#but this at least takes me off the track of lifelong mystery ...

[a-earthssprout]

after a few months of stress & anxiety over a lot of " what if's ", I've finally gotten an answer with comfortable solutions to help with my health problem 😭🙏

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (37) || atz

You step onto dry land and for the first time in your life, you’re not sure whether you want to kiss it or hightail back to the ship screaming.

The rocks are slippery and slimy beneath your boots, the stone worn away by the ages and the relentless sea. You nearly slip and fall flat on your face, but Seonghwa is faster and manages to catch you right before you can faceplant the ground.

“Careful.” He mutters softly, clearly on edge as the rest of the crew are. The tension in the air is so thick you could cut through it with your cutlass, you can see it in their tightly wound shoulders, how their hands are resting on their cutlasses, as if ready for a threat to spring at them from any second.

Only six people have disembarked the Treasure with you. Seonghwa and San, who have been with you in investigating this mystery from the very beginning, your captain and Mingi, who refuses to let him go into the unknown without him and finally Jongho and Yunho as your guards.

But Wooyoung…

Ever since you had heard the sound of that musket shot, you had been on edge, worry for Wooyoung looming in your mind. What had happened? What did your captain mean by ‘mood’? You had wanted to run out of the sickbay to see exactly what had happened, but then San had wrenched you back by the arm, a grim look in his eyes as he gazed at the door forlornly.

You stared at him in shock and confusion.

“Master-”

“Let Hongjoong-hyung handle this.” San had murmured softly, shaking his head, but his words were indisputable. When you had opened your mouth to protest, your master had added on, in a quieter voice. “Wooyoungie… he wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

That had just made you even more worried about him, the anxious butterflies in your stomach were more like angry pigeons now, tearing you up from the inside. Even after the ship had dropped anchor at the rocky outcrop that was supposedly the entrance to the lair of the sea witch and you’d finally stepped onto the main deck once more, you hadn’t spotted that head of vibrant purple hair anywhere.

Seonghwa had reassured you Yeosang was staying with him to calm him down while the rest of you left the ship to meet the sea witch. For a moment, you had wondered if Seonghwa and San were conspiring to give you a heart attack, because all they were doing was getting you more and more perturbed.

If even Yeosang had to be involved, what exactly had happened to Wooyoung?

“Chin Hae?” Hongjoong’s voice comes from somewhere in front of you, and you raise your head in surprise to see him glancing at you over his shoulder. He’s already standing in front of the cave entrance, a lighted torch in hand. The other guys have joined him as well, all waiting expectantly for you. “Let’s go.”

Well, even if you feel like you’re about to chew through your entire lip in worry, there really isn’t much you can do now. You turn back to look at the ship one last time, hoping your thoughts will somehow reach Wooyoung even from here, before you move towards the cave entrance, Jongho helping you up the last set of slippery rocks.

You’re about to see a witch.

You honestly don’t know what to expect from this. All you know is that you’ve made a deal with the sea witch, one that likely gave the body of a golem and erased all your memories in the process. At the very least, she might have some answers for you regarding your identity. It’s got to be more than whatever you have right now.

The opening to the cave is large, tall enough that even Yunho wouldn’t hit his head on the ceiling and wide enough to fit four men abreast comfortably. But it is dark and creepy, and from the way Mingi’s teeth are chattering loud enough for the sound to echo around the cave, he’s completely terrified.

Seonghwa turns to look at the quartermaster with a genuinely concerned frown. “Mingi-ah, you don’t have to come with us. We know you’re scared about this kind of thing.”

Hongjoong nods agreement. The dim light from the torch flickers and bounces off the walls eerily, casting strange, shifting shapes shadows on the slick walls and making your captain’s face appear to be a ghostly apparition floating in the air.

And you’re still only at the mouth of the cave, where daylight is still streaming in from behind you.

You don’t know how far in the cave is, but from the way that you still can’t see the end, it’s probably very, very far in.

Mingi looks like a spooked rabbit, ready to bolt his way out of the cave as fast as he can, but he stands firm, well, as firmly as he can with his knees knocking every few seconds. He meets his captain’s eyes evenly, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I’d follow you anywhere, Captain. Even into the depths of hell.”

You’re stunned by how devoted Mingi is to his captain, before you remember that the quartermaster had told you himself that he had grown up with Hongjoong by his side. His whole life has been dedicated to serving his captain in every way possible, the two of them closer than brothers in blood by the history they have written and the memories they have forged together.

Hongjoong smiles fondly, standing on tiptoes to pat the taller man on the shoulder. Mingi towers over his captain in height, but lowers himself to see his captain eye to eye as Hongjoong shakes his head.

“You know I don’t need you to come with me, Mingi.” Hongjoong tries to reassure him, but from the defeated smile on your captain’s face, he already knows what his lifelong friend is about to say.

“But I want to.” Mingi insists like petulant child, crossing his arms. “I can be brave-”

Then there’s the sound of something falling behind you and all of you flinch, but then Mingi shrieks and jumps into the air as if he’s on fire, clinging onto Jongho fiercely. The poor battlemaster claws at the long arms locked around his throat, flailing about like a jellyfish attempting to escape a net.

“Ack! Mingi-hyung! Song Mingi! Let me go! I’m dying-” The last word is cut off into a screech when the two of them topple over like a felled tree, crashing heavily to the rocky ground is a mess of long limbs. Seonghwa squawks in horror, the resident mother hen of the Treasure flapping around them in concern while the actual healer just bursts into uncontrollable giggles in the back.

You give your master an evil side eyed glare but San continues wheezing from laughter, his infectious chortles eventually pulling in the rest of the group as well. Seonghwa bends over the two of them to see if they’re hurt, but apart from the groaning coming from the ground, they seem to be fine.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Mingi grunts as he manages to get to his feet. Jongho sways behind him unsteadily, rubbing the bruise on his back with a playful scowl.

“Thanks, hyung.” The maknae mumbles dryly and Mingi automatically answers “you’re welcome”, much to your amusement.

To your relief, the earlier fear and tension has eased a little with their clumsy accident. You’re still terrified of walking to your potential death, but now, with them at your side, it feels a little easier to breathe.

Then you remember Wooyoung and for a lingering moment, you desperately wish he were here with you. Your pocket feels too large for only one hand, and there just isn’t the same warmth there without his. You sigh, turning back towards the darkness that lies ahead.

“Let’s go.”

The seven of you make your way forward, occasionally stumbling on the wet ground. The call of the ocean is left further and further behind you as you step deeper into the gloom, and the cave seems to be shrinking slowly in size because Yunho and Mingi have to bend down occasionally to duck beneath overhanging stalactites.

As you walk, you take the time to think about what exactly you want to ask the witch if you do see her. What do you want to know? And will she even be willing to answer your questions? You’re lost in thought as you continue to walk forward, when suddenly a shadow flickers across the wall right before your eyes.

You startle back, but before you can say anything about it, you realise you’re at the end of the cave.

Everyone stops in their tracks, your captain moving forward to inspect the wall carefully with the torch. He glances around, spotting two unlit torches at the side and hesitantly lights them with his own.

They catch alight slowly, burning a little before flames suddenly erupt into the air before you, the sheer scorching heat and blinding glare from the fire have you squeezing your eyes shut on instinct. Even through your closed eyes you can still see the intense light shining through, you feel like you’ve just stared into the sun itself in the eye.

Someone grabs you by the arm and pulls you back away from the fire. The fire seems to die down a little and you open your eyes to see your captain before you, fiercely staring down the raging flames, face cast in a flickering, hellish orange glow.

Mingi screams and you whip around to see him and the rest of the crew separated from you and your captain by a blazing inferno, the cave that was once damp and dark has transformed into a brimstone hell in a matter of seconds. Shock catches in your throat.

What the hell-

From beyond the wall of fire you see Mingi attempting to run to the two of you through the flames and terror almost swallows you for a moment, but Jongho and Yunho grab him by an arm each and haul him away from the flames. Relief sags in you, because you can feel that the fire before you is unbelievably hot, like nothing you’ve ever seen or felt before. It’s heat is so intense that the water around you seems to have evaporated, leaving the ground bone dry, and the very air that you breathe in scorches your lungs. There’s no way you could make it out to the other side alive.

Your own terror is reflected in your master’s eyes as he locks gazes desperately with you, so near yet so far, Seonghwa’s arms comfortingly wrapped around his shoulders.

You’re trapped.

You turn to stare at your captain in horror, but your captain doesn’t look fazed at all. Instead, he shouts very calmly over the roar of the fire.

“Everyone, leave the cave immediately and head back to the ship. Wait for us there till daybreak. If anything comes for you, be it sirens or storms or whatever that sea witch throws at you, survive.”

Reluctance is clearly etched into each of their faces, they really don’t want to leave the two of you behind. But they have no other choice, staying here waiting isn’t going to help you and Captain escape, it’s much smarter to get back to the ship and join up with the rest of the crew.

San meets your eyes across the wall of fire, his face bathed in flickering amber brilliance. His gaze conveys one message to you.

Come back safe to me, alright?

You know you can’t promise him anything, but you nod anyway. Fear is creeping over your whole body and you’re ever so grateful your captain is at your side, because his commanding presence is the only comfort you have in this place. The hand around your wrist keeps you close to him protectively as he continues to address the crew.

But Mingi grits his teeth, clearly unwilling to move an inch from his spot without his captain. “Hongjoong-hyung, I-”

But your captain cuts him off with one decisive sentence.

“Who is the captain, Mingi?”

The tall quartermaster falters momentarily in his tracks. You can see his internal battle in his eyes as he fights between needing to stay with his captain and his logical mind that’s telling him to follow Hongjoong’s orders. Hongjoong sees it as well, and continues to push him towards making the right decision.

“Get the crew back to the ship and keep them safe as my quartermaster, Mingi. That’s an order. Do you understand?” Hongjoong commands, his voice firm and unyielding. You’re actually shocked for a moment. You’ve never been able to understand how your captain can switch from a man so close and intimate with his friends behind closed doors, yet still maintain an air of such powerful authority over them when the time requires him to be.

Mingi swallows at such an indisputable command, before he bows his head, one hand over his heart. His loyalty to his captain outweighs any personal desire he might have, even if it is to stay with him. “Yes, captain.”

Then a small smile softens the hard line of your captain’s mouth as he gazes over at his oldest friend with fond eyes. “I will return to all of you. Now this is my promise to you as a friend. Do you understand?”

Maybe it’s a trick of light, but you see tears spill over Mingi’s eyes as he nods once more.

“Yes, Hongjoong-hyung.”

Then with one final look at the two of you, he turns around and ushers the rest of the crew out of the cave. Their footsteps echo down the flame lit tunnel, ghostly shadows dancing along the walls until even those disappear as well.

And you’re alone.

“Well, it was pretty easy to say all of that when they were there.” Hongjoong mutters softly as he slides to the ground. You glance at your captain in worry. “Captain…?”

“I wish Mingi were here.” He chuckles a little depressingly and part of you flinches. This isn’t what you expected from your captain. “I’ve never been without him by my side. Him and the other guys.”

Then it occurs to you that your captain, too, is afraid.

Kim Hongjoong is the Pirate King of the Seas, the unrivaled pirate, the undefeated one. He took a flogging for you and the crew without batting an eyelash and somehow saved the entire ship in the most hopeless of situations. He dove straight into the oceans without a second thought to save you from the sirens who had been trying to tear you apart. Your captain was small, but his presence to you had always been larger than life, fiercer than any storm and more terrifying than any enemy.

And yet, here he is, admitting to you that he is actually scared.

Something about your perspective of him suddenly takes a massive turn as you crouch on the ground beside him, taking his hand. The orange glow really highlights his face, making him seem like an unearthly, ethereal being born of the flames themselves, embers burning in his gaze. He looks up at you with defeated eyes, before shaking his head with a self deprecating smile.

“I’m sorry-” He begins to apologise, but then you look at him seriously.

“Captain, can I hug you?”

He freezes in surprise, staring at you confusedly for a moment. You don’t wait for him to reply and instead you embrace him tightly, basking in a heat that radiates from him, one that burns even more fiercely and intensely than the flames surrounding you. At first, he stiffens upon the contact, but then he eases into it relaxes, one hand coming up to rest on your back.

When you finally pull away, you smile at him, trying to convey all your gratitude to him in that one expression. “Captain, you literally sailed across the sea from Nassau to Eleuthera and then to this island all on a whim that I might find my memories here, put yourself and the entire ship into danger for me and now, you’re even stuck here with me in the sea witch’s lair. So please don’t apologise to me when you’ve done so much for my sake.”

Hongjoong stares at you for a moment before he starts laughing, shaking his head as he gets to his feet. You’re a little confused whether he got what you were trying to say or not, but then he turns to smile at you, that same, confident, self assured smile you see when he’s standing at the wheel of the Treasure, watching the oceans before his feet.

“I told you. We’re family, aren’t we? You’re part of my crew.” You nod as he pulls you up to stand with him, and then he gives you that boyish, cheeky grin you only see him wear when he’s with his close crew. Something in you warms. He really is very handsome. “And I told you before, call me Hongjoong.”

You return the smile with one of your own. “Yes, captain.”

He shakes his head in amusement and turns to face the wall before you, and suddenly you realise that contrary to what you had thought before, the rock face is actually a beautiful, elaborately done mural of a mermaid sitting upon a rock . Her tail one of intricately carved silver, a shade different from the sirens you had seen before with more brightly coloured jewel tones but not in the least more dull. In fact, this tail is the most beautiful one you’ve seen, tiny details on each scale resembling sea waves cresting and rising, almost as if it’s alive.

Hongjoong seems to think so too, because he reaches out to touch them, breathing out a awestruck “wow”.

“I don’t think I’ve seen art so magnificent in all my travels.” He whispers, and you tear your eyes from the tail to glance at the mermaid herself.

To your shock, her skin seems to be painted in a way that it seems translucent, like water. It reflects the light of the flames in a way that reminds you of fluid crystal. You feel like if you touch her, she’ll merely burst and disappear, so you refrain from doing so, eyes searching for hers instead.

They’re blue, but they’re also not. They’re the colour of the calmest sea on a summer day as the bright sun shines overhead, but at the same time they’re the colour of a raging ocean in the middle of a hurricane. They’re pitch black as sea when it reflects the night sky above it, sprinkled with stars and as clear as clean water running through your fingers. For a moment, your eyes hurt from looking at it, so you turn away and blink, wondering what has gotten into you lately.

Then Hongjoong lets out a cry of surprise, pointing towards the mermaid’s chest. Drawn around her neck is a long silver chain, dangling in the middle of her chest and resting against her navel, except there’s no ornament residing there. Your breath gets cut off when you realise what it resembles.

The necklace that you’re wearing.

You yank it off your neck, holding it to the painting of the mermaid. You feel like her eyes are gazing right into yours as you move forward with shaking fingers, pressing the crystal at the very end right where it should be.

Yes…

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then the stone wall before you groans mightily, and you yank the necklace back in shock as the mermaid seems to disappear into the stone wall right before your eyes. Hongjoong takes your hand protectively and pulls you behind him, his other hand drawing his cutlass from his belt, ready to face anything that comes your way.

But the stone wall merely sinks into the ground, revealing another dark passageway forward.

You and your captain exchange glances, before he grins at you, a determined glow in his eyes. Yes. You can face this with your captain at your side.

“Let’s go.”

The two of you step forward together.

[traumatized-motherfuckers]

CPTSD relationship patterns on repeat

Listen wherever you stream, search “complex trauma” and subscribe. Or, find episodes, blog posts, and a private support community at t-mfrs.com

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Things I’ve gotten good at throughout this Trauma journey:

Seeing connections between where I’m from and where I am

Thinking for the first time about where I’m going

Letting myself have emotions

Letting those emotions go

Redirecting my energy and attention away from ruminating

Being accountable for my own feelings

Being accountable for times of being a shithead

Listening and validating other humans

Listening and validating myself

Recognizing what circumstances do/don’t work for me

Realizing how my codependency plays with relationships

Letting go of self-hate inner critic talk

Reframing events with reasonable views

Accepting myself, even when I first want to thrash myself

Semi-consistently caring for myself

Setting realistic boundaries and goals

Sleeping

Things I’m still shitty at:

Letting my overwhelm skew reality

Anxious self-slave-driving

Being a snarky turd when my head is overloaded

Taking on other people’s energies and emotions

Trusting myself in all areas of life

Forming healthy relationships.

Okay, it’s that last one that has me most perpetually fighting feelings of panic and doom.

This seems like an apt way to kick off the new year. I think a lot of us have questions about relationships and would like to improve our operations in 2021. I can also tell you, this one is extremely appropriate looking back at the last year of my life.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned in the past few spins around the sun has been how romance does - and definitely doesn't - fit into my life. I think 2020 was particularly packed full of important lectures and pop quizzes, many of which I failed. It felt like knowing that the correct answer was C, but finding my hand filling in the circle for A every time, anyways.

This is a terrible ideaaaa... and I'm doing it. Pause for about 2 months. Now I'm upset that it was a terrible idea.

Yeah, it's been great. But I have no one to blame but myself. Because as much as I've worked on this trauma management life of mine, I haven't done a good job of working on the relationship aspect of it. I've let my usual patterns dominate. And that's what needs to be examined today.

I mean. Can someone tell me about healthy relationships in functional terms? What IS that even?

Look, I’m not hoping that someone will pop up and share some, “mutual respect, good communication, trust, support, care, similar goals, similar beliefs…” sort of shit. I fucking KNOW about the idealistic, flowery terms that all the light-hearted couples counselors recommend establishing for a happy relationship. I get it.

I’m not ignorant when it comes to the ways humans should interact. I’ve had enough experience with friendships and relationships, alike, to understand the basics of person-to-person interactions. I know I talk about myself like I’ve been a feral child locked in a cage for 20 years, but the truth is that if you met me on the streets I’d probably seem like a normal, well-adapted, personable human being. That Leo Ascendant component of my personality tricks people into actually thinking I’m an extrovert who wants attention. (Hilarious, explains a lot of comments I’ve gotten in my past)

Nah, I’m not asking for the trite descriptions of a healthy partnership that everyone who’s ever been friends on a basic girl’s Facebook has seen before in cursive writing on top of a washed-out pink-tinted field. Those are empty sounding words that I don’t believe most couples manage to put into action, no matter how many selfies they take together or labradoodles they adopt.

