush on you.” She grows serious, then reaches out and touches his cheek. “I can understand the feeling though.”

“That’s why you were about to tell me that we can’t leave yet. Her.”

“Or the other slaves, Bait,” she replies. 

He nods, then takes her in his arms. They are both quiet with their own thoughts. 

So many of them.

+=+=+=+=+=

[jaredhollyheiditruth]

Solicitation of Minors, Part 1 (Chai)

The second issue facing and affecting Jared Knabenbauer (whose name I’m SURE I’ve misspelled elsewhere!) are the accusations against Jared of seeking out minors to “groom” while using his star status and blogs as recruitment tools. While my blog on the Heidi/Jared breakup and fallout was as neutral as I could make it while still addressing the facts, I will be far more aggressive in this post because of the implications herein and the fact that this issue involves serious criminal allegations.

As someone that grew up with a child molester, as someone that was targeted by a rapist, I understand the importance of treating an accuser’s claims seriously.

It is my belief that all accusers should be taken seriously. They should be heard, listened to, and feel valid and safe in making those allegations, and the proper authorities should investigate all claims made to the fullest extent of the law.

However.

The accused has rights, as well, and no accuser is above scrutiny. There is a very bold line between taking an accuser’s claims seriously, and believing them outright without any doubt, question, or expectation of evidence. Our legal system is built upon the Presumption of Innocence, that any accused is presumed innocent of the accusations against them until they are found guilty. It is not Jared Knabenbauer’s responsibility to prove that the allegations against him are false, and his silence is not an indicator of guilt! The first thing a criminal defense lawyer tells you is to keep your mouth shut with regards to any criminal allegations because despite your best intentions, you may inadvertently say things that can be twisted and used against you in court. Sadly, in today’s social media-charged society where people share details about everything from their vacations, to their grocery shopping trips, to the contents of every single meal, being silent is often treated as evidence of guilt.

First, I want to make clear the allegations against Jared. Jared is being accused of swapping nude photos and engaging in sexual conversations with minors. This, in and of itself, is not a crime.

Yes, you read that right.

To elucidate, it is a crime to knowingly transport, ship, receive, distribute, sell, possess, solicit, or access any visual depiction of a minor engaging in sexually explicit conduct.

In other words, if someone posing as an 18 or 19 year old sends you nude photos of themselves, but they’re only 16 or 17, you’re not guilty of a crime as the law is written, because you have to knowingly receive images of underage children, simple as that. The reason for this is because our legal system is based upon a concept known as Mens Rea, or “guilty mind.” It means that an individual’s intent has to factor into whether or not they deserve punishment for an act they’ve committed.

This is entirely different from the concept of Ignorantia juris non excusat, more commonly phrased as “Ignorance of the law is no excuse.” Ignorantia juris non excusat applies when you are committing a crime but do not realize it’s a crime.

For example, you cannot fire a handgun at a target in your back yard and avoid legal penalties because you didn’t know it was illegal to discharge a firearm in a residential area. The fact of the matter is you did a thing that the law says you can’t do.

Jared’s situation is different, because the law itself requires the accused to know the age of the person they’re interacting with when they do it, otherwise you cannot prove they knowingly interacted with a minor. This is the reason Chris Hansen’s team on To Catch a Predator take care to explicitly make sure their targets see and acknowledge the “age” of the decoy, because they’re unlikely to get a conviction on the basis of “We thought the decoy’s age was obvious!”

Think about it. If the law didn’t require the recipient to know the images contained minors, a person could easily set up a blog with a bunch of “barely legal 18 year olds,” post pictures of 16 year olds, and then anyone that went to the website would be guilty of accessing child porn. Odds are, if you’ve spent any time at all looking at porn on the internet, you’ve probably stumbled across a picture or two of a late-teens minor that either lied about their age or just uploaded a pic from their phone without even caring about the legality of it. Do you think you should be charged with a crime just because you trusted an adult website to fully and carefully screen every single model and some slipped through the cracks?

And, before I go on to the allegations, I’d like to point out that there have been many people that have confirmed that Jared did, indeed, engage in age checking and state multiple times that he didn’t want kids in his blog.

There’s also the fact that people admitted to having to omit or lie about their ages because Jared was known to boot people that were underage.

At one point, a user by the name Brenn recalls a time where they revealed to Jared that several minors had been posting to his blog, and Jared’s response to finding out about that was to nuke the entire blog.

I should note that, when Jared was informed about minors posting to his blog, he only had two possible options if he wanted to avoid violating federal child protection laws.

1. Report the blog to the FBI and implicate the users as distributors of child pornograpy.

2. Delete the entire blog.

He chose the latter option.

Now, with all of that said, let’s look at the allegations. Rather than do this as a timeline, I will address each accuser one at a time. There are only three, so this won’t be hard.

On April 4th, an individual going by the Twitter name Chai sent an email to NormalBoots, a media company specializing in video game-related content with whom Jared worked, along with many other individuals, including Holly Conrad. In this email, which Chai titled “Regarding ProJared’s Sexual Grooming of Minors,” Chai detailed his interactions with Jared, which he further expanded upon with a full-blown statement to Twitter that reads thusly:

However, as is typical with Twitter, people pressed Chai. They wanted to know more. This was when Chai admitted outright that he had absolutely no evidence to back up his claims.

I apologize for the poor quality of these screenshots, but shortly after posting his statements, Chai went to great lengths to bury his statements, though archived samples and screenshots taken by others still exist.

In addition to admitting he had no evidence to support is claim, Chai took time to answer a few other questions:

Now, the fact that Chai has no evidence of his claims is, itself, no reason to immediately dismiss them. Not everyone keeps extensive screenshots of interactions they make online unless they’re planning on savoring or using them later. In fact, as I said before, the authorities should take those claims with absolute seriousness and investigate them, and we the public should be willing to hear Chai’s words openly. However, further digging has resulted in new information that makes Chai’s claims and testimony a bit harder to swallow...

On November 2017, Chai posted an extensive blog entry detailing a head injury he suffered on November 9th, 2015. This would have been just five days after he turned 16, his date of birth having been confirmed by an archived copy of his old Twitter profile, seen here:

In this blog, posted in 2017, Chai describes suffering a head injury during gym class, and the severe, terrifying symptoms he underwent - symptoms I doubt I would be strong enough to endure - in the months and years that followed. The blog itself is very extensive, taking up several pages, and would be cumbersome to quote or paste here in its entirety. However, the entire blog can be found directly via archive by going here:

https://archive.fo/CEpgE

A full-image snapshot of the blog can be found here: https://imgur.com/a/sIJ7FlY

According to Chai’s own blog entry, the sheer misery of his experiences during those first few months must have been excruciating torture.

It’s probably a blessing he claims he has no proper memory of that period of time.

Now, the experience Chai describes suffering from during that period of time is, without a doubt, something I would never wish on anyone, even my worst enemy. However, if you do the math, that means that Chai cannot properly remember anything that took place between November of 2015 and May of 2016. When did he claim to have sent Jared that first nude along with a tagline of “16 no more?” Oh, that’s right...

So, allegedly, the first nude image Chai claims to have sent to Jared, wherein he states that he’s 16, occurred during a period of time that he can’t properly remember, and what memories he has exist as “snapshots.”

However, let’s continue giving Chai the benefit of the doubt. Let’s speculate in his favor for a moment and say that sometime after he wrote this blog, he started to remember things from that period, and somehow, those memories were clear and unaffected by the significant traumatic brain injury he suffered in late 2015. Chai describes the life he was living between late 2015 and August of 2016.

He was in and out of the hospital, sometimes for days at a time.

He was in constant pain at all times, and would suffer from seizures every few minutes that caused incontinence, falls, and fainting spells.

Such severe fatigue that he was sleeping for 16-18 hours per day.

Such severe depression, pain, and spasms that he was effectively bedridden.

Hallucinations, both auditory and verbal.

Hearing voices telling him to kill people, which got louder and louder each day.

Severely bad short term memory and large gaps in long term memory.

Inability co concentrate

Loss of coordination that prevented writing.

Slurred speech and psychosis.