For me, Fuckers, the mystery isn’t, “in a fairytale world, how do two humans interact to have a lifelong bliss factory?” Respect, trust, appreciation, mutual understanding… blah blah blah. What the fuck ever.

The real question is how.

And, shit, let me just be honest with all of you - not just the Patrons who’ve already heard my personal bitching - it’s on my mind because I did a thing I definitely should not have… recently, I got into a new romantic relationship that I definitely was not looking for. I’ll spare you all the details today, but know that I’ve entered it kicking and screaming, and it’s caused me a lot of grief already.

Let the life shittery begin! Can’t wait to be destroyed.

Today, I want to bring this personal fire burning in my gut into the podcast. Motherfuck me, if it hasn’t become difficult to ignore… plus, I know that a lot of us Traumatized folks are in a similar boat when it comes to relationship confusion, unhealth, and destruction. So let’s just count the ways that I have no idea how to do this right and I’m destined to be let down by my poor choices.

This time around, I'm bringing you a list of all the ways I tend to fuck things up with other humans. In part, due to Complex Trauma. In other part, probably due to my own personal shortcomings. Listed in no particular order. On a later date, I'm going to be revisiting a lot of these patterns as I examine how early life set a lot of us up for a lot of abuse acceptance in greater detail. Stick around for those continuations on romantic disaster, if this sounds like you, too.

I'm talking about:

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists, and addicts

Emotional codependency

Mistrust

… That turns into willful blind belief of their words

Inadequacy

Parenting analogues

Authority figures & disappointment

Misdirected commitment

Learned helplessness

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists and addicts

Who has bad taste in partners? Over and over and over again? It’s me! And probably a lot of you.

Maybe that’s not fair. Maybe they’ve been wonderful guys who just didn’t mesh well with my inner or outer world… but I can tell you, there have been some similarities, and they don’t bode well for a happy future together.

You know me by now. Difficulty connecting with “normal” humans, no interest in small talk, a huge fan of deep emotional honesty, a bit gritty and assholeish, tends to be repelled by anything too widely embraced by the general public, definitely comes with a difficult past, fears of the future, and ongoing challenges in the present.

So, who do you think I get along with? Ivy leaguers with stable, supportive families, an optimistic outlook, and a 20-year plan? Or equally messy and complex humans with a set of neuroses handed down from their unexamined early traumas that make them similarly bitter and disillusioned with life? Just… probably hidden from immediate sight.

Grown men who’ve responsibly built a life for themselves with ambition, personal insight, and balance? Or man-children who’re still figuring out that they can’t drink every night of the week if they want to be functional in life and financially sound? But... with their addictions hidden behind “an appreciation for fine whiskies” or a necessity to sample the craft beer they brew.

Independent, confident humans who have no problem running their own world like a boss and trust that I’m capable of doing the same, with integrity and respect? Or distrustful turds who need me to be in their sight, half-directing their lives at all times unless I’m aiming to be accused of cheating, lying, and being unable to care for myself? Only… they hide their controlling and aggressive tendencies behind go-with-the-flow facades in the beginning.

If you guessed “B” in all three examples, you are correct!

Plus... so, so many musicians. Like, the last 6 of them have either subscribed to guitar or drum camp. And that hasn't been a purposeful decision - those are just the men I get along with until we hate each other.

It's always a rapid connection, a mutual respect for our interests in the arts, and a shared shitty attitude that starts out directed at the world and ends directed at each other. So many emotions. So many ups and downs. So many proclamations of "I can't live without you!" until the day we run in opposite directions and never look back.

Is that a coincidence? Or are all musical folk a bit wild? I hate to generalize, but I can tell you with great amusement that if you start typing "Are all musicians..." into Google, it will autocomplete with "cheaters, narcissists, and crazy." It also suggests "rich," but I can tell you for a fact that isn't true. The narcissist thing... uh.... very well might be correct. But I'll leave that for someone else to study.

So, I don't know what to make of this trend. There do seem to be some commonalities between the musicians in my past life - and they do seem to be categorized by the instrument of choice. For instance, drummers are never concerned with my time, and guitarists are emotional catastrophes. But what do I know? Can't make sweeping conclusions... I, at least, need a larger sample size. With my track record, I'm sure I'll have the numbers soon enough.

Congratulations if you predicted nothing but unstable disasters in my past. It's true, I’m an idiot. Okay, that’s not fair. No inner critic talk. Get out of here, Pam and Karen.

The fact of the matter is, I am a terrible judge of character when I start sensing a connection. I tend to connect with people who have complicated lives and inner worlds, just like I do. And from what I can tell, that is always my downfall.

Challenging connections

Let’s go ahead and chalk this one up to never having close connections or support growing up.

You know what I always wanted, hoped for, and idealized as a kid? Someone loving me. Another human actually understanding my weirdness and signing on for more. The idea of a human who wanted to know what I thought and felt. The option of spending time with someone and feeling cared for. Also, somebody finding me attractive, instead of being repulsed by my ass-length ginger hair, flat chest, dorky hand-me-downs, bleach-stained horse sweaters, and buck teeth... also would have been a dream come true.

I’m pretty sure that growing up lonely didn’t help me in any regard when it came to my later-in-life relationship problems. Starving for connection apparently puts you in a state of deprivation, where you’re likely to think anything is better than the empty feeling inside. You know, just for the rest of your life or so.

To this day, if I meet someone and we’re able to converse without abundant clarifications or apologies for the prickly things that come out of my mouth as dry humor or unbendable opinions… we’re on a roll. If we can connect over shared perspectives on humans, life, and psychology… things are getting more serious. If we can honestly talk about the ways we’re horrible to ourselves and joke about our shared challenges in figuring out what the point of this shitty slip-and-slide of life is about… uh oh, this might be a real connection.

And so, it makes sense that I connect with all the most complicated people you’d ever meet. And we connect INTENSELY. I’m complicated, myself, and I look for folks who can accept it without their heads exploding. I’m never going to be happy holding conversations with Sports Bar Joe or Pretty Boy Blaine. They’re never going to understand the internal strife that dominates my world. I’m never going to understand how they can be all *happy,* *close with their families,* and *laid back about life.*

Gross. I can’t even say the words.

But give me the angstiest, most anxious, most misunderstood dude on the block, and we’re likely to get along swimmingly. We’ll talk over beers until the birds start to chirp. We’ll joke in our native tongues, playing with words, obscure references, and dry humor as if we’ve known each other for 25 years. We’ll share secrets about our tumultuous inner worlds and the ways that we can’t seem to get our heads on straight enough to keep our ships on course.

And the next thing you know, we’ll be incestuously connected with a somewhat false sense of intimacy that erupts out of the gates. “No one has ever understood me the way you do. I can really be myself around you. I’ve never had such easy conversations about this shit before.”

… That’s about the point when I lose all perspective. There’s a tunnel running from my face to this dude’s heart. I stop seeing things for what they are. I project a kinder, gentler, more well-intended personality on the subject of my feels. I quickly turn a blind eye to all the shit they’re doing that I wholeheartedly hate or otherwise cause my red flags to be unpacked.

I feel like I know them, inside and out. I feel like I can help them - like we can help each other - to sort through this dumb world we’ve been born into and all the circumstances holding us back. A real Sid and Nancy storyline emerges. No one gets him like I do. If only they could see the things I see. We’re just two broken souls who found each other, a little rough around the edges, but we see the diamonds underneath. And we’re in this battle together from now on.

Yeah, right.

Sooooo… This is how I wind up with the unpredictable narcissists who seem like nice guys, the secret addicts who keep their substance abuse hidden from everyone, and the emotional abusers who are ready to leverage my mental health admissions against me the first time they get the chance. Dudes who have highly emotional worlds and no idea how to deal with them. Men who don’t want to explore their own shortcomings and instead choose avoidant courses in life.

And, again, the musicians. So, so many musicians. I really am coming to think that they’re the most fucked up people of all - and that's saying a lot coming from me. Generally speaking, I've seen that there’s no sense of personal responsibility, an obsession with themselves, and a hidden inferiority complex that turns them into bitchy little dogs when they feel threatened. What’s with that, anyways? Can you guys try to be more original in your plight to be the most original?

Okay, anyways. Sorry to keep dragging on musicians.

The point is, my attempts at relationships start out on the wrong foot. Choosing the wrong partner is a pretty surefire way to dash all hopes for those fluffy ideals I mentioned earlier. No one is going to respect me, listen to me, or support me when they’re too busy dealing with their own alcoholism, abandonment issues, and narcissistic flailings… or, not dealing with them, to be more specific.

We aren’t going to be able to work through things when they’re consumed with being the king of the world, hiding from all negative emotions, and trying to keep their head away from analysing their own actions. Hell, it’ll be difficult to even find the time for serious talks, since they’re so busy traveling to band practices, hustling away for barely-paying gigs, and staring at their social media while they count the ways they’re victims of the universe.

Choose imbalanced, mentally ill, self-serving partners… get unhealthy, controlling, unpredictable relationships. Pretty goddamn obvious. And yet, I still can never seem to see the full picture of the human who’s caught my attention through the fog that’s created by the connection of our shared dysfunctions.

I guess this is where that, “love yourself and get yourself healthy first,” sentiment comes into play, so the connections don’t continue to be as disasterious as your personal experience is. Hopefully I’m on the right path in my own journey, at least. Also, a lot less starved for connection. I got y’all Motherfuckers in the Discord community, for starters. And I’ve become determined to live a life where I support myself and rely on no one outside of Archie’s snuggles, for finishers.

Step one: Be careful about who you deem a good person, just because you can share self-deprecating jokes about being nutjobs and similar musical interests. Learn to choose someone who isn’t an even trashier trash human than you are. It’s a start.

Emotional codependency

Hand in hand with forming connections that include deep emotional outpourings and admissions of all the dark things we hide from the light at our office jobs… comes codependency.

I’ve said it before and let me say it again… I didn’t understand codependency until very recently.

In my mind, it was akin to those creepy couples who won’t leave the house without each other, have the same friends, interests, and opinions on everything... and possibly wear matching cat shirts. Those people who never spend time with other humans because they're too busy being shoved up their partner’s ass. The folks who call to check in on each other throughout the day when they’re at work. Gag. Particularly, I imagined those pathetic girls who cry when their boyfriend is out of sight and post 12 pictures a day of them together.

Rightfully, I scoffed and insisted that I didn't have problems with codependency. That’s not me. But it turns out, this view isn’t quite right, so much as I was being an uninformed asshole.

Codependency doesn’t mean you’re a needy, incapable human being who sucks the life power out of someone else, like I used to think. Codependency is a two-way relationship defined by poor boundaries and non-existent emotional regulation. Two humans who see their experiences as one, all the way down to how they feel and how they deal with how they feel. (i.e. turning to their significant other for comfort and emotional control in a time of need instead of working through it by themselves). Relationships where the emotions are transferred from party to party until it's unclear who’s bringing what dish to the gathering. Waking up not knowing how your day is going to be, because it depends on how someone else feels about theirs. Emotional enablement city.

Oh, yeah, when you put it like that, I definitely have issues with codependency.

For me, the codependency is largely going to be emotional. In the past, I didn’t know how to have a relationship of any sort without having a third influence in the mix. There was the person, myself, and our shared emotions... that often called more shots than either of us did.

Because I tend to be on the empath scale (although I do everything I can to fight it out of defense), I think I’m naturally tuned into other people’s emotional and energetic states, for better or for worse. When someone walks into the room with a bad vibe, I feel it to my core. I become so uncomfortable that I take it on myself to try to “fix” the problem for them, and in doing so, I avoid the negative sensation, myself. This is negative reinforcement, if anyone wanted to ABA with me.

That being said, clearly if my boo is having a hard time… it’s not okay. They’re in a shit place and therefore so am I. I must do whatever I can to make it better. To sit down and talk in circles with them, if that’s what relieves some of their tension. To commiserate about how unfair the circumstances are. To validate the negativity that they’re projecting and wallowing in.

Don’t worry though, this goes the other way, too. In the past, I have fully expected my romantic partners to alleviate any inner discomfort that I’ve felt. If I was having a low-down day, I wanted them to cheer me up. If I was full of anxiety, I wanted them to find a way to release it. If I was frustrated with a work situation or coworker, I wanted them to be as angry and indignant as I felt.

So… I guess that doesn’t even sound too off-base to me, at least not when I’m leaning on my teenage expectations of what relationships are supposed to be. In my head, it was always completely ideal that I would wind up with someone who could essentially read my thoughts and comfort me like my family never did. I just wanted someone who would be by my side, thinking about me all the time, and working double time to make sure I was keeping my depression and anxiety on the up-and-up. Is that too much to ask? Uh… yeah, it is.

Maybe in a fairytale love story like the ones I saw in teenage romance movies growing up, this is the perfect way for two broken misfits to interact. “We’re both so damaged and hurt that no one has ever really seen us - but now we have each other to lick our shared wounds.” Yeah, romantic. Also really fucked up and dangerous in the real world.

The problem is, after a few months of this, it gets pretty hard to determine what’s my experience and what’s yours. The emotions become so transitive that it can be invigorating, immersive, overwhelming, and exhausting to be in each other’s company, depending on the day and the event. Living together or essentially sharing a residence makes it much worse - there’s no physical barrier between us, so that emotional barrier is even less existent. We don't have to try to text about our woes, we can just unleash them the moment we step foot in the door. Ready or not, your night is about to be ruined by my day, and vice-versa.

How does this go wrong? Uh, let’s count the ways.

1. My emotional management was never up to par, in the first place. Having your feelings catapulted my way effectively pushes me off the balance beam that I was already wobbling on. If I was having a difficult day but holding it together on my own through coping techniques and reasonable thinking - fucking forget it, that’s over now. We’re both in a shitty state now. Great. In the context of trying to recover from mental health issues… yeah, it’s a fucking disaster. Being retriggered by your partner or sucked into a depressive undertow when you’re trying to make positive change is a losing battle.

2. I never learned how to cope with my own emotions. There was generally someone else for me to hurtle them at, and our subsequent hours of bitching would give me the comfort I was looking for. I didn’t need to learn to manage my feelings - I always had a glorified babysitter to keep me alive. I never had to be accountable for my inner world. I never had to look at things with logic or reason. I could let myself spiral and trust that my best friend or boyfriend would catch me before I slipped down the drain.

3. It becomes impossible to talk about issues - personal or shared. When you’re already sharing emotions there’s an explosive effect when conflict is brought up. Neither one of us knows how to handle our shit, we expect the other person to hold us up with kid gloves, annnd now that person is the source of my distress? We’re both completely beside ourselves, upset, hurt, and angry… and it’s towards each other? Now who the fuck do we call? There's a huge sense of confusion and betrayal. No one has the skills to de-escalate the argument or return to a normal emotional state.

4. How do you break up when half of your existence is in the body of another human? You can’t mentally or emotionally separate yourself from them. Physically separating yourself feels like ripping out a few of your organs and leaving them on the streets. And, who’s going to keep you afloat when you’re going through the pain of the break up? That’s the job of your partner, afterall… can’t have a vacant desk sitting here. It’s best to just suck it up and stick with it. No one would understand what you’ve both been through together, anyways.

In a word, that’s codependency.

Not what people think it is. Not what our culture describes it as. Not so easy to spot until you’re educated and honest with yourself… plus, probably viewing things through the lenses of hindsight.

Definitely a sneaky recipe for disaster when you let it take over a well-intended, emotionally transparent, highly connective relationship. And, Motherfuckers, I’ve always tended to.

 Head to t-mfrs.com for more!

[bluerose5]

The Precipice of Change: Chapter 2

Rated: T

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Word Count: 3,961

Tags: Male Mage Hawke, Hawke as Inquisitor, DAI Inner Circle, Purple/Flirty Hawke, Canon-Typical Violence, past Male Hawke/Fenris, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Blood & Injury

Summary: The story of Dragon Age: Inquisition, as told if Garrett Hawke were to become the Inquisitor instead.

There's nothing like being the Chosen One for a god that you don't really believe in, fighting to save a world that wants you dead eight out of the seven days of the week. But Hawke makes do. He always does.

Chapter 2:

The elven apostate could definitely give Cassandra a run for her money in terms of their supposed stoicism, so Hawke considered the slight quirk to his lips to be some kind of unspoken success. It was only a brief flash, however, there and gone before Hawke could even be certain that he saw it.

“An understandable reaction,” the stranger said, mostly referring to Varric’s response. “All things considered.”

Or perhaps he was referring to how Hawke dragged him down into the snow with him. Regardless, Hawke smirked at him through the pain, clenching and relaxing his hand in a rhythmic motion.

“Nothing like having such a handsome, mysterious stranger swoop in and bury you in cold, mushy snow to help us get acquainted, am I right?” Hawke joked, getting slowly to his feet.

When he held his hand out, Solas took it. Hawke helped him up, both of them brushing themselves off while they spoke.

“That is one way of putting it.” Solas regarded him cautiously, leaning his weight onto his staff. “Although, I would think that the end of the world would be a much more effective bonding experience, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oho!” Varric crowed, grinning widely. “Was that a joke, Chuckles? Someone alert the Chantry.”

“Or in our case, don’t,” Hawke interrupted. “Turns out, it’s not good for an apostate’s health when the Chantry gets involved.”

“Surprise of all surprises,” Solas muttered.

Continue Reading Under the Cut...

Cassandra took the opportunity to get things back on track, pointedly clearing her throat. The three men before her turned towards her with sheepish expressions, caught up in their banter as they were.

“If you three are quite done, we must return to the task at hand,” she said, narrowing her eyes at them. “It’s not as if the fate of the world depends on us or anything.”

“Heh.” Hawke chuckled. “Could you imagine? Besides, I would say it depends more on the mark than anything else.”

“And you are the one that wields the mark,” Solas stated. “Therefore, it would only be logical to conclude that the fate of the world depends on you and your actions.” He paused, once again regarding Hawke with that inscrutable gaze. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Or our destruction,” Hawke said, quick to backtrack when Cassandra glared at him. He held his hands up in surrender, and even took a step back for good measure, bumping into Varric. “I’m just saying, usually when I try to do good and act heroic, things tend to worsen and fall apart.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Varric said, earning a pout from Hawke. “What?!”

Before they could dissolve into further bickering, Cassandra started shoving them all forward, herding them along in the direction of the Breach.

On their way, Solas decided to engage Hawke in conversation once more, curious about this infamous Champion.

“Apologies. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. My name is Solas.”

Hawke nodded at him in greeting. “Garrett Hawke, but most people call me Hawke. Like a nickname, or a title, I suppose.”

Or a little bit of both.

Solas smiled, his staff tapping softly through snow and ice alike.

“You are an apostate.” A statement, not a question.

“Yep,” Hawke answered, popping the ‘p.’ “And you are as well.”

“Hmm… and how can you tell?”

“The way you cast.” The “duh” was implied there in Hawke’s tone. “I would wager that you’ve never even been in a Circle. Lifelong apostates, even those that have remained hidden for quite some time, seem to have this raw, powerful style that looks as easy as breathing. Compared to that, Circle mages, even the former ones, seem to be more stilted and awkward with their forms. At least, in my opinion.” His smirk grew bitter. “The difference between embracing your power and trying to control and leash it, I assume. Or perhaps I am reading too much into it.”

Solas looked shocked by such an analysis, if anything. Meanwhile, Varric zoned out at the first hint of any magic-y talk, and Cassandra scowled throughout the whole ordeal, her eyes darting back and forth between the mages with a furrowed brow. As if they were part of some big, bad conspiracy.

Gotta love the distrust.

“I wouldn’t say you’re reading too much into it at all. That’s actually a rather perceptive take on it.”

“More than you were expecting, you mean,” Garrett said, taking some satisfaction in watching a bit of guilt mix in with his expression.

Solas shrugged, and Hawke knew that was probably all that he was going to get in terms of an apology.

“It’s a moot point anyways. At this time, all mages are considered apostates.”

“True enough.”

Their conversation continued on, Hawke glad for any distraction that didn’t leave him ruminating over the pain in his hand for too long. They met several more groups of demons on their way, but they were noticeably quicker in dispatching them with four of them instead of two. Unfortunately, Hawke still had to stop every so often when the mark’s flaring threatened to tear him apart, eventually causing the veins in his arm to grow a menacing green. Like little spiderwebs, the light spread until it reached all the way up to his shoulder, Hawke’s eyes wide when he realized just how far the mark stretched in so little time.

When the others took notice, Solas grabbed him by his good arm, practically dragging him along.

Hawke had to admit, for both an elf and a mage, he was pretty strong.

“My magic will not be able to keep the mark under control for much longer. We must hurry,” Solas told him.

It was his frantic tone that made Varric rush to their side, eyeing the mark in concern.

“Be honest, Chuckles, worst case scenario…” Varric said, trailing off so that he could fill in the blanks.

Solas grimaced.

“Do you really want the answer to that question?”

Hawke and Varric exchanged a glance.

“No,” Varric sighed. “I guess not.”

Ah, so it seemed as if Cassandra wasn’t exaggerating about Hawke’s imminent death.

Why can’t anything about Hawke’s life be normal for once?

“So…” Hawke drawled, unable to stand all of this doom and gloom. “Solas, you seem to know a lot about the mark.”

After Solas and Varric explained how the elf stopped the mark from killing him, they encountered one last rift before finally —finally— entering the forward camp. An argument could be heard from the gates, Leliana and some Chancellor engaged in a heated dispute once they arrived. To be honest, Hawke stopped listening as soon as the Chancellor threatened to throw him in chains, everyone going back and forth while he remained silently focused on the sky. It was impossible not to look at, that wide, yawning maw always in the corner of his periphery no matter where he looked. It swirled threateningly, growing larger and larger with each pulse of light.

How could anyone fix something like that?

It took Hawke a few moments to realize that everyone had grown silent, staring impatiently at him. He blinked owlishly at the sudden attention, wondering what in the world did he miss.

“What?” he asked, shuffling from foot to foot. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

Ignoring Varric’s snicker behind him, Hawke dug his tongue into the crevices between his teeth, causing the Chancellor to scowl.

“You honestly think he is our savior?” Roderick snapped, addressing Cassandra instead of speaking directly to Hawke.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hawke stated, his expression serious yet innocent, despite the fact that he was anything but. “Were you saying something just now? From my experience with Chantry Brothers, I find it way easier to filter out all of their ramblings and simply nod along here and there. Nothing personal, mind you.”

Chancellor Roderick sputtered indignantly, but Cassandra stepped in before the situation could escalate.

“We were saying that we needed to decide on a way to get to the temple.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at them. “And you were waiting on me, because…?”

“You have the mark,” Solas noted.

“And you are the one we must protect,” Cassandra added. “Since we cannot decide amongst ourselves…”

Oh, great. They wanted him to lead, because of course they did. Now they were starting to sound like Anders.

How many times must Hawke tell people that he was not leadership material before they would believe him?

Ugh, well, if he must.

After they recounted his options again —the whole “should we charge or use the mountain path” debate— he simply stated what he thought was the most obvious solution.

“Why not just split up and meet back up at the temple?”

They stared at him blankly, making him wonder if he really did have something in his teeth this time.

“Explain,” Cassandra ordered.

How could he even think of refusing when she asked so nicely?

“I’m just saying that a small group could go investigate what happened with the missing scouts, and the rest of us could charge on ahead. That way, we hopefully save as many people as possible, and we get me to the temple. Easy as pie,” Hawke explained.

“As idealistic as that may be,” Cassandra started, “the whole point of this plan is to get you to the temple, not to rescue everyone. We should spare no resources in getting you ther—”

Hawke interrupted then.

“You asked for my opinion, and I gave it. If you don’t like it, then please feel free to waste more time we don’t have by trying to decide amongst yourselves.”

Of course, he kind of did waste some precious time himself by not listening before, but that’s not the point.

After considering it, Cassandra and the others agreed, despite Chancellor Roderick’s vehement protests.

Hawke may or may not have stuck his tongue out at him when they passed.

Splitting into two groups, the majority of the soldiers went with Leliana and Hawke in the charge forward. While they used the more direct approach, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and a few others were going to be traveling indirectly through the mountain path. Both routes would eventually converge, and they would wait for one another at the Temple of Sacred Ashes before advancing in their final push. In a realistic world, losses were to be expected, but Garrett knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly at night if he didn’t at least try for the optimal outcome.

If he could even sleep at all, what with a deadly mark upon his hand that’s constantly trying to kill him.

As each group set out, Hawke forced himself to focus back on the here and now, using magic and his sword alike to lash out at the demons before them. The soldiers weren’t the most seasoned or experienced warriors out there, but they were enough to keep the corrupted spirits at bay. One wave after another, they fought, and eventually they happened upon another rift.

In the middle of this chaos, the last person that Hawke had expected to encounter was Cullen Rutherford.

Huh, turns out it really is a small world after all.

There was a tense, awkward moment that followed when their eyes met, but it wasn’t anything like what one would hear in the stories. The world didn’t fade away around them. Time didn’t stop or slow to a standstill to allow them that one instance of recognition and animosity. Instead, the battle raged on, and the demons’ shrieks still tainted the air alongside the soldiers’ frantic yelling.

Turns out, the end of the world had a way of uniting even the most unlikely of allies.

When Hawke spotted a terror demon behind him, he didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t hesitate, lest he sentence the man to death right then and there. The air prickled with the smell of ozone, his hairs standing on end as goosebumps spread across his skin like a wildfire. A charged bolt of lightning shot through the demon, causing it to writhe and convulse until it burst open in a shower of blackened goo. Cullen tensed at the feeling of magic arcing past him, enough to avoid him entirely yet still too close for comfort. He refused to succumb to his discomfort, though, focusing instead on the fight at hand.

“Duck!” Cullen barked out, Hawke instantly dropping low enough for his sword to slash out at an approaching shade.

Turning on the demon, Hawke joined Cullen in his attack, running the damn thing through with his blade. Unfortunately, that only served to close the distance between Hawke and the shade, the demon lashing out with wickedly sharp claws. It managed to get in one good swipe at Hawke’s arm, bright red blood soon flowing freely.

Hawke released his grip on the sword and scurried backwards. That gave Cullen an opening to step in, decapitating it in one fell swoop.

With gritted teeth, Hawke decided that he had enough of this shit for one day, lifting up his hand to seal the rift as before. Weakened as they were by the sudden disconnect, the rest of the demons were soon defeated by the remaining soldiers. Leliana regrouped with Hawke and Cullen in the aftermath, helping to support Hawke’s weight.

Garrett managed a strained smile, holding his now-bleeding arm close to his chest.

“Anyone have a lyrium potion by chance?” When silence answered him, the former Champion gave a weary sigh. “Of course not.”

“Here, ser!” One brave soul rushed forward, digging around in their bag as they approached. The bandages they eventually pulled out weren’t the cleanest by any means, nor was the healing potion they provided the best quality; however, Hawke knew better than to complain. Beggars can’t be choosers after all, and many others out there needed the supplies just as much, if not more than him, so Hawke simply accepted the items with a mumbled “thanks.”

After he forced down the potion, he made quick work of wrapping his wounds, eyeing Cullen as he fixed himself up.

“You know, Knight-Captain—”

“Former Knight-Captain,” Cullen corrected, already exhausted by the conversation at hand.

“Right… So, former Knight-Captain, didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Nor I you, Champion.”

“Former Champion,” Hawke mocked.

“Right. Apologies.” Cullen nodded at him stiffly, turning to include Leliana, who was watching the two of them in utter amusement. “Sister Nightingale, it’s good to see you in one piece.”

“And you as well, Commander,” she stated. “There have been many losses, but there would have been undoubtedly many more without the Champion and his mark.”

Cullen glanced down at Hawke’s glowing hand, his gaze quickly darting away when Hawke caught him staring.

“I assume that this was the missing piece we needed to close the rifts then.”

“And you would be assuming correctly,” Hawke said. “You would think that, after watching lyrium bring statues to life, I would be used to all of this strange shit happening to me.”

Cullen gave a sharp laugh at that, bleak and bitter. “And yet the world keeps surprising us.” He cleared his throat then, more so to cover up his sudden outburst. “I hope they’re right about your mark, though. Everything is riding on this.” No pressure. “The path ahead should be clear when you’re ready to head out. Hopefully, Lady Cassandra and the others will be awaiting your arrival.”

“We’ll depart now then,” Leliana told him, assisting Hawke in the direction of the Breach. “Give us time, Commander.”

“Maker watch over you,” Cullen muttered, and it took Hawke a full minute to realize that he was talking to him. “For all our sakes.”

Before Hawke could retort, they separated, Cullen and the soldiers heading out to set up a defensible position while Leliana shuffled them forward.

Once they made it to the temple, Hawke’s heart immediately sank into his stomach. Even Leliana could not hold back her reaction as they surveyed the damage, her voice a soft, broken whisper that was easily overtaken by the winds.

“Oh—Oh no…” she gasped, her eyes glazed over as she regarded one of the statue-like corpses nearby.

It was as if they were frozen in time, some of the bodies still burning as they tried to escape the blast.

And beyond that, the rest of the dead were unrecognizable, stripped of their flesh until nothing more than their bones laid covered in dust and ash.

Even Hawke didn’t have something witty to say at such a moment, all life drained from the surrounding area.

It was right then that they heard shuffling nearby, Hawke and Leliana rounding on the spot, poised to attack. They both breathed a collective sigh of relief when they spotted the others, Cassandra leading the remaining scouts to safety. When they regrouped, she recounted what had occurred on their journey there. Apparently, they had encountered a rift on their path as well. Some scouts had already perished by the time they arrived, but the rest had managed to hold out for just long enough. With their combined forces, they had slain enough demons to buy them some time between waves to beat a hasty retreat. A couple of the others succumbed to their injuries on the way to the temple, but the losses were still less than originally anticipated.

If anything, Garrett considered that a success, no matter how small.

After this whole shitshow, he had to claim his victories when he could.

Now that everyone was together again, they traveled forward in a solemn silence, the crackle of flames and the roar of the Breach the only sounds to accompany them.

While Leliana and Cassandra were busy giving orders to their people, Hawke surveyed the area around them. Varric made the occasional comment or two about the Breach, and Solas eventually interrupted all of them to explain how they could possibly close it. Something about closing the first rift that it created, or that was the theory, anyways. It was at least better than anything else they could think of, though, so it was worth a try. Best case scenario, the Breach would be sealed.

Then again, the worst case scenario was that Hawke would end up making an already catastrophic problem even worse, and then the whole fabric of the Veil would split open, causing the end of all life as they know it.

Oh, and he dies! That would be bad, too.

Why did he volunteer for this again?

Either way, he knew now as Cassandra escorted him through the ruins that he had missed his opportunity for escape. Any chance he had was long gone by now, so he might as well ride this out to the end.

“Now is the hour of our victory.”

Hawke stumbled in shock, Cassandra lunging forward to keep him from falling.

No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Hawke was surely going insane, that’s all.

“Bring forth the sacrifice.”

It had to be an illusion of the Fade. It had to be.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“At a guess, the one who created the Breach,” Solas replied.

Okay, but if it was that Maker-forsaken magister, then surely Varric would recognize—

However, when Hawke glanced over at Varric for backup, the dwarf was preoccupied with another matter entirely, eyes wide and jaw slack. Hawke followed his gaze, only to shudder in revulsion. Without thinking, he shuffled closer into Cassandra’s side, trying to get as far away from the foul stuff as possible.

Red lyrium.

For fuck’s sake, this day was apparently the gift that kept on giving!

That voice forgotten for the moment, Varric followed Hawke’s lead and shifted away from the lyrium as much as he could, their teeth rattling at the discordant song that flowed through the air.

“You know that stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.”

She pursed her lips, but refused to be distracted from the task at hand.

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it doing here?”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temp—”

Hawke didn’t even listen to the rest of Solas’s explanation, distracted by another voice entirely.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

It was like it all came crashing down on him at once, a dam bursting open after years upon years of cracks splintering its foundations. Adrenaline surged through Hawke’s veins, giving him the strength and energy needed to slip free of Cassandra’s grasp. He took off into a run, not even stopping when the others called out. All he could focus on was that voice and that voice alone —that stupid, blight-infested voice. It made his skin crawl even now, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It shouldn’t be possible, but there was no mistaking it. He should be dead. Hawke had killed him, yet there he was.

That voice was one of many that haunted his dreams. Hawke would know it anywhere.

“I thank you for my freedom.”

Larius. Larius wasn’t the same. He changed. He said it was because he was free of Corypheus’s influence, but no. Something never sat right with Hawke about that. He was too clear-headed for a man beyond his Calling. Too composed for someone that had been long overtaken by the Blight’s corruption.

Garrett didn’t get a chance to think any deeper about it. The second he dropped down towards the rift, they were all engulfed in a vision of the past. The Divine had called out to him, and when Garrett had burst into the room to save the day, Corypheus had ordered someone to “slay the Hawke.” No other information was given, and Hawke’s memories of the encounter still refused to return.

By the time the vision faded, Hawke’s head was spinning, and his stomach was churning. Cassandra demanded answers of him, but he couldn’t give them at the moment, those black and white dots returning to cloud his vision with a vengeance. Dazed and disoriented, Hawke had to force himself to piece together each word when Solas spoke up, addressing the need to open the rift in order to seal it properly. Hawke remembered nodding distantly, but the elven mage had to step in as he did before, his hand warm against Hawke’s as he guided the mark’s magic through the motions.

Of course, opening the rift just had to summon a pride demon, of all things. It couldn’t be something nice and small and easy to contend with, like a wraith.

Or a nug.

Oh, no, that would be too easy to defeat! The universe liked a challenge!

Well, screw the universe. How about that?

If Hawke were a religious man, he would have thought it to be divine punishment, since —at that exact moment— a damn shade spawned behind him and raked its claws down his back. One blast of fire to its face was enough to melt its ugly mug, but the damage had been done.

Red ribbons of blood trailed over his skin, hot and wet. They didn’t drip down into tiny, delicate droplets either. Rather, they stained the ground red in free flowing streams.

Pain radiated all around Hawke until he didn’t know which way was up or down, left or right…

All he could see was green.

But he couldn’t stop. It couldn’t end there.

With his hand outstretched towards the brightest patch of green, he managed to disrupt the rift in time, stunning the demons long enough for the killing blows to be made.

He heard her voice through the fog clouding his mind, unable to recall her name at the moment.

“Now!” the warrior yelled. “Seal the rift!”

The last thing Hawke remembered before he lost consciousness was an unbearable pain shooting up his arm, and then everything went dark.

[myrmidryad]

We're Waking Up Slow (⛰️🔬), Common Tongue (🎭🎢), Animal Matters (⭐☀️)

For We’re Waking Up Slow:

⛰️-  What was the hardest part?

I think keeping Alex’s internal thoughts and mental progress consistent with what he canonically knew at that point, and making his thought process make sense. Because I was definitely really inspired various meta posts and tags (shoutout to @ober-affen-geil, @chasingshhadows, and @irolltwenties) but I wanted to make it all make sense in a fic setting.

🔬- Was there one scene you were building up to/knew you had to get just right? 

Exactly halfway through, when Michael stands in front of Alex, who’s seated, and Alex lets his forehead rest on Michael’s stomach and they touch each other really, really gently, and Alex kind of wants to cry a little bit.

For Common Tongue:

🎭- What was the feeling or mood you were going for?

Hot and a little bit frantic and desperate. The way Alex has sex with Michael in his trailer, freaks out and runs away, and then jerks off twice more back at the cabin while imagining Michael because that’s just the effect Michael has on him, but then there’s always that chaser of fear because he can’t stop remembering what happened the last time he and Michael were caught together.