He states that in August of 2016, he was “somewhat better” and was able to stay awake for 8-10 hours per day, but that the psychosis (that is, the violent thoughts) was getting worse, to the point he told his mother that he’d kill her if she didn’t take him to the hospital. He spent several days in the hospital before having a massive headache that temporarily crippled him, and explains that after this headache, the voices had miraculously disappeared entirely, as had the spasms and headaches. From there, he explains that his life got better and his symptoms rapidly healed over the ensuing year or two that followed.

Now, I don’t tell that story to humiliate or embarrass Chai. If anything, anyone that had lived through these events deserves nothing short of praise for their strength. I tell this story because, when you think about it...something doesn’t add up. Regarding that blog, there are two possibilities:

1. That the blog is truthful, and contains a description that best fits Chai’s recollection of the events surrounding a very unfortunate and painful accident. If this is the case, it means Chai is a strong individual that survived pure hell and came out the other side with a smile.

2. That the blog is a lie, which would imply that Chai invented the entire ordeal in order to garner sympathy from those that read it.

Now, we can’t access medical logs or contact any hospitals due to patient privacy rights, nor would we have any right to pry into Chai’s private life, which is why I’ve limited my digging only to information that has been submitted to the internet by those it concerns. However, no matter which of these two scenarios is the truth, Chai’s testimony hits a brick wall.

If it is true, then it means Chai’s memories of most of the year 2016 cannot be considered reliable. By his own admission, he is only able to recall bits and pieces of events that took place during that time. Furthermore, I think we can all agree that if you were living that sort of life, it would be overwhelmingly difficult to find the mood and motivation to go online and start trading nudes and engaging in sex talk with someone, to say nothing of the difficulty of finding time to do that and study while you’re only awake 6-8 hours per day and spending much of that in and out of the hospital, and even if he did manage it, we can’t rationally place much (if any) faith in the integrity of his recollection of just how those interactions with Jared went, especially in the absence of any corroborating evidence what-so-ever.

If it is false, it means that the story - either in part or in whole - has been falsified for the purpose of garnering sympathy for Chai from those that would read the blog. While this act alone could simply be considered deplorable for the level of deception involved, it would also establish that Chai has a pattern of lying to the public in order to get them to feel sorry for him, meaning it’s not ethical to believe his claims without some evidence to corroborate them.

Either way, the blog does say one thing for certain: Chai’s claims about his encounter with Jared, based on the timeline of his cognitive injuries and the fact that he cannot provide a single shred of evidence to corroborate them, cannot reasonably be accepted as reliable, because either he wasn’t in any condition to participate in nude-swapping and sexting, or he’s remembering events that might not have happened, or he’s lying about the entire thing. We can’t prove which of these possibilities, if any, is the truth, but there’s far too much there to simply dismiss outright.

Update: Direct references to Chai’s surname have been removed from this blog at the request of third parties not directly related to these incidents.

[shesey]