🎢- Were there any scenes you were nervous about? For audience reception or otherwise?

I don’t think so.

For Animal Matters:

⭐- What’s a scene/paragraph you’re proud of? 

Reworking the scene where Alex and Michael talk at the junkyard to include their daemons, and Alex and Mihiliz both freaking aout when Laithe shows off her and Michael’s alien range and her disappearing trick. It’s hard to know how effective that sort of thing is to any readers who haven’t read HDM, because the daemon stuff is so specific, but I liked it.

☀️- Was there symbolism/motifs you worked in?

All the daemon choices, ofc, especially Alex and Michael’s, but OOOH BOY you asked and I am going to talk about all of them!!!! Talk about opening a can of worms, prepare yourself, I am about to go in deep.

I wanted Michael to have a monkey right away, because a daemon with hands shows off Michael’s drive to physically build and create with his hands, and how adaptable and clever he is. Barbary macaques are very social, with lifelong family bonds. They’re medium sized, not too big to ride on a human being or small enough to be unthreatening. I also knew about Barbary macaques already as the only monkey that lives in Europe, specifically in Gibralter - they’ve adapted really well to an urban (alien) environment. It’s not native to the states or New Mexico, like Michael isn’t, but it’s sandy coloured and I imagine it would blend in well enough. I also picked up a headcanon from my favourite daemon fic ever, He Says He Is An Experimental Theologian, which is a HDM/WTNV fusion, and one of the best things I’ve ever read, ever, period, that monkey daemons have a reputation for being cunning and not very nice, and that matches up with Michael’s reputation as a bad boy.

I decided on Alex having a snake pretty easily too, but it took a while to settle on the exact type. It had to be native to the states (I have feelings about people’s daemons settling as animals native to their home regions), and I think I decided I wanted it to be dark pretty early on too. Something outwardly unobtrusive, easy to underestimate and overlook, something very good at being patient and lying in wait for a long time before striking with deadly accuracy. Snakes are solitary animals, and Alex is someone who guards his privacy and independence incredibly fiercely. I also have feelings about Alex’s feelings about settling as a snake, particularly wrt his family and obviously his father. I believe Jesse Manes is the sort of person who would be displeased for any of his sons to settle as anything but a predator animal, and I think Alex would have mixed feelings about fulfilling that expectation - relief at not inviting ridicule or retribution, but not exactly uncomplicated pleasure because he doesn’t like doing anything that pleases his dad. But he does love Mihiliz, and her form. Then there’s the other issue of his mother’s side of the family - snakes are one of several animals that are considered bad by the Apache, so I imagine that snake daemons would be uncommon to nonexistent among the Mescalero. By settling as a snake, Alex thinks he’s cut himself off from that side of his heritage, possibly for good, and at the very least marked himself as a very obvious outsider to it. Settling as a snake would also, for this reason, be something that would please his father, as a very visible proof of Alex’s rejection of his mother’s influence. Whether that’s true or not, Alex would have Issues about it for sure.

The other daemons had a bit less thought put into them, but I LOVE thinking about what people’s daemons would be, so I still considered each one. I wanted Kyle to have a daemon that could be absolutely hellish when he was a bully teenager, but then present as very friendly and sweet when he’s turned over a new leaf as an adult. Weasels and other mustolids can be unbelievably violent and vicious and can take down prey many times their own size, even when they themselves look tiny and cute.

I wanted Max to have a dog daemon right away, because he’s a loyal man, and he’s appointed himself a guard dog of sorts by joining the police force. He just gives me seriously dog vibes. I wanted him to have a distinctive dog though, definitely handsome, and again, not native to New Mexico but with colouration that sort of blends in. Max really wants to be a normal guy, but he can’t pretend his way out of what he really is. I also chose a pharaoh hound as a nod to his royal nature in the OG series, even if that isn’t the route RNM is taking.

Isobel is the one who gave me the most trouble, and I’m still not entirely sure about my choice of daemon for her. She has a Costa’s hummingbird daemon, which is native to New Mexico as a representation of how much better she blends in than her brothers, and how much more comfortable she is doing so - at least in most of season one. I knew I wanted her to have a bird with very pretty feathers, and the Costa’s hummingbird has these really gorgeous iridescent purple neck feathers. I’m now thinking though that I should have given her something with a more violent edge, because I think Isobel is definitely capable of violently protecting what she considers hers (her family). I think I maybe went on the aesthetic too much for her.

I picked an Abert’s squirrel for Liz because again, I wanted her to have a daemon species native to her home, and I thought a squirrel suited her in terms of how quick and clever they are, and like Michael’s monkey, a squirrel has a degree of paw dexterity a lot of other animals don’t have. They’re cute, but they’re territorial, and they can be violent on occasion.

Maria has a gray fox to reflect her resourcefulness and ability to survive through seriously tough times. It’s another New Mexico native, and it has a very cool ability to climb trees with cat-like agility.

Jesse has a wolf for a couple of reasons, one of them being pure intimidation. Check out how big a grey wolf is in real life - they are fucking huge, and having a wolf-shaped soul shows what a relentless hunter Jesse is. Wolves are great animals and they get a bad rep in folklore as being big and bad, but I believe daemons can reflect those attitudes as well. Wolves are incredible pack hunters, and Jesse is all about the pack and the family and the legacy of that. I also believe he sees himself as a necessary guard dog of humanity, and a wolf reflects that. I don’t know what his other two sons have settled as, but I decided on Flint having a coyote easily - a lesser wolf, in a sense, smaller and more solitary, but just as good at hunting and tracking and working as part of a team.

It never came up in Animal Matters, but I also decided on a black panther for Rosa (tough, mysterious, solitary, once native to Mexico, would very much stand out in a place like Roswell) and an alien bird that resembled a motmot bird for Noah.

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 0 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter [this is the last chapter] - ao3

Words: 22,758

Logan can’t decide whether he’s so tired that he feels awake or he’s so awake that he feels tired. He shrugs on an old cardigan over his most nicely pressed shirt and dusts imaginary debris off the front of his pants, then mutes his phone. Just in time, too, as another encouraging message rolls in from Cassidy. Every time he tries to leave that confounded group chat, they just add him back in. There’s apparently no escaping ‘the OG fifth floor squad,’ as it’s so belovedly named. And another message, this one drenched in emojis of rockets and stars. And another. Logan allows himself a small smile and sets his phone to do not disturb.

On his way to the door, ready to do what he’s wanted to do ever since he knew what wanting was, he pauses to press one last long kiss to Virgil’s forehead. Virgil doesn’t stir, and as much as Logan wants another goodbye, a final one, a real one, he knows Virgil would refuse saying the actual word. So he instead pulls the bedroom door shut softly behind him and heads for the front entrance, keys in hand. Inches from exiting, he pauses at the sound of the bedroom door opening back up.

And there, blinking blearily against the weak dawn is Virgil, sporting flannel pajama pants and a soft smile. Logan grins and spreads his arms out, holding his breath as Virgil shuffles over and wraps him in a hug. The sleeves of Logan’s cardigan drape around Virgil like a shield.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Logan whispers into Virgil’s shoulder.

“I know,” Virgil mumbles, slouching until Logan can tuck his chin over his sleep-mussed hair. “Anything else you want to say before you go shooting off the planet?”

“I love you?”

“I love you, too. Little more, though.”

“I love you more than you love bad coffee?”

“Lot more.”

“I’ll bring you the moon?”

“Yes, you will.”

With that, Logan gives him one more firm squeeze, drawing the moment out for as long as time will allow before he heads outside to meet Roman, who looks remarkably close to playing some AC/DC drums on the car horn and waking everyone in a five mile radius. Logan places a hand on the bricks framing the entryway, feeling the cool, stubbly surface under his palms and wondering how long it’ll be before he can touch them again. Wondering how far away he’ll get before he comes back. Wondering how many planets lie between him now and him then.

He hops into the passenger seat of Roman’s car and wonders whether it’s as obvious as it feels how shaky his hands are.

“Your hands are really shaky, my dude.”

Okay, so it is that obvious. “Can we make a quick stop at a coffee place on the way out?”

“Liquid bravery? I’m on it.”

“I thought you called it liquid inspiration.”

“It’s liquid whatever you need it to be, my man.”

And with that, they’re on their way.

---------

After that first time seeing Virgil—Cadmium, as he then knew him—fall asleep on the bench, Logan was in no hurry to become a regular at the museum. But then, things never quite seemed to work out the way he planned, did they?

Cadmium walked through that abstract art room a few more times that day, always with a new cluster of students, and Logan was more than happy to sit on that same bench and watch him go, watch how easily he interacted with the students, how enthusiastic he was about every piece of art lining the walls.

Logan learned not to expect the same information to keep floating over, though, by sheer virtue of how different each tour was from the last. He didn’t think it was even possible to play so many foils to the same thing. Cadmium focused on different works each time, pointed out different areas of symbolism and absurdist conspiracies, and the only constant was him taking a quick break on benches around the room. He had a route through the building, and he followed it well, but all else was seemingly done on the fly.

He rarely returned to Logan’s bench, but Logan was perfectly content to watch him from afar. If nothing else, it was great fun to see various strangers jostle him awake. It crossed Logan’s mind more than a couple times that Cadmium might straight-up not get any sleep, ever, outside of the breaks between his tours. A baseless thought, to be sure, but it kept him entertained well enough.

---------

Logan cranes his neck to lean his ear against the side of the headrest, slugging back a black coffee with five shots of espresso and whipped cream. An acquired taste, Virgil had called it, an acquisition for which Logan is still patiently waiting. Maybe a little impatiently, actually. He drinks it faster, hoping the way it scalds his tongue will distract his taste buds from the flavor—or lack thereof.

“You really want to do this?” Roman asks quietly as he pulls into the parking structure. He gives a low whistle. “Go save the world by running away from it?”

“I would hardly call this saving the world, much less running away from it.” Logan undoes his seatbelt, careful not to spill his drink all over the cardigan that he definitely stole from Virgil’s side of the closet when he wasn’t looking. A big coffee stain probably wouldn’t be the best parting gift for Virgil to remember Logan by, waiting in vain and fearing he wouldn’t return. When Logan returns, he’ll buy Virgil a new cardigan. “You ready to face the director hounding you to change your mind at the last second?”

“I’m ready to ignore him being a hypocrite about how changing my mind from no to yes would be a difficult task, if that’s what you mean.” Roman locks his car until it honks, aiming the key fob over his shoulder and grinning at Logan. “You really gonna down the rest of that thing?”

“Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I have to.” Craning his neck to look at the building in all its glory, Logan knocks back the rest of his drink, right down to the bitter dredges at the bottom. “Virgil’s never even been to the new office, much less to see the launchpad beyond the boundary. He basically only saw the old one since he did that first fetch quest from Alex.”

“OG fifth floor squad fuh tuh wuh,” Roman agrees.

“Fuh tuh wuh?”

“For the win. Y’know, the abbreviation? But, like, phonetically?”

“Whatever.” Logan swings the front door open and holds it for Roman with one hand, using the other to toss his empty cup in the trash. “Just hurry up. This is pretty much the worst possible day for us to be running late.”

“Maybe for you. For me, I’m just following a soon-to-be astronaut around a rocket compound.”

“Don’t hype up something so mundane.”

“Right, right, my mistake. There’s nothing exciting or worth hyping up about launching off the planet with an explosion of scientific magicalness.”

“Not a thing. Hurry up.”

---------

One of the highlights of Logan’s fetch quest app was that it never gave out any personal information in either direction, beyond obvious necessities like delivery location and allergy concerns. An incredibly specific and unrelatable downside to this, however, was that it made it incredibly difficult for Logan to track down Cadmium after his fetch quest delivery to the fifth floor. Logan spent a good chunk of his day after punching out stalking the nearby cafes, coffeehouses, even hole-in-the-wall shacks that had keurigs puttering away in their break rooms. All in the vain hope that he might find Cadmium in the midst of another fetch quest.

He didn’t find him, of course, but he made great new relationships with a few baristas who rapidly grew sick of his chasing down a mystery fetch kid. Heck, Logan didn’t even have the guy’s name, so he had no idea why he was so invested in finding him. Short of exploiting his own app to track him down—which Logan certainly wasn’t about to do, since he did have some sense of decorum—Logan could do nothing but hope to accidentally stumble upon Cadmium another time. So that’s where he was at, and that was where he remained until luck and fate decided he’d waited long enough. Luck and fate, however, took their sweet time in helping him out again.

---------

Logan shrugs his stolen cardigan higher on his shoulders as he and Roman pace through the building, waiting out the T minus 6 hours and counting. Every corner offers more of his coworkers doing their own final base checks, most of them waving excitedly as he passes, and Logan wonders whether any of them know where he’s actually supposed to be going. The director never really specified who all was in on the whole ‘not going to the moon’ situation, and this fact absolutely did not escape Logan’s notice. But then, he’s going to space either way, so why should he care? Achieving his lifelong dream is bound to come with some (possibly legal) complications.

In one of the emptier halls on the first floor, Logan steps to the side and leans up against a wall, feeling the cool metal pressing into his back. Roman stands across from him, playing around on his phone and waiting for Logan to speak first. Logan isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to say, but he knows he has to say something. At the very least, the momentousness of the, well, the moment seems to call for it.

“I’ll make it back,” he finally relents, his words echoing off the tiles around them. Impossibly temporary things, bound to crack at the slightest obstacle.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Roman replies. He lowers his phone and looks at Logan, holding him in place with a stare that shakes Logan to his care. “Because I don’t think we’d know what to do if you didn’t.”

“Neither do I.” Logan folds his arms and imagines Virgil watching the launch, watching it all go smoothly, watching Logan vanish into the depths of the universe, waiting for him to come back, waiting for a transmission confirming a successful return route. Hearing nothing.

He shakes his head, chasing away those fears and hoping Roman won’t notice the lines of worry he can feel skittering across his face. “I think I need some air.”

“That’s fair. Rhyme unintended but selfishly appreciated.” Roman pushes off his own wall first, holding out a hand to Logan. Leading the way toward an exit, Roman fills the space between them with empty words, wonderfully reassuring amidst the stillness of everyone hidden away in their work on this floor. “I mean, you’ve gotta get all the real oxygen you can, right? Not gonna be a whole lot of that for a while here. Or there, I guess. Would it be here or there? I know you weren’t an english major, but this seems like a kind of important distinction to make. Or is it hither versus thither?”

Logan smiles to himself as they step out into the sun, taking in Roman’s nonsense rambles and turning them into shields against the insistent fears hammering a staccato rhythm into his ribcage.

---------

Though he would do just about anything to convince you otherwise, Logan absolutely adored his little impromptu photoshoot with Cadmium in the park. He loved trying (his hardest (and still failing)) to pose like a model in Cadmium’s gear, feeling much cooler with each shutter click than he knew he probably looked.

One fact that lent itself particularly well to knowing he didn’t look the slightest bit ‘cool,’ per se, was when Logan tried to pose up against the big tree, throwing an arm in the air like a college graduate without their cap. It might’ve looked somewhat dynamic —dynamic? Is that the word?— were it not for how the sleeve of Cadmium’s cardigan snagged on one of the tree branches. Logan elected to focus more on this and less on how Cadmium’s headphones came whipping around his neck, the earpad smacking him on the cheek.

Needless to say, it was an unholy mix of heartwarming and humiliating to hear Cadmium laughing at him for that, doubled over and not holding back in mocking how ridiculous Logan looked. Logan’s ears were probably fire engine red by then, but he was far more focused on trying to free his arm from the prison of the tree. By the time he actually succeeded in doing so (and it did take quite a while, mind you), Cadmium was pretty much on the ground in hysterics.

It was definitely worth it, though.

---------

Logan swallows a deep gulp of fresh air, then another, and another, inhaling as much as he can possibly hold and then taking in more. He breathes harder and faster, ready to hyperventilate in the name of getting as much air as he can before he’s stuck with the stale artificiality carried beyond the atmosphere. It’s when his head starts to go foggy that he pulls back, centering himself by dropping to a crouch on the sidewalk and gripping a fistful of dry grass. He rips out a dandelion and holds it up to his face, watching the white flecks fight to free themselves from the seed head. He blows them off and admires the way they dance across the wind.

“Little melancholy there, bud?” Roman crouches beside him and places a steady hand on his back. “Bit more melodramatic than I would’ve expected from you.”

“I’m allowed to have fun,” Logan retorts, ripping the stem in half, then quarters, then eighths, shredding it into little green confetti that showers over the sidewalk. “This is fun. I’m having fun.” He tosses a few pieces up in Roman’s face before he rises, brushing some stray grass and pollen from his—well, Virgil’s—cardigan. Hopefully Virgil won’t mind that he stole it. Roman can always return it later, anyway.

It’s as Logan realizes he’s avoiding the inevitable with these circling thoughts that he takes Roman by the hand and pulls him toward the door, determined to make the most of his last day on this planet before he sees the stars up close.

---------

As he watched Cadmium—Virgil, as he now knew—stride out of the museum on what might’ve been colloquially referred to as their first date, Logan had one of several things on his mind. Primarily the fact that one of his colleagues saw that entire exchange and said nothing of it.

“What’re you staring at?” Logan asked Roman as the latter stepped away from the security guard. “Have you no better things to do than stalk your coworkers?”

“Not really,” Roman admitted with a shrug. “How ’bout yourself, huh? Hanging out with the fetch quest riffraff? Gone and found yourself a hot date?”

At this, Logan’s ears lit up bright enough to shame Rudolph. “Hardly. I was just admiring some fine art, an activity you clearly lack the particularity to understand.”

“Says the space enthusiast to the guy who’s been to the museum more than twice in the last month.”

Logan bit back the urge to correct him, having been to the museum several times in the last month himself. That is, he doesn’t necessarily love the idea of explaining why, exactly, he’d become such a frequent visitor. Instead, he retorted with the incredibly original response of “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Very creative.

“Never said you did, but I’m glad we could have this interesting and informative chat.” Roman patted Logan on the shoulder as they both moved for the exit, tossing a wave to Patton on the way. “See y’at work, mate.”

“I’m not your mate, pal.”

“And I’m not your pal, mate.” Roman spared a grin to Logan before splitting at the parking lot and making for his car. Logan scowled after him, wondering if this guy would be getting on his nerves too much more after that day.

---------

“Earth to Logan?” Roman says, waving a hand in front of his face. Logan shakes his head, blinking as his eyes adjust to the artificial lights inside, the ghost of the sun still hovering in the corners of his vision.

“Yeah, um, yeah. Left, I guess, so we can look over the stuff the higher ups might’ve missed?”

Roman nods, leading the way down the next several halls toward the first floor lounge area, where almost everything is as normal. It’s weird, frankly, how everything looks exactly the same as it always does. For most of the people working here, the only difference they’ll notice from any other day is a span of an hour or so, during which they’ll have to turn up the volume of their headphones a little. For Logan, though, today will change everything. He’ll return from today a completely different person, but it won’t be evident to anyone that doesn’t already know him. There’s a maximum of about twenty people on this entire planet—in the entire universe, really, if you’re feeling momentous—that would notice how much he’s certain to change after today. He straightens out a few chairs around one of the tables.

“Nervous yet?” Roman asks. A sharp cry escapes him as he ducks to avoid a balled up piece of paper chucked at his head, courtesy of a very nervous Logan.

“Absolutely not,” Logan lied. “I’m insulted you would even ask.”

“Yeah, right. Just promise you won’t hurt your fellow astro-nerds, yeah? Can’t have the mission going south ’cause of your pride.”

“Pfft. As if.” Logan glances askance at some of the dust the overnight janitors missed, hoping his weak response didn’t tip Roman off to just how terrified he is. It probably did, though.

---------

Logan all but ran out of the laser tag arena once the game was over, checking his reflection in his phone screen and hoping his panic wasn’t showing through too obviously. Virgil scurried out after him, still laughing and making fun of everything he could imagine.

“I wish you could’ve seen your face, I mean, you looked downright terrified! Freaking petrified, seriously! Like, I know it’s a high intensity kind of game for a literal adult to run around shooting people with lasers, but you looked like you thought it was the end of the world! Did you really take it to heart that much?”

“I was merely playing it up to enhance the experience for you, since you so clearly seemed to enjoy it more when you were winning. I couldn’t dull the thrill of victory for you. It was only politeness on my part that I chose to sweeten the pot.”

“Bold words for a bad liar, but I guess I don’t mind the way they taste,” Virgil replied, and with no further warning, he spun around and stopped dead in front of Logan. Logan opened his mouth to question it, but in an instant, Virgil had his hands cupped around the sides of Logan’s face, pulling him close in a kiss that was far more surprising than any laser gun shot. Logan closed his eyes and smiled into it.

---------

Logan grins down at his phone as it chimes its personalized ringtone for a text from Virgil. He must’ve accidentally switched off the do not disturb mode at some point. Ignoring Roman’s teasing chides about how Logan was always ragging on some poor, unsuspecting intern or another for disrupting a productive work atmosphere with social media, Logan unlocks his phone and glances over his inbox. Just after his message to Virgil saying ‘home shortly’ is a gif of Chris Traeger from Parks and Rec calling him amazing. He shakes his head and sends back a thumbs up emoji—while not a fan of sending gifs himself, Logan is more than happy to receive them. Only from Virgil, though. Any gifs from Roman are met with immediate complaints and temporary blockings of his number.

“How much longer until three and holding?” Logan asks, trailing behind Roman as the latter continues on their sort-of-tour of the first floor.

“About half an hour, as of last check. Why, got a hot date?”

“Hardly. Not that you’d know anything about that, of course.” Logan pockets his phone and stops cold as Roman pauses in front of the elevators and pushes the button to call one down. “I’m not riding in that steel death trap.”

“You want to climb up seven flights of stairs right before going to sit in a literal rocketship?”

“If it means not riding in the elevator, then yes. It’s not like I don’t already do this every day, anyway. I’ll just meet you up there. Wouldn’t hurt to have the extra exercise anyway, right? Especially with me sitting in that rocket, like you said. Stretch m’legs.”

“I guess so.” Roman shrugs and motions for Logan to head up as the elevator slides open.

It should probably come as no surprise at this point that Logan sprints up the stairs (two at a time) in his efforts to beat Roman to the top.

He does, in fact, beat Roman to the top, by the way.

---------

Having leaned over Virgil to grab the remote from the far end of the couch, Logan gave up halfway through and ended up sprawled over Virgil’s lap.

“Whatcha doin’?” Virgil asked amusedly.

“Grabbing the remote,” Logan said, not grabbing the remote.

“And how’s that workin’ out for you?”

“It is not.”

“Cool. Just making sure.”

Logan stretched his arms farther, more of a delicious pulling at the stiff muscles in his sides than in an actual effort to grab the remote. After enjoying a decent laugh or two (which sent pleasant rumbles through Logan’s skull), Virgil took mercy and picked up the remote himself. Immediately followed by holding it over his head, well out of Logan’s reach.

“Hey, who’s not being fair now?” Though he kept his tone carefully annoyed, there was no way Logan could keep the happy little smile off his face.

“Why are you so desperate to steal my remote?”

“Who says it’s your remote? I’m the name under the contract of this place.”

“And I’m the one that helped you pick it, so the remote is mine. I get legal custody.”

“That does not even a little bit track.” Logan gave up on reaching for the remote, instead slumping back down across Virgil’s legs and letting gravity drag his limbs heavy toward the earth. “Anyway, we need to pick another show.”

“Another show?”

“ Parks and Rec is over. What do we watch next?”

“Next? There is no next. Parks and Rec is now, Parks and Rec is forever. Back to the first episode.” Virgil, now easily in control of the remote that objectively was not his, aimed it at the screen and moved the selection cursor to the first episode of the series. Logan groaned and turned his head to bury his nose between Virgil’s knees.

“I don’t have the emotional wherewithal to survive another round of this show,” Logan moaned. “Don’t make me rewatch it, not just yet.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Virgil singsonged. “Could be fun.”

“What about The Office? You said I needed to watch that, too, right?”

“I suppose.” Virgil harrumphed, drawing Logan’s attention just in time to see him selecting the first episode of The Office. “You don’t have to sit up, but you do have to pay attention.”

“Can I take notes?”

“Please do not take notes.”

---------

As Logan toes the door to the stairwell shut behind him, he has to force down a yelp at the sudden appearance of Miss Katie-Lee, who clutches a stack of folders to her chest.

“Oh, Logan!” she exclaims. “I didn’t expect to see you in here today. Haven’t you got a mission to be getting ready for? It’s nearly through six and counting, is it not?��

“Just doing some last minute checks,” Logan says, glancing at the elevator doors as they slide open and spit out Roman. “Taking it all in while I can, you know? I won’t be seeing it again for a good while.”

“That makes sense.” Miss Katie-Lee smiles brightly, shifting her papers to the crook of one elbow and reaching out her other arm to grip Logan’s shoulder and pull him to her side. Leaning in close enough for her hair to tickle the top of Logan’s ear, she whispers, “I’m so glad I decided to promote you. I know I made the right choice, and you’ve only continued to prove me right ever since. You’re going to do all of us so proud, Logan. By the way, Joy wanted me to tell you something about butterfingers? Like, the candy bar? Said you would know what to say.”

“Oh, um, just tell her Almond Joy for me, please.”

“Will do.” Miss Katie-Lee tightens her grip on him, a sudden hug he wasn’t expecting as she leans in close again. “Seriously though, you’ve blown everyone here away. You might not believe it yourself, but you’ve done so many amazing things, and we cannot wait to see what you do next.”

Logan blinks quickly in a silent argument with his mind not to get emotional. There’s no reason for that sort of thing, anyway, as Miss Katie-Lee moves past him for the stairs with only a brief wave over her shoulder. Roman, on the other hand, looks like his head might pop right off his body.

“Someone’s popular,” he singsongs, resting his elbow on Logan’s shoulder. Logan shrugs it off, pretending to be annoyed by the show of familiarity. Rather than deal with the implications of what he instinctively felt at Miss Katie-Lee’s remark, he does an about face and heads for his (soon to be old) desk.

---------

“Hey, Dad,” Logan said in as cheerful a tone he could manage, clasping the phone to his ear with trembling hands. “Can you get Doddo on the line, too?”

“Oh, Logan, this isn’t an office line, I don’t think I can—”

“Just put it on speaker,” Logan clarified. “Pull the phone away from your ear and tap the—”

“I think I got it!” His dad’s voice neared a shout as he presumably pulled the phone away from his ear. “And your Doddo’s right over here. Say hi to Logan, hon.”

“Hi to Logan, hon!” his doddo exclaimed. Logan winced, leaning away from the crackling feedback in his phone. He had a remarkable tendency to forget just how loud his parents could be. “What’s going on? You hardly ever call us!”

“What? I call you all the time. I called you last week.”

“You should be calling daily,” his dad cut in.

“Dad,” Logan sighed, at the same moment that his doddo chided, “Emile, leave him alone.”

“Fine, fine, every other day, but no less. So what’d you want to talk about?”

“You remember that promotion I was gunning for? The one I had to have that meeting with Miss Katie-Lee about?”

“Oh, I love Katie-Lee! She always sounds like such a lovely lady from your stories. You know, the ones you only share with us once in a blue moon, because you never call.”

“Not the point, Dad. Anyway, about the promotion—um, I got it. That’s what I called to tell you. Is that I got it.” Logan paused, put off by the resounding silence from the other end. Just when he was starting to suspect the call had dropped—his parents had pretty crap phones—he heard raucous cheers and hoots and hollers.

“That’s wonderful, sweetie!” his dad exclaimed. Logan winced and pulled the phone away again.

“We’re so proud of you!” his doddo seconded.

“Knew you could do it.” Logan grinned despite himself, bringing the phone closer to his ear once more. “Have you told Virgil yet?”

“I, um—no, not yet. He isn’t home yet.” This was a blatant lie, by the way. Virgil was in the next room over, and Logan was doing everything in his power to keep his voice low enough for it not to carry. “I’m going to tell him soon, though.”

“What are you—go call him, silly! He deserves to hear this sooner than later, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I—I guess so. I’ll go call him now.”

“Wonderful! We’re so proud of you, Logan.” Logan could almost hear the smile in his dad’s voice.

“Love you, kid,” his doddo added.

“I love you too,” Logan murmured, lowering the phone and ending the call.

---------

Logan is slow and careful to take a seat at his (soon to be old) desk, absorbing the feeling of the worn cushion beneath him, the way it creaks just so under his weight, the way every inch of it is so indescribably familiar after so many years of the exact same thing every day. He wonders whether it’ll still be here when he gets back, whether it’ll still be this reassuring to find such a constant when everything else could be in all kinds of turmoil. He sinks back in the seat and lifts his feet slightly, crossing them at the ankle. Something rattles on the desk, followed by a crash, then several of his (soon to be old (and probably broken)) belongings are on the floor.

“Nice going,” Roman says with a snicker, bending to gather up the mess. Among the debris are old sticky notes for past presentations, dry pens that Logan is inexplicably reluctant to throw away due to their sentimental value as contributors to some of his greatest papers, Roman, and his old backup glasses, now efficiently split down the middle.

“Oh, and I just had these repaired last year,” Logan sighs. To be fair, they’re been broken several times now—Virgil breaking them just before proposing wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence. If anything, it convinced him to start keeping them at work instead of home. Still, Logan mourns the smooth finish for a moment longer, wondering how many more things he’ll break today. Maybe he’ll break some crucial piece of the rocket and they won’t launch and he won’t go into space and he’ll go home to Virgil and they’ll sit quietly and hold each other until the moon rises above them and—

“You don’t regret this,” Logan tells himself sternly, not really caring that Roman can probably definitely hear all of it. “Stop thinking of ways to sabotage it. You want to do this and you’re happy to be doing this and it’s silly to think otherwise.”

“Yeah, you tell ’im,” Roman agrees under his breath. Logan’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t acknowledge the awkwardness of the one-and-a-half sided conversation. He instead puts the broken glasses back in their case, where they should’ve been all along. At the very least, they would’ve been safer in there.

Too little, too late.

---------

Logan leaned back on the picnic blanket—more of a towel, but who’s keeping score?—and stretched his hands behind him to feel the damp grass pressing up around them. Beside him, Virgil’s head was tilted skyward, awash in the pale light of the moon, his skin illuminated like stardust.

“What do we do now?” Virgil mumbled, more to the sky than to Logan.

Logan shook his head, his eyes tracing lazy ripples around the surface of the pond. “I don’t know. They don’t usually show this part in the movies.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” Virgil chuckled under his breath and leaned over to bump shoulders with Logan, who bumped him right back. “I mean, how are we supposed to just go home after, um, everything? Everything is different now.”

“Everything is different now,” Logan agreed softly. “I guess we just keep sitting here until we feel too awkward to stay. Or until we get asked to leave for loitering too long.”

“I think you’re underestimating how quickly I can feel awkward. I already feel awkward, actually, so I think you’re kind of out of luck in that regard, so jot that down.”

“I’m okay with that.” Logan scooted across the blanket, fitting the side of his torso against the curve of Virgil’s body as Virgil wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“You’re okay with how awkward and weird this is?”

“Are you kidding? That’s half the fun.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

---------

Still reclined at his (soon to be old) desk chair, Logan plays around on his phone and fields some of Roman’s halfhearted ramblings, waiting for the hour to tick down close enough that he wouldn’t feel foolish for heading out to the launch pad. Though he isn’t one to download many idle play apps, he has enough to keep himself entertained until he gets another text from Virgil.

Logan smiles widely as he opens it, this one a picture of Virgil posed in front of the standing mirror in their bedroom, wearing a familiar sparkling blue cardigan. (‘Baby’s first cardigan,’ as Virgil had once called it. Logan never agreed to that name.) The rip from where it got caught in his car door is almost completely repaired, and the parts that still show through look more intentional now that they’re paired with Virgil’s cocky grin and torn skinny jeans.

“Someone’s got a cutie at home,” Roman butts in, very much snooping on a text thread that he has no business seeing. Logan turns to shield his phone from view, sending off a quick and delighted response before swiveling back to glare at Roman.

“I should hardly think it’s any of your business what or where my cutie is.”

“Oh my god, you just called Virgil your cutie. I’m so telling him that, holy crap. You’re such a dork.”

“You are telling him nothing of the sort.” Though Logan’s words are calm and measured, his voice is panicked and harried as he reaches for Roman’s phone, desperate to keep him from passing his words along to Virgil. “Come on, Roman, don’t be such an ass.”

“You are what you—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, you absolute heathen.”

Roman raises his hands defensively but puts away his phone mid-text anyway, still grinning widely. “You’re such a dork, dork.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Ouch, that one came all the way out of left field in a third grader’s softball game. Got any more where that came from, or should I go ahead and start applying the aloe now?”

“Oh, just shut up.”

---------

As he walked toward the car with Virgil, shopping bag draped over his arm, Logan hesitated. “You keep going, there’s just something I wanted to check on,” he said, nudging Virgil to keep moving. Virgil shrugged and continued on, accepting the bag and keys. Pausing to make sure Virgil wasn’t watching, Logan doubled back and ducked into the store, where he made a beeline for the counter.

“He returns!” Micah exclaimed. Leaning forward over the counter, he propped his chin on his fist and shot Logan a broad grin. “Where’s your man, huh? How come we never saw him around the office?”

“That’s actually why I came back in,” Logan admitted, staring very closely at the seams of the tiles underfoot. “I know I’ve never been terribly open with my personal life at work—”

“I don’t even know what food you like,” Micah agreed. “Virgil is the only thing I’ve ever heard you talk about that isn’t work related.”

“Exactly. So it’s probably pretty obvious that this falls under ‘things I wouldn’t go around sharing with coworkers,’ right?”

“Right.”

“So you’re going to be a nice, decent person who respects my privacy, and won’t go sharing that information with the office?”

“Right.”

“And that includes not telling Alex, right?”

Micah’s response was notably less eager at that, but after an agonizing pause, he sighed and nodded. “Right.”

With a grin and a halfhearted shrug, Logan tossed Micah a wave and headed for the door.

---------

Begrudgingly rising from his chair to follow Roman downstairs, Logan takes one last furtive glance at his phone, where another picture of Virgil—this one a close-up of his outfit, shimmering like the stars above—waits. He rattles off one final text as they approach the stairwell, beyond which awaits a world where Logan isn’t supposed to have his phone out. Possibly the hardest time he’ll ever have parting with the darn thing, but the moment he gets back, the first thing he’ll do is text Virgil. Or maybe call him, if he thinks Virgil will be up to a voice call.

I love you so, so much, reads Logan’s text. Impossibly cheesy, impossibly predictable, but he doesn’t have the words to encompass everything he wants to say. Frankly, he isn’t sure those words even exist.

Nothing else you want to tell me? is Virgil’s reply, and though it’s a purely text-based conversation, Logan can almost hear the sarcasm dripping from each syllable.

And I’ll bring you the moon.

It’ll cost you the stars, nerd. Go show those space freaks who’s boss.

Logan half-smiles, nearly ready to click off his phone as they near the exit to the stairs. Roman has been mercifully silent the whole way down, perhaps understanding exactly how much Logan needs this time.

“Just one more second,” Logan says before Roman can push open the door. He opens the text back up again, raking his eyes over the promises. They’re good, but they’re not quite enough. He types fast and careful, making sure not to let Roman see it. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. No matter what happens today or tomorrow or all the way until I get back, I need you to know that I am impossibly, ridiculously proud of you and all you’ve done, and I love you far more than any distance or galaxy could begin to encompass.

He hits send.

Then he turns off his phone.

---------

Logan paced from one end of the apartment to the other. Then back to the start. He looked to the door every time it so much as creaked, every time it so much as crossed the corners of his vision, every time he took a breath, but it never revealed Virgil. Never revealed anyone. He rattled off another text, another unanswered call, but no responses from Virgil were forthcoming. His phone was silent. The apartment was silent. His head was neither silent nor loud. His head was static. His mind was static.