Who will run the frog hospital? By Lorrie Moore

“With concentration and a muscular push of air, I felt, I might be able to people myself, unleash the crowd in my voice box, give birth, set free all the moods and nuances, all the lovely and mystical inhabitants of my mind’s speech.” “There must have been pain in me. I wanted to howl and fly and break apart.” “...her voice become a trained one, trying to relocate itself socially and geographically.” “It reminded me of how children always thought too big; how the world tackled and chiseled them to keep them safe.” “What life of offices and dull tasks could have a moon in it flooding the sky and streets, without its seeming preposterous.” “I’ve felt an old wildness again. Revenant and drunken. It isn’t sexual, not really. It has more to do with adventure and escape.” “I often think that at the center of me is a voice that at last did split, a house in my heart so invaded with other people and their speech, friends I believed I was devoted to, people whose lives I can only guess at now, that it gives me the impression I am simply a collection of them, that they all existed for themselves, but had inadvertently formed me, then vanished.” “Still, something deeply sad had been born buried in me, stirring occasionally inside like a creature moving in sleep.” “Things, I know, stiffen and shift in memory, become what they never were before. As when an army takes over a country. Or a summer yard goes scarlet with fall and its venous leaves. One summons the years of the past largely by witchcraft - a whore’s arts, collage and brew, eye of newt, heart of horse.” “But later, for years, I referred meekly to any strongly felt and informed opinion, or weeks and weeks of my own research, as ‘my two cents’ worth.” “Later, as an adult, when I was wonderfully used to long, important conversations in restaurants or bars - books, love, politics, science - talk that licked about like a flame, talk that traveled like roads into the night, guided, or urged, I suppose, by drink and hunger, or some chaos of the heart...” “We drank and bantered and remarked and gazed around and once in a while when the music got too loud we shouted something at each other and laughed. We smoked cigarettes, the strange brazen dare of it never abating for us, even though it was only one of so many dares we made, over and over. We ordered gin and tonics and held each one up to the black lights on the ceiling to marvel at the spooky blue and then to drink it. We had no idea what life had in store for us; not a clue, not a thoughtful thought.” “Why did we live like that, with all that mean, incessant tallying?” “But which is more powerful, what you make or what you inherit? Which is more permanent?” “I felt, perhaps because of the pot, like we were all planets in the same solar system - which was all I had ever wanted or asked from people, anyone, ever.” “I remember thinking that once there had been a time when women died of brain fevers caught from the prick of their hat pins, and that still, after all this time, it was hard being a girl, lugging around these bodies that were never right - wounds that needed fixing, heads that needed hats, corrections, corrections.” “God, how life was full of moments that should have gone differently but didn’t.” “I hoped he wasn’t going to be perverted. You never knew.” “While here for three weeks we live in unapologetic sin. Touristic waste, native presumption. The Parisian meanness makes us despair, so grounded in opinion as it is - unlike the meanness of Americans, which is all careless ego, selfishness, the stuff of spoiled, stupid children.” “So i bring her my crush, inappropriate but useful between adult women, who need desperately to be like and amused, and will make great use of any silent ceremony of affection.” “The worst thing, though, says Marguerite, is when a man walks by you in the street, sizes you up, and says, Pas mal. Pas mal! You feel outraged in a hundred different directions. She pauses. For one, you expect a little grade inflation on the streets.” “There is no place to put such facts, not properly. There is only one’s own mournful horror, one’s worthless moral vanity - which can do nothing. The bad news of the world, like most bad news, has no place to go. you tack it to the bulletin board part of your heard. You say look, you say see. That is all.” “My brain sought always to make the strange familiar, available, not scary. It built railings, ways to get around, maps and roads. It farmed and planted with a panicked, compulsive, mechanical energy. And so I wont the Bible drills.” “What I’d learned at camp, from all the vesper readings, mostly, was that you didn’t give back to the same people who gave to you. Let’s see, I said, stalling. You didn’t give back to the same people at all. You gave to different people. And they, in turn, gave to someone else entirely. Not you. That was the sloppy economy of gift and love.” “For a semester, an embarrassing, amphibious semester when I didn’t know who I was, what I looked like, what jokes to tell, moving from water to land, I tried to stop telling any jokes at all.” “It is unacceptable, all the stunned and anxious missing a person is asked to endure in life. It is not to be endured, not really.” “I didn’t meet nice people. I met witty, hard, capable, successful, dramatic. Some vulnerable. Some insecure. But not nice, the way Sils was nice.” “What did it mean that she had stayed here, in Horsehearts, in one place, like a tree? Though I know one’s roots grew deep and steady that way, still, one’s lower limbs could fuse, or die, killed off by one’s own stalwart shade.” “For a fleeting moment, as anyone can, I imagined I felt the poverty of my future, all its unholdable surfaces; I felt inexplicably ungrateful and sad. It was a moment of stillness in which one looks around and ruefully sees only the rocks and searing sun and cheap metal. ‘You wanted an adventure and instead you got Adventureland,’ Sils herself used to say. I longed for a feeling again, a particular one: the one of approaching a room but not of yet having entered it.” “I wanted it back! - those beginning sounds, so much more interesting than the piece itself.” “How could I know or hop that she contained within her all our shared life, that she had not set it aside to make room for other days and affections and things that had now all made their residence and marks within her?” “I never knew what to do with all those years of one’s life: trot around in them forever like old boots - or sever them, let them fly free?” “Of course, one couldn’t really do either. But there was always the trying, and pretending. And then there was finally someplace in between, where on lived.” “For a brief moment, I decided, I would defeat nostalgia with caffeine.”