Why did I say that?

This question hammered against the corners of Logan’s head relentlessly, beating him down from the inside. He should never have brought it up. Virgil obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and Logan pressing the matter didn’t help. It was all just a big mistake, and there was no way to take it back now.

He crossed the apartment again. And paced back again. And back to the start again.

---------

“Okay, I’m ready,” Logan says, reaching past Roman for the door out of the stairwell. For the door into his future, actually, if you’re feeling momentous. Roman sticks an arm to the side, blocking him from leaving just yet.

“Uh, yeah, no, I don’t think so.”

“Wh—Roman, you can’t just trap me in here. They’re bound to start the three hours and holding soon, we need to go.”

“Not just yet, astro-nerd.”

“If I offer you a better nickname so you don’t have to keep using the same one, will you let me go?”

“No. You need to hug it out first.”

“I need to do nothing of the—” Before Logan can even finish his protest, Roman is wrapping him in a bear hug, squeezing him until Logan thinks his eyes might pop right out of his head. “Why are you—”

“Just take it,” Roman mumbles, holding him tighter still. “I know how much you care about your image or whatever, but no one’s here to see this. Just take the hug and know that everyone on this entire planet supports you to high heck, and know that this hug is nothing compared to how much I’m going to boa constrictor the crap out of you when you get back.”

Logan considers trying to protest further, or at least clarify that ‘boa constrictor’ is not, in fact, a verb, but decides it’s probably not worth it. He instead relaxes (only a little bit, mind you) into the embrace, feeling the weight of Roman’s entire body around him (Roman is rather on the short side) and wondering just how much he’ll miss it once gravity no longer has him in its clutches. Logan sighs and slowly, almost imperceptibly, hugs Roman back.

But if you tell anyone that, he is going to deny it.

He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

---------

The walk home from Patton’s house was utter silence. Logan refused Roman’s offer to give them a ride as politely as he could, given how even the open air of the outdoors couldn’t snuff out the aching awkwardness choking every breath he took. He walked close enough that Virgil could hold his hand, if the urge so possessed him, but Logan made no move to initiate as much. Neither did Virgil. Logan instead focused on his footsteps, on counting the gaps between cracks in the sidewalk, and wondered how fast Virgil did this route in reverse when he ran off.

Logan opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. He closed his mouth and exhaled. Still nothing. Still silence. Still static. Still nothing. With every passing moment, he felt the distance between them growing thicker, felt how certain he was that there was nothing to be done about it.

And then, in the middle of the silence, he felt something. There, brushing against his hand, was one of Virgil’s fingers. Though Logan stiffened, he didn’t pull away, nor did he lean into it. He didn’t even turn his head, too nervous to look for fear of ruining it. Inch by inch, Virgil’s hand drew closer, until they were linked by their pinkies. Virgil squeezed gently, once, just once, but said nothing. Logan squeezed back.

---------

“Are you sure you’ve got my parent’s numbers right?” Logan is currently pestering Roman like there’s no tomorrow as he follows him out of the stairwell, with more than a little paranoia in his step. “You know what order to call them? You know what to tell my dad and what to leave out when you talk to my doddo?”

“I quadruple checked before we even left the parking lot,” Roman says coolly.

“Should’ve quintuple checked,” Logan grumbles. “Fifth time’s the charm.”

“Fifth time’s the time you second guess yourself and get it wrong.” Roman holds his hand out expectantly, closing his fingers over Logan’s phone when he grumpily hands it over. “See, isn’t that better?”

“Maybe if I just check my texts one last—”

“Nope, you’re done. Incommunicado.”

“Oh, so you finally cracked open a dictionary like I asked?”

“Actually, I just had some Jimmy Buffett on my youtube recommendations.”

“Youtube only makes recommendations based on similar content, so unless you were already listening to James Buffett, you have no ground on which to stand right now.”

“At least I’m staying on the ground.” Roman jumps up and down a few times for emphasis, pounding his feet against the pavement. Logan ducks to the right to avoid his flying elbows. “Can’t say the same for you in a hot minute here.”

“More like a hot few hours here.” Logan glances at everything around the looming rocket ahead (definitely not at the rocket itself) and locks eyes with a tech running around with three fingers in the air beside a clenched fist. They nod at him once before vanishing behind the thing that’s about to fulfill Logan’s lifelong dream. He looks away. “Make that a hot few three hours and holding.”

“Well, let’s get a move on, Spaceman Stu. Got things to do, places to be, planets to see.”

“You did not just compare me to a McDonald’s commercial targeted at children.”

“I mean, I absolutely did just do that though, so I don’t know why you’re blatantly lying to yourself.” Roman picks up his pace, almost running for the rocket now. Logan hesitates and bounces from one foot to the other, half wanting to follow him, half wanting to turn tail and sprint home to safety. He follows Roman.

---------

Logan tucked his legs up under him on the well-loved armchair in the living area, a legal pad propped on his bent knees. Sprawled out across the couch was Virgil, his head hanging past the cushion and the longer sections of his hair brushing the floor below. His face neared a flattering tone of cherry red.

“That can’t be good for your blood flow,” Logan commented idly. He allowed himself a small laugh as Virgil stuck out his tongue, a face which looked all kinds of ridiculous and adorable given his current position.

“My good ideas are all in my feet,” Virgil explained. “I’m sending them straight to my brain, and this helps.”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.” Seeing the fruitlessness of trying to convince him otherwise, Logan turned his attention back to his notepad. Several lines of messy scribbles, half-baked ideas, and innumerable attempts at improving his signature with various last names. Walders, Sandovall, Waldovall, Sanders. He made another attempt at a loopy ‘Logan Waldovall,’ but it didn’t look quite right. “Hey, love?”

“Yeah?”

“Which last name are we going with?”

“What’re the options?”

“Option one is Waldovall, option two is Sanders, and three and four are Walders and Sandovall. Or we could just pick a brand new surname out of nowhere. Now’s your chance to try out ‘danger’ as a last name. Logan and Virgil Danger.”

Virgil pursed his lips and hummed, closing his eyes. Even his eyelids were turning a faint pink. “I like that last one, but hands down my parents won’t go for it. Three and four are boring. The first one’s fun to say, but there’s way too many L’s in it. I mean, we both already have an L in our first names, anyway. Just complicates it, y’know?”

“Sure. I like option two, too.” Though Virgil didn’t explicitly say as much, didn’t fully commit to it, Logan got the idea pretty clear. He made another attempt at a loopy signature. ‘Logan Sanders.’ Actually, he rather liked how that one looked. He did it again, then drew a few little hearts around it. Then he felt his face burning bright red as he realized what he just did.

He flipped the page and started scribbling out rough wedding vows, intently ignoring how that was no less of a cheesy thing to do than drawing little hearts around his name. He also ignored the hearts slowly filling the margins of the new page.

---------

Logan, as you’ve undoubtedly come to understand by now, thinks of himself as having a reputation to uphold, a fact of which he’s made no secret. A reputation of iciness and undaunted calm and generally just not caring about what happens around him, provided he comes out on top.

You’ve surely also come to understand by now that this reputation is not even a little bit accurate to how Logan really feels.

As he skulks behind Roman toward the rocket, keeping his focus forward and forcing his head not to crane up to the top of that monster of a machine because he definitely doesn’t have to acknowledge it yet, Logan is ready to leap out of his skin. He folds his arms and digs his fingernails into his biceps, focusing on remembering to inhale. It crosses his mind that the air might taste different, too, once he leaves. Or even once he comes back, having gotten used to whatever poison Neptune has to offer. Should he be concerned about the taste of the air? What if he forgets how to breathe up there? What if he forgets how to breathe when he comes back? What if he contracts a mysterious space disease that makes him forget how to talk, and he won’t be able to tell the world about what he and his crew find up there?

“Get out of your he-ead,” Roman sings, drawing out the last word as he doubles back to bump shoulders with Logan.

“I’m not in my head,” Logan lies. He’s not very good at lying, by the way.

“I am going to put a literal padlock on your brain if that’s what it takes, my dude.” Roman throws an arm around Logan’s shoulders, using the other to grind his knuckles into Logan’s hair. A fairly impressive feat, given that Logan has a solid few inches on him. “Knock knock, anybody home? Delivery for Logan’s hopes and dreams?”

“Don’t you think you’re overselling this, just a little bit?” Logan pulls away and straightens out his hair, glancing around furtively to make sure no one important saw that. Roman doesn’t count as important, by the way.

“Not only do I not think I’m overselling this, not even just a little bit, I think I’m underselling this,” Roman replies. “You’re acting like you’re just taking a little road trip.”

“That kind of is what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, if the highway is rainbow road and you’re Mario Bounceboy Mario himself.”

“Jumpman.”

“Nerd.”

“Prep.”

Roman grins and does a twirl as he runs ahead again. “You say to the guy with your phone, which has your only lifeline to your Princess Peach.”

“Virgil is neither a princess nor a peach, and you aren’t supposed to have phones on, anyway, so you don’t have that lifeline, either.” Immediately after saying as much, Logan wonders whether he’ll live to regret giving Roman the job of keeping his phone safe. Maybe he should’ve left it at home with Virgil. It’s not like it really matters though, right? He’ll be back and talking with Virgil, face to face, in no time. He will.

He will.

---------

Logan felt his chest seizing up as people started clearing off of the wood-tiled dance floor, giving a wide berth for him to walk through, Virgil at his side.

“Don’t be nervous,” Virgil whispered, squeezing Logan’s hand between their laced fingertips.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Funny. I don’t believe you.” When the smallest sliver of his shoe tapped against the polished wood, Logan was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat. He held Virgil’s hand tighter as the music picked up.

Chills skittered over Logan’s skin as the hesitant piano chords faded in, casting a melancholy glow of warmth over the room. The first hints of lyrics swelled in gentle waves as Virgil stopped and turned to face Logan, their arms around each other as a doleful voice sang sweetly into the air. No more talk of darkness, it crooned, forget these wide-eyed fears. In time with the words, Logan felt his nerves melting away, losing himself in Virgil’s eyes as the piano picked up, the chords slowly becoming insistent, pleading to be heard under the careful conversation of a melody passing overhead. By the time the orchestra found its footing beneath it all, pushing the words up like so many rafts along a wave rolling across the ocean, Logan’s skin was dancing in goosebumps. He held Virgil closer, closer, seeing nothing but Virgil’s eyes, feeling nothing but Virgil’s hands, hearing nothing but the lilting harmony from the speakers.

Say you love me , the music sighed, and Virgil joined in, mouthing the words carefully and holding Logan’s gaze. Logan’s lips curved up ever so slightly as the music marched on, and he mouthed the response back, never having been more certain of anything else in his life. You know I do.

---------

“Pop quiz!” Roman shouts, running up and slapping the side of the rocket.

“Please refrain from slapping the rocket,” says the person who called three and holding, as unfazed as if Roman had eaten the uncooked noodles on display at Olive Garden.

“Pop quiz,” Roman repeats, quieter this time. Instead of slapping the rocket, he pokes it with the tip of his finger.

“Please refrain from poking the rocket.”

“Pop quiz?” Roman’s voice is a whisper as he gives the rocket an air hug. Three and holding purses their lips, but says nothing. Roman lifts his arms in a victory V. “Pop quiz!”

“Pop quiz.” Logan funnels all of his available energy into sounding unimpressed with Roman’s theatrics. It doesn’t not work, at least.

“How big is an astronomical unit?”

“The distance between Earth and the sun.”

“Yes, exactly, almost enough space—ha, space—to encompass my stunning personality.”

“Said like a person doing a parody of a person from Texas.”

“Pop quiz part two! What is the smaller dark spot on Neptune?”

“The Small Dark Spot. Is there a reason you’re doing this, or—”

“Pop quiz part three! Why would the little mermaid be interested in Neptune’s largest moon?”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with—”

“Answer the question, Spaceman Stu!”

“Stop recycling your nicknames, or people will realize you aren’t as creative as you claim to be. The largest moon is called Triton, which is the name of the father of Disney’s rendition of the little mermaid.”

“How many hours does it take Neptune to do a full rotation?”

“Eighteen.”

“Exactly, which makes it of legal drinking age in the United—”

“That is not correct in terms of how hours or United States laws work.”

“Neptune could drive a car if it wanted to!”

“Roman, seriously, what does this have to do—”

“Neptune is of legal age to race in Mario Kart and knock you off the rainbow road!”

Logan buries his face in his hands and shakes his head, massaging his temples.

“Three hours and counting,” three and holding calls cheerfully. Logan looks up and gives them a half smile as they flash him a thumbs up before switching back to demonstrating the time. Three fingers up, the other hand splayed and parallel to the ground. “Gettin’ close!”

“Close to pushing Roman off rainbow road myself, maybe.”

“What!”

---------

Virgil tossed his controller across the couch and grumpily crossed his arms with a harrumph before throwing himself against the back cushion. “You’re super mean, y’know that?”

“I know,” Logan replied as he moved to lean on the couch, still sipping from his own mug. “I’m such a meanie-pants for spilling your coffee, but again, it can’t be proven, so I guess you’re just screwed, huh?”

“I want a rematch.”

“And you really think I’d agree to that? You’re throwing a tantrum over me not giving you your drink, and I do not engage with tantrum throwers.”

“Too bad you’re stuck with me now.” Virgil held up the band around his finger with a wide grin. “There’s no escape from this tantrum thrower. Now come get your controller, I want to destroy you in smash bros.”

“As long as—”

“You are not playing as Link.”

“He’s the only one I like, though. We’ve got the same first initial.”

“Now who’s throwing a tantrum?”

Logan glanced over at Virgil, who was still pressing himself back against the couch cushions. His legs almost looked to be shaking from the tension of holding himself in place. “You know, I think it’s still you.”

“Whatever. Just grab your controller, okay?”

With a soft smile and another sip of his drink, Logan finally took back his seat and reached for his remote, which Virgil promptly snatched and threw across the room—aimed for a soft landing on the armchair, of course, so it wouldn’t break.

“You know, I think you’re right. I am still throwing a tantrum!”

---------

“I mean, it’s basically just a really fancy car, right?”

Logan watches Roman circle one of the bases holding up the rocket again and shakes his head, sidestepping to get out of the way of another tech. “That statement was not even a little bit correct, let alone realistic. I’m personally kind of offended you would even say something like that. Derivative at best. There’s not even a source for you to be derivative of, either. It’s derivative of stupidity, and that in itself is derivative. Roman, you’re derivative.”

Roman expertly ignores Logan’s trailed-off rambles in favor of the actual point of his response. “It’s like a souped up motorcycle, though. It’s got an engine, and metal bits, and, um—”

“You are digging yourself a deeper hole than should be possible. Put the shovel down and stop talking.”

“Like a really cool minivan, like the soccer mom all the other kids are jealous of. Like the team mom who brings cookies and gatorade instead of orange slices and water, and she gets in a fistfight with the only team dad who brings brownies and powerade.”

“No.”

“Like the vulture rolling up on a sick motorcycle and being cool all over the missing persons case location.”

“Just because I’ve watched Brooklyn 99 does not mean I go around referencing it all the time like that.”

“One singular time does not count as all the time. Like driving a retro mustang down an old country back road with the top down and your hair all majestic in the wind.”

“No.”

“Like slugging your friend when you see a punch buggy drive by.”

“It’s called a slug bug, and no.”

“Like Mayor Dewey driving around his campaign van.”

“Please stop making pop culture references.”

“Please stop stifling my creative whimsy.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“I take pride in that.”

“Do you even know the meaning of the word?”

“I don’t have to to be proud of it.”

“I really think you might want to look it up, though.”

“And yet, here I am. Doing none of that. We love that for myself.”

Logan wonders whether time dilation is observable over the span of three Earth hours.

---------

Virgil just about bounded out of the car dealership when Kathy mentioned taking a walk around the showcase to see their options up close. A bemused smile found a home on Logan’s lips as he stood to follow Virgil at a much more leisurely place, not having expected him to be so excited to look at a bunch of cars. Or maybe Virgil was just sick of sitting still for so long—Logan was beginning to feel a bit jumpy himself.

“Most of the vehicles fitting your range and preferences will be in this general area,” Kathy explained, gesturing toward a few modest clusters of cars. Virgil strode right past the soccer mom vans and the less showy sports cars, looking at the basic models that Logan noticed more of on the streets on their way here. “Keep in mind that if there’s a particular color you have in mind that you don’t see, we might be able to bend around and find one at our sister locations.”

“Thank you,” Logan said, still watching Virgil dart around. “That one on the papers you showed us inside, is that what you would recommend for a first car? I have my license, of course, and all of the appropriate paperwork, but it has been quite some time since I last operated the same vehicle for more than a week straight.”

“Mooching off the parents?”

“Something like that.”

In a blink, Virgil was back at Logan’s side, tugging on his arm like an excited child at the grocery store. “It’s definitely outside our price range, and you probably wouldn’t be caught dead driving it, anyway, but I want you to come see this one.”

Logan shot Kathy an amused look before giving in to Virgil’s insistence. “Well, let’s go have a look, then.”

---------

“Alright,” Logan says, more to himself than to Roman, “final check time. Final check. Here we go, checking the final things that need to be checked. Is what we’re checking. Is the final things.”

“What was that about not being nervous?” Roman asks as he trails Logan’s frantic pacing circles. “It’s several people’s literal jobs to have checked these things already. Several times over, in fact. You’ve survived to three and counting, pal, just calm down and take it in. This should be exciting, you know?”

“I’ll be excited when I’m on the surface of Neptune,” Logan retorts, very much nervous and very much showing it. “Should I have made a paper checklist? Should I be physically crossing things off? I feel like I should be physically crossing things off.”

“People have already physically crossed those things off for you. It’s not your job to be panicky about this, okay? It’s your job to be gearing up, getting pumped, you know?” Roman’s voice, now quickly moving from teasing and into the realm of forced encouragement, does nothing to ease Logan’s nerves.

“Why didn’t you tell me not to agree? Obviously you knew something would be going wrong, or you would’ve said yes to the mission yourself. I think I made a mistake, Roman, oh man, I think I need to back out, I think I need to go back home and forget I ever even thought about—”

“You don’t need to be doing any of that,” Roman interrupts. “I said no because this was not what I’ve been going for my entire life. For you, it is. This is all you’ve ever wanted, yeah? Savor that, just, like, you gotta make the most of this. You don’t know when you’re gonna be able to do this sort of thing again, if ever.”

“Maybe,” Logan says noncommittally. He wonders how long it’ll take for him to believe that this is really happening.

He hopes it’ll be soon.

---------

As they drew near the checkout lanes following the warehouse aisles at Ikea, Logan was more than a little impressed by how well they’d managed to make out. That is, holding zero things requiring a purchase. Nothing like keeping a wallet shut to inspire saving money, right?

This mindset only really works if you ignore all the exciting things you actually do want to buy.

“We have to buy something,” Virgil grumbled. “We’re running out of stuff to buy, and walking out empty handed is no fun. Plus, they might think we stole something. Think of how suspicious we look, only getting a cinnamon roll and walking the whole store and not making a single purchase!”

Logan sighed and shrugged, glancing at the aisles around them. “If you can find something under twenty dollars before we reach the cash registers, I’ll buy it for you. It has to be a necessity, though. We do kind of have a car to pay for now.”

“Done and done.” In an instant, Virgil was gone and back, now clutching a stuffed shark in his hands. “I want this one.”

“That is not a necessity. How much does that thing even cost?”

Virgil forced a pout and held the toy closer, tucking it under his chin. “Her name is Maria and she’s nineteen ninety-nine and I love her and that makes her a necessity.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Patton.” Logan sighed again, then glanced forward to see the checkouts getting pretty darn close. Too close to make an argument for one of the incredibly few things for sale between there and the door. “Fine. You can get Maria.” Virgil grinned wide, holding the shark to his heart all the way to the car. Suffice it to say, a similar smile wormed its way onto Logan’s face when he saw how stupid happy the shark made Virgil.

---------

“Yeah, um, I think we should probably get a move on,” Roman says, tugging at the sleeve of Logan’s cardigan. “Think they want us to get on out of the way.”

Logan nods blankly, his hand resting gently along the side of the craft. He doesn’t remember putting it there. Three and holding is nowhere to be seen, or at least isn’t close enough to yell at him for it. The surface is so smooth, so solid, so impossible to imagine it ripping through the layers of the atmosphere and breaking free from the shackles of gravity and earthen physics. He certainly doesn’t step away from it, and he’s kind of sort of looking at it now, so that must count for something.

“Logan?”

“Yes.”

“We should get moving?”

“We should.” He still doesn’t move.

“Alright, okay, come on.” Logan barely registers Roman’s words as he distantly feels a hand clamp around his wrist, pulling it off the rocket. “Onward to your future, which starts inside that building way over there.”

Logan blinks and follows him blindly, not really processing his words until he hears a sound akin to a monster grumbling from the depths of hell.

“What was that?” He almost doesn’t recognize his own voice saying more than two words.

“My stomach.”

“And you have nothing further to say on the topic?”

“Uh, no? Should I?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Why?”

“Because you should be concerned! What did you even have for breakfast today?”

“Expired toaster waffles, peanut butter, and sugar.”

“Expired waff—what do you mean, sugar? What does that even mean?”

“It means I toasted two expired waffles, slapped some peanut butter on one side of each, four spoonfuls of sugar on each, and slapped those puppies together. Peanut butter sugar sandwich. Breakfast of champions.”

“You literally disgust me.”

“What! My good sir, I should hardly think my diet to be the one under fire here!”

“Be the one under—Roman, have you even heard a single word out of your mouth today?”

“Yes, and every single one tasted like sugar and peanuts. I don’t think I see your point here.”

“Never mind.” Shocking though it may be, Logan still hasn’t learned when to give up on a pointless argument with Roman. Mostly because those arguments tend to be one-sided and completely irrational, but still.

---------

Logan strode over to the sink, taking Virgil’s empty plate on the way. With a pitiful microwave breakfast sinking heavy down his stomach, he flicked on the faucet and ran it over the few crumbs that managed to escape the vacuum that was Virgil’s mouth.

“Oh, hey, when do you—” Virgil began, immedaitely cutting himself off when Logan flicked some water in his face. By accident, of course—he was merely surprised by Virgil’s sudden and quiet appearance—but it still looked pretty darn funny. “Dude, hey!”

“Hey, dude.” Logan ducked as Virgil swatted a hand over his head, but rather than back away like a grump, Virgil doubled down. He reached for the stream of water, drenching his hand in it and shaking it in Logan’s face. Logan wrinkled his nose and squealed childishly before angling the plate under the spout so it streamed out and splattered over Virgil’s torso.

“Uncalled for!”

“You started it.”

“You started it!”

“No, but I’ll finish it!” Just to prove as much, Logan turned down the pressure of the faucet, hard and fast enough that the sudden change sent water lapping at the upper edges of the sink. He pulled off the detachable faucet and set it to sprinkler, aiming it at Virgil. “Beg for mercy.”

“I would never.”

Logan shrugged, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Suit yourself.” And he turned on the water, full force. His own cackles drowned out Virgil’s delighted shrieks.

---------

“So,” Roman says, not at all being casual or cool about it, “do we count as being friends now?”

“I—what?”

“Us. Me, you, the ol’ work colleagues. Do we count as friends? Will you admit now that we’re friends?”

“That’s hardly an appropriate question. I mean, I cannot think of a single scenario in which that question would be expected or understandable to field.”

“You don’t like me even a little bit?”

“I don’t think—”

“Then stop thinking.”

Logan cocks his head to the side, hesitating at the entrance to the building. It’s odd, isn’t it, how many people have said that to him? Provided ‘more than one person’ counts as odd, at least. “What’s your point here, Roman?”

“To get you to admit that you’ve grown emotionally as a person over the last few years, at least enough to accept that you’re allowed to be friends with more people than just your husband.”

To be completely honest, Logan was not prepared for that answer. He was expecting something more along the lines of ‘I felt like messing with you on your big day.’

Roman holds an arm out to block the door—apparently his favorite strategy in prolonging conversations today—and turns back to look at Logan. “You’ve never wanted to admit that you’re human, Lo, but you do realize you don’t have to be stone cold all the time, right? You’re allowed to feel things.”

“What is it with everyone running around and giving me permission to have emotions?” Logan mutters, very intentionally dodging the rest of Roman’s earnest words. “Can’t everyone just drop that stuff at the door?”

“Aw, now that’s no fun.”

“Great. Now that we’ve got that weird little stint sorted, if you would be so kind as to let me—”

“Nope. Friendship time. We already hugged it out, now you gotta tell me you think of me as a friend.”

“This sounds like blackmail.”

“Blackmail is one of the key foundations for a solid friendship.”

“It really isn’t, though.”

“How would you know, if we aren’t friends?”

“If I saw we’re friends, will you let me inside so I can go get changed?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. We’re friends.”

“Aw, Logan, we’re besties!”

With that, Roman wraps Logan in yet another bone-crushing hug, and Logan wonders whether he could be prosecuted for manslaughter if he’s on a different planet by the time law enforcement found out.

---------

Once Virgil was sufficiently distracted by whatever turn Patton’s topic of conversation had taken—Logan could never seem to keep up with that guy—Logan sneaked away from the table under the excuse of wanting another coffee. This, of course, meant he was stuck taking a second round of orders from the rest of the table, but it wasn’t too much of a hassle. Actually, it helped him with what he was trying to accomplish.

“And twenty dollars on this gift card, please. A separate receipt, too, if that’s not too much trouble,” Logan said, offering the barista a weak smile for the four drinks he’d just ordered. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too annoyed by the task, given that the cafe wasn’t too busy yet. Late enough in the day to miss the morning commute, early enough that high schoolers hadn’t escaped to their coffee hangouts yet.

“No problem! Anything else for you today?”

“Nope, that, um, that should do it. Thank you.”

“Sure thing! That’ll be thirty five dollars even, whenever you’re ready.” The barista smiled brightly and gestured toward the card reader before turning to the bar, presumably to get started on Virgil’s ungodly order of pure caffeine and sugar. Once the register spat out two receipts, Logan pocketed them with the gift card, masking the outline with his phone.

Though Virgil always accepted Logan’s attempts to keep costs down to the bare necessities, Logan couldn’t help it this time, too enamoured by the gift card selection. Basic and silly, sure, but he adored the design on this one—blues and greens slashing like lightning across the facade, with looping curls of purple spelling out the word ‘love,’ surrounded by matching purple hearts. So ridiculously, utterly cheesy, but Logan couldn’t quite find it in himself to care.

Drinks in hand, Logan used the distraction of the delivery to sneak the gift card into the pocket of Virgil’s cardigan. He couldn’t wait to see Virgil’s face when he found it.

---------

Logan pulls open the door to the crew quarters and makes a beeline for the closet against the left wall, Roman hot on his heels.

“Getting excited? Or is it all still nerves, bestie?”

“Yes, no, and I never gave you explicit permission to call me that.”

“Can I call you bestie?”

“No.”

“Capisce, caposh, cohort.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Right, ix-nay on the ohort-cay, comrade.”

Logan rolls his eyes as he tugs open the closet door. Pretty barren, to be honest, save for a few pieces of a uniform and an abundance of empty coat hangers. He takes his time leafing through the set, tracing his finger along his name embroidered on the emblem on the outer shirt’s left breast pocket.

“Pretty sleek get-up there, compadre.”

“Yeah.” It’s less of an acknowledgement of Roman’s words, more of a choked exhale at the fabric beneath his hands. Logan blinks back tears he wasn’t expecting, releasing the uniform to press a fist against his mouth. “Yes, it is.”

“Hey, uh, comate? You good there?”

“Good. Yes. Good, um, great, even. I’m good. Very, really good.”

“So, compatriot!” Roman’s voice ramps up a solid two clicks, booming in Logan’s ears. At the feeling of Roman slinging an arm around his shoulders again, Logan shakes his head and drops his fist, sniffing hard. Roman lowers his tone this time, much more gentle, much more—well, much more not like himself. Much more sincere. “Was it worth it?”

“Was it worth what?”

“All of it, everything. Working yourself to the bone every night, dealing with having me as your closest confidant, all the stress, all the hours, all of that. Was it worth it?”

Logan’s eyes refocus on his name, on the elegant slope of the dark blue letters against the pure white patch. It all goes blurry at the edges, just enough for Logan to know the tears are back, but he doesn’t blink them away this time. “Yeah. Yeah, it was worth it.”

---------

Logan always fancied himself as being pretty good at falling asleep quickly. It held up through his childhood, it help up when he sat awake in the middle of the night with inexplicable sweat racing down his back, it held up when he crashed after a long night of homework in college, it’s held up through the work his bosses liked to pile on him at NASA, and it’s held up his whole life. Excluding tonight, of course.

He curled up in a ball on his side of the bed, the covers somewhere near its foot as he stared at the darkness in front of him, above him, on him. Even the wall was too far to see, the moon too small to lend any light to the room. He stared harder, the darkness dancing and morphing into grotesque, nonsensical shapes as his eyes tried to convince him there was something worth seeing in the inky emptiness, but only silence greeted his ears.

Though he tried all the usual tricks—a rare fallback, given how few times he actually needed those tricks—nothing worked. Not counted and even breaths, not imagining threads of energy spiraling out through his toes, not even going so far as to label sheep with jumbo sharpies. He was awake, and it sucked, and Virgil seemed none too intent to join him tonight, and that sucked too.

Once he finally fell asleep, it was awful and restless, and he wasn’t entirely sure that all of his consciousness had actually clocked out for the night. It certainly didn’t seem that way, if his harried and broken dreams were any indication.

Funny, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamed.

---------

“Just go get changed, chumaroo,” Roman groans, yanking Logan away from his distracted staring contest with how that lapel will rest just so atop his chest. “Running out of friendship names that start with ‘c’ here, my good cuh-dude.”

“You already broke the pattern. ‘Chumaroo’ begins with a digraph including ‘c,’ sure, but it doesn’t follow the alliteration of comrade and cohort.”

“But you didn’t deny our friendship status.”

Logan rolls his eyes and pulls the door shut between them, to get away from the conversation if nothing else.

It’s not a flattering uniform, to say the least, but that should really come as no surprise, what with the puffy legs, the weird seams drawing up to the navel, the puffy arms, the heavy console on the chest piece—it’s a whole mess, all of it. But Logan loves it to death.

He loves the oversized boots, the garish buckles strapping his feet in, the patches crawling up his biceps, the white fabric that would look more at home on a bed in an elderly care facility. He ghosts his gloved fingertips over his bare face, feeling the crinkle and flex of the fabric and imagining the helmet that’s not long off, soon to be the only thing protecting him from an uncaring universe of glory and marvel and awesome horrors, an ocean of stars sprawled out in front of him like so many galaxies just begging to be explored, all laid out for the taking, for his taking, if he only reaches a little further past possibility and into the infinite cosmos of—

Logan scowls, ripped out of his daydream for what’s not the first (and what certainly won’t be the last) time, courtesy of Roman. Well, courtesy of Roman’s phone.

“Better get that, don’t you think?” Logan groans softly when it rings a third time. “Or how about you just turn it off? You’re not supposed to have those on this close to the launchpad, anyway.”

“It’s just Patton. He wants to facetime, thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to seeing a ‘real-life rocketship!’” Even through the door, Logan can almost hear Roman wrinkling his nose to mimic Patton’s voice. “His words, not mine, bee-tee dub dubs. Dubz with a ‘z.’ Think Gazebo’d be cool with me showing off the sitch?”

“You did not just say ‘sitch.’”

“Says who?”

“Says the guy stuck with a Kim Possible fan club reject as his closest friend.”

The closet door slams open, revealing Roman with wide eyes and a smile bigger than the sun. “Logan! You called me your bestie!”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“You absolutely did, you absolute… Um, you—you absolute…” Roman’s voice trails off as his eyes sweep over Logan’s uniform. His mouth drops ever so slightly, his lips parting just enough for Logan to feel (and, unfortunately, smell) some morning breath drifting across his nose. “You—wow. I mean, if—if Virgil could see you now, he would just—wow.”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees at last, glancing himself over. “Wow.”

---------

The brief minutes between leaving Virgil and starting the car were some of the only silences Logan could find anymore. He got to wake up beside Virgil, he left on time, it seemed like Virgil was over his attitude from the night before, everything should’ve felt right. Well, as right as right could feel.

As he stepped out of the stairwell and strode from the lobby into the sun, Logan allowed himself a few deep breaths, feeling the warmth of the morning air wrap itself like a heavy coat around his shoulders. Beneath the reassuring atmosphere that circled his head, a fog of Virgil’s voice with nothing in particular to pick out nor focus on, Logan found his thoughts shaving away at the edges, spiraling down a drain until only peace and emptiness dared remain. And though he was empty, though he was exhausted, though he was completely and utterly spent in every way imaginable, there was something undeniably reassuring about that weight. Something undeniably reassuring about the world spinning on without a care for his situation. Something undeniably reassuring about knowing this sort of thing has happened before, and knowing this sort of thing would happen again, and knowing this sort of thing would find its place.

He started the car.

---------

“Hold up, hold up,” Roman stammers as Logan attempts to step out of the closet (literally speaking, not figuratively. He’s been out since before he knew there even was a closet). “Photo op, I can’t not show this to Virgil.”

“Please don’t do a photo op, I really don’t want to—and you’re doing a photo op. Cool. Very cool. I did not consent to this.”

“Just shut up and smile pretty-pretty.” Roman grins wickedly as he wields his phone, bouncing from a crouch to his toes and back down, now sprawled out on his side as he sings about getting the ‘perfect angle.’ Logan goes to cross his arms and ignore the whole shebang, but Roman shoos him back into a relaxed stance. “Come on, the camera loves you! You’re gorgeous, darlin’!”

“I feel like I’ve already told you today that you aren’t from Texas. Is this your way of saying you need another reminder? I would’ve thought once would be enough.”

“I’m allowed to say darlin.’ It’s not a crime to be cultured.”

“Oh, so that’s what we’re calling it now. Is it a crime to be getting on my last nerve?”

“Here, wait, I’m sending them to Virgil. Bet he screams. Bet he loves them. Bet he sings your undying praises.”

“Virgil is contractually obligated to love me. We have a certificate saying so and everything.”

“Bet you set it on fire the day you got it so he couldn’t try to return you for a better model.”

“Bet he locked it in a safe to guarantee you wouldn’t try to pull something like that for a one-off joke.”

“Fair play, but ouch. You really think I’d do that?”

“You’re the one that made the suggestion, bud—” Logan cuts himself off, suddenly all too aware of how close he’d come to calling Roman ‘buddy.’ At least he didn’t call him ‘bestie.’ That’s a mistake he’d never live down. “We need to go. They’re probably already near to two hours and counting.”

“That’s not an official time frame. Nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

Logan is very nervous.

It is very obvious.

---------

Logan was quickly growing tired of these nightly mood swings from Virgil. It was genuinely impressive, he thought, how adamant Virgil was about ignoring how hard a time Logan had with making it home early every night. Of course, Logan wasn’t allowed to bring up that sort of discussion, since it would inevitably lead to another argument about their difference in careers and lifestyles, and Logan honestly just did not feel like dealing with that.

So rather than wake up in a shroud of warmth beside his husband, Logan woke up alone on a mattress, frigid and stale with sweat. He picked up his clothes from the day before, abandoned on the floor with such carelessness that Logan half expected to see something hiding in the closet and snickering at the manufactured chaos. A tornado monster, perhaps. But no, no, it was only Logan’s demeanor last night that allowed the room to look like this.

For fear of the drawers and doors creaking loud enough to wake Virgil in the next room, Logan tugged on his dirty clothes, deeming them clean enough for a second go-around. As long as no one looked too closely or inhaled too deeply, that is. He smoothed out the wrinkles as he padded for the door, opening it as slowly as he could manage and wincing at every slight squeak of the hinges. There on the couch was Virgil, still asleep beneath Logan’s torn cardigan. Logan shuffled quietly past him, blowing Virgil an air kiss before exiting the apartment and locking the door behind him.

---------

Logan is very, very nervous. Every step he takes is off-balance, every breath he breathes is soaked in sweat, every move he makes is a mistake and he knows it and it is merely a fool’s errand to pretend otherwise.

“I—I don’t think I can do this, Roman,” Logan finally chokes out, his vision tunneling. “I know I can’t, actually, I mean, what was I even thinking? Just look at this outfit, it’s ridiculous, I can’t just—I can’t, Roman, I can’t and I couldn’t and I won’t and this was all a really, really bad idea.”

“Jeez, tell us how you really feel,” Roman mumbles. Logan blinks, struggling to see the elbow hovering in front of him. “Here, c’mon. I won’t make you hold my hand, but you’ll feel better. Something steady to ground you, no pun intended. Pun a little bit intended, actually, I changed my mind.”

Logan shakes his head, blinking faster faster faster and stepping slower slower slower, almost at a standstill by the time he thinks to fumble for Roman’s arm. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I mean, I’m not—”

“You do so know, Logan, you’ve known this since forever. You can, you will, and you are. This is absolutely everything you’ve ever wanted in your entire life, and quitting would be a disservice to yourself, not to mention me and Patton and Virgil. I mean, imagine telling him you chickened out. That’s practically grounds for divorce right there.”

Logan manages to force out a laugh through his haze at that, shaking his head just a little bit less now. “But what if something goes—”

“It won’t, I promise.” Logan’s hand finally finds purchase on Roman’s arm. It almost feels alien, so to speak, having his bulky glove separating them like this. “Logan, you should be enjoying this. I mean, hey, what if nothing goes wrong? What if it turns out amazing? What if it’s absolutely everything you’ve dreamed it would be and more? You should be enjoying this, Lo. Feel the ground under those god-awful boots, feel the wind—well, air-conditioning—blowing across your face, feel the planet spinning beneath you, and tell me you aren’t just a little bit excited to do this today.”

“I can’t tell you that,” Logan sighs, his lips curling ever so slightly despite himself.

“And why can’t you tell me that?”

“Because it’d be a lie. Because I’m excited beyond belief. Because, I mean, hell, Roman, I’m doing this.”

“I mean, hell, Logan, you’re doing this.” Logan’s smile widens, and without the fuzziness in his head, without the buzzing in his limbs, without the panic lancing through his veins, the moment would be almost perfect.

All it’s missing is Virgil.

Well, not entirely missing Virgil. After all, Logan still has his heart, and Virgil is the only one allowed in to touch that thing.

Logan’s smile would easily dwarf Neptune right about now.

---------

Once the adrenaline rush finally finished having its way with Logan’s veins, he rested his head against the back of the chair and ran over the presentation in his head. It didn’t go too poorly, relatively speaking. The director seemed happy enough with it, Roman didn’t have any corrections—genuine or otherwise—and even the director’s lackeys appeared pleased with what they saw. Logan fumbled a pass for his notecards and barely saved the few that leaped out of the stack and raced for the floor.

“What’re you doing now?” Roman asked, watching Logan flip through the stack and put it back in order.

“Seeing where I could improve for next time, fixing stupid spelling errors that would cost me my dignity if anyone saw them, that sort of thing.” As he said that second part, Logan took a pen to his current card and made a correction, underlining it twice. “Can never be too careful.”

“I really think you can, though.” Roman reached out a hand, palm up, but Logan ignored it. It took Roman wiggling his fingers, obnoxiously clearing his throat, and rapping his knuckles on the table to realize Logan would not be relinquishing the cards. So instead, Roman snatched them out of his hand.

“What—hey, I was using those!”

“And now you’re not. I mean, c’mon, you’re never going to give that presentation again. There’s no reason to. Why bother correcting the mistakes now?”

Logan stared at Roman, puzzled. “Ignoring the obvious answer that these might one day go up in a museum, it’s so I can improve myself for future presentations, of course.”

“But you already did awesome on this one.”

Logan inclined his chin, but didn’t bring it back down for a full nod. If he had less resolve, he might’ve even smiled. “So naturally, it should follow that I’ll have to do even more awesome on the next one.”

---------

Out the door and onto the tarmac, Logan is linked to Roman’s arm, focusing on keeping his feet on track so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the reality of everything happening around him. His other crew members trickling out, some of the techs milling around the craft, the enormity of the—

Yeah, that. Logan isn’t acknowledging any of that.

“Hey,” Roman murmurs, tugging his arm closer to his chest. Logan glances over to see him jutting his chin toward a very important person lingering near the entrance to the craft. That is, the director. The person who put him on this mission. “Wanna go talk to your best friend?”

“He isn’t my best friend.”

“Right, because I’m your best friend.”

“You are not.”

Roman grins and shakes his arm free, using it to give Logan a firm shove forward. “Go talk to him. Bet he’s got, like, major genius old guy wisdom to drop before you go.”

“I’m not going up there alone.”

“You don’t want to talk to the bossman one-on-one? Lame.” Roman gives Logan another good-natured shove before linking arms with him again, barreling for the director.

“One of my favorite astronauts!” the director exclaims as they draw near. His eyes barely skate over Roman’s face before recentering on the blatant fear in Logan’s. “Hello, Roman.”

“Hey, Z!” The enthusiasm in Roman’s voice is undeniably forced, but Logan elects not to comment on it. He also elects not to comment on the expression that flits over the director’s face at the nickname. “Y’allready to do this thing?”

“That’s not a real word,” Logan pipes up.

“Oh, sure it is. You all is y’all, y’all all ready, y’allready. I’m a wordsmith.”

“Better than a nerdsmith.” Logan bites his lip, uncertain whether the pun actually landed as well as it sounded in his head. Probably not. It didn’t even sound that good in his head, anyway.

The director hums an odd little noise in the back of his throat, but says nothing. Logan tries again.

“So, um, everything set to go? All the theoreticals still work out? We’re not going to, say, explode between the stitches in the fabric of space?”

“Everything works out. You are not going to, say, explode between the stitches in the fabric of space.”

“You actually said your fear out loud,” Roman stage whispers, bouncing on his toes. “Looks like you finally grew up, huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Logan cocks his head to the side and glances past the director at the entrance to the rocket. Nice.

---------

Shocking though it may be, Logan was not fond of being left alone.

Well, no, that’s not entirely true. If it was on his own terms, he was more than happy to be left alone. He preferred it, in fact. In cases like this, however, he found it trivial and frustrating.

Virgil was out of sight of Logan’s position at the cafe table, presumably leaning up against the car and waiting for Logan come out so they could enjoy a silent and uncomfortable trip home. Roman and Patton were surely well beyond the parking lot, making a beeline for any location that wasn’t Logan and Virgil’s stewing argument. Only at a pause for now, but sure to implode on itself once reignited.

Logan lowered his head to the table, pressing his cheek to the surface and watching the lazy clouds drift by overhead. It sure would be nice to float alongside them someday.

---------

“Up and at ’em, then?” a new voice cuts in. Logan turns to see two more people walking up, both in the highest form of couture imaginable. That is, uniforms identical to his own. Eileen and Jackson, the other two thirds of Logan’s crew. The higher two thirds, technically, with Eileen as the operator and Jackson as the commander, given their training session positions and respective expertise. Or lack thereof, in Logan’s case. Eileen claps her hands together and grins. “Are we so excited?”

“We are so excited,” the second person—Jackson—says. He stretches his arms over his head and leans to the side with a yawn.

“How about all that training?” Roman breathes, glancing Jackson over. He sticks his hand out, a broad smile forming on his face when Jackson shakes it. “Hi, I’m Roman. It’s a pleasure. Logan’s told me next to nothing about you, because he’s a terrible best friend.”

“I’m not your best friend.”

“Aren’t you dating that Patton fellow?” the director cuts in, looking at the way Roman still hasn’t dropped his death grip on Jackson’s hand.

Roman wrinkles his nose and scowls, finally freeing Jackson to wave his hands as if to banish the notion. Just out of sight, Jackson winces and rubs at his wrist, flexing his fingers. “Ew, no. Patton’s been my other best friend since forever. We’re basically brothers. Don’t be gross, Gazebo.”

The director raises his hands in defense and shrugs, stepping back from the entrance. “Alright, no harm meant. We should be nearing around twenty and holding soon, so Roman, if you would kindly get out of Jackson’s way so I can do their final briefings?”

Roman steps back sheepishly, watching Jackson move closer—entirely too close for Logan’s comfort, by the way. Logan scoots to the left.

“Think we could do them from inside the craft?” Eileen pipes up, peeking over Jackson’s shoulder. “Full experience for the newbie, y’know?”

“You’ve only been into space once,” Jackson teases. “You’re basically a newbie, too.”

“Says the guy with two whole missions under his belt. Careful your head don’t get too big, or the helmet might not fit.”

“Just! Get in the craft.” The director pinches the bridge of his nose and looks skyward, sighing loudly. The crew scurries to comply, though Logan does hang back for a moment. He looks to Roman, who flashes a double thumbs-up.

“You’ve got this,” Roman says. “Your horizons have never been broader.”

“I’ve got this,” Logan echoes. He holds back from repeating the second half right in front of the man who criticized him for the very same thing. He’s totally got this.

Totally.

He steps over the threshold.

---------

Logan didn’t sleep after the talking-to from the director or the argument with Roman or the smashing of his treasured mug, but that’s nothing new. The only new development was how broken he felt without Virgil there to help him. Virgil, of course, was peacefully asleep in their bed, nothing so daring as a sound passing through the door. Whether this meant that Virgil was good at sleeping soundly or that Virgil wasn’t asleep either, Logan didn’t feel comfortable investigating. Though everything that happened in this apartment could be defined as his business—he did foot the bills, after all—he hardly thought he had the right to go barging in on Virgil. Most nights, it felt less like he lived in his apartment and more like Virgil was letting him crash nearby.

Well, not most nights. Very few nights, actually. Logan just tended to find the harsher nights standing out more recently, hammering down harder on his resolve with every passing day. As of late, it was taking more and more positive days, or even slightly-better-than-bad days, to drown out the ache of the hard ones. This day in particular would probably take ages to wear off completely, Logan could almost feel it. Still no sound came from the bedroom, so Logan shifted to his side and rested his head against the arm of the couch. Despite his best efforts, sleep continued to evade him. He sighed into the darkness, but his eyes would not close.

---------

Logan is panicking.

Logan is panicking very, very much.

Twenty minutes and counting, and he can feel his heart ricocheting around inside his chest. No amount of training could’ve prepared him for the real thing, not even when it literally hasn’t started yet.

“Hey, newbie,” Eileen says, leaning forward against her restraints and snapping her fingers to get Logan’s attention. The sound doesn’t carry quite right with the gloves on, but the idea is there. “It’s not as scary as you think it is. They’re probably closing the vent valves and starting the thermal conditioning right now, so no matter what, there’s nothing you can do to chicken out now.”

“I’m sure that’s very reassuring,” Jackson mutters. “Please note the sarcasm in my voice here. I’m trying to get the point across that that is not a helpful thing for you to say.”

“Why not? Literally anything newbie does now would be futile, so he might as well just accept his fate.”

“His fate? Eileen, you make it sound like he isn’t coming back.”

“Oh, he’s coming back. The only question is how many pieces he’ll return in.”

Logan does not particularly like where this conversation is going. “So what all have you heard about the wormhole? Beyond what we discussed in our training sessions, obviously.”

“Not too much.” Eileen flexes her fingers and shakes her hands, jostling Jackson in the process. “Most of what they hammered out was just the basics, I mean, the ground launch sequencer should figure out most of our trajectory, and the rest is just rocket science.”

“The basics,” Jackson reiterates.

“The basics.”

“The basics.” This conversation did not help Logan’s nerves in the slightest.

A voice crackles to life in the chamber—the director, probably on his way to the go/no-go launch poll. “Hey, crew. We’re at nine minutes and holding, and Katie-Lee is determining your final launch window now. Just go ahead and strap in, and I’ll reconvene with you shortly.”

“This is the fun part!” Jackson whisper-shouts, now bouncing in his seat. It’s quite a sight, to be perfectly frank, as the seats have them on their backs and facing the sky, so it looks less like a giddy bounciness and more like frantic headbanging at a rock and roll concert.

“The fun part?” For all the stars in the sky, Logan cannot keep the dread out of his voice. “What do we do for the fun part?”

“We wait.” Eileen and Jackson saying this in unison does nothing for Logan’s outlook. Maybe that’s just the price of achieving his dream—being scared shitless, right up until the moment it happens.

---------

“I mean, it was weird, right?” Logan was more talking aloud than actually asking, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just a little relieved when Roman dignified him with a response.

“Pretty darn heckin’ stinkin’ weird.”

“One clarification would’ve sufficed. He really thinks he can pull off a mission like this? It wasn’t you two in cahoots making up a big goof to mess with me?”

“It was not us two in cahoots making up a big goof to mess with you. The director genuinely thinks he can get us—well, whoever ends up on the crew, at least—through a theoretical tunnel and to the farthest reaches of our solar system.”

“Do you believe he can do it?”

“I believe that, with the right crew, it can be done.”

“And who might the right crew consist of?”

“Well, you, obviously. And you’d need me as your right hand man if you want it to go off smoothly.”

Logan snorted as he pulled his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, you go ahead and keep believing that.”

---------

“So,” Logan says, his voice cracking, “how did you two get tagged for this?”

“My second mission was her first,” Jackson says with a head tilt toward Eileen. “We dealt with a crap ton of malfunctions—super ridiculous, actually, how much went wrong. I mean, you’d think Eileen was bad luck or something.”

“Or you’d think I was a stellar performer under pressure and that I saved the entire mission,” Eileen retorts. “Anyway, we did so well that it must’ve crossed Gazebo’s radar, because I’m pretty sure our director—we’re based in Texas, by the way, all ‘Houston, we have a problem,’ hah. But no, yeah, so our director was all, ‘oh, you should go do this major mission Kennedy’s setting up.’ Groundbreaking, new knowledge, expanding the possibilities of the human race, all those good buzzwords, you know the drill.”

“Not really.” Logan faces forward, struck by how odd it is that facing forward in his current position is the same as facing up normally. Would it still count as facing forward, or should he say he’s looking upward? Although his neck isn’t craned at all, and he’s not tilting his head, so it’s not as if—

“Hello? Earth to Logan?”

“Yes! Um, yes, sorry, what was the question?”

Jackson laughs under his breath as Eileen smiles sympathetically. “I was just returning the favor. How did you get tagged for this one, first timer?”

“I, um, I don’t know if you saw the guy I was standing out with outside—the one antagonizing the director, I mean. Anyway, the director—er, our director, I guess, Director Gazebo, since you two have a different one—he’s the one spearheading this mission, and he wanted the both of us going in on it, good marks and track records and all, and, um, yeah. That’s it. Just kind of got roped into it. Lifelong dream, that sort of thing.”

“Why didn’t Roman come along, then?”

Logan carefully files away the fact that Jackson remembered his name before answering, as that’s undoubtedly information Roman would be thrilled to have. “Too many ties down here. Too many people would miss him, too many people scared he wouldn’t make it back, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, but everyone’s got ties, though.” Eileen leans forward—or upward, depending on your perspective—to lock eyes with Logan. “What about you? Surely you’ve got someone down here that would miss you, too, god forbid anything goes wrong?”

Logan nods, running his thumb over the fabric of the glove encasing where his wedding band normally is—now it hangs from a necklace, thanks to the gloves being pressurized. “Yeah. Yeah, um, yes, I’ve got someone down here. A few someones, actually, but yeah, I do. Have someone, I mean. He, um, he means a lot to me. A whole lot.”

“Then you know what you’ve gotta do, yeah?” Jackson’s voice is oddly gentle, given how enthusiastic he’s been so far. Logan turns to face him, curiosity in his eyes. “You’ve gotta make it back safe and sound, and when you do, you’ve gotta give him the most bone-crushing hug he’s ever felt. Hug the crap out of him, hug him ’til he pops, then hug him harder, because I can personally guarantee that’s all he’s gonna wanna do.”

Logan smiles, the ghost of Virgil’s touch an echoed memory across his skin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

---------

Logan nodded his gratitude and accepted the steaming mug from Virgil. He turned his attention toward the television screen, where the opening credits of the movie were rolling.

“What’re we watching, Mr. Mission Man?” Virgil elbowed Logan in the side—several times, so it definitely wasn’t an accident—as he settled himself on the couch. Logan nudged him back.

“I’m not an official mission man yet, and we’re watching Coco.”

“Acceptable enough.” As the opening scene began, and as the plot picked up in earnest, Virgil slowly shifted closer, fitting himself against the curve of Logan’s side and nestling his head into the crook of Logan’s neck. Logan tilted his own head to the side, resting his temple against Virgil’s hair.

“Bet you can’t play guitar like that,” Logan mumbled.

“Probably not.”

“You don’t want to prove me wrong?”

“No, I just want to sit here and not do anything for the night.”

“No work, no play, no nothing?”

“No work, no play, no nothing.”

Logan exhaled, letting his arm drape heavy across Virgil’s shoulders. “I like the sound of that.”

---------

“Gazebo again,” announces the voice over the coms. Logan wonders whether they’d all get electrocuted if they crash landed in the ocean with the radios on and transmitting. “We’re just about ready to start up the automatic ground launch sequencer. Everything good on your end? Over.”

“Good to go-o, over,” Eileen singsongs. Logan clasps his hands in his lap, squeezing his laced fingers together to keep from pulling at the restraints. Are they supposed to be this restrictive?

“Glad to hear it. Nine minutes and counting, folks!” The director’s voice fades on the second half of his sentence, as if he were making the announcement to a close-out crew and not the on-board crew. Which he probably is.

“You good over there, Sanders?”

Logan grips his hands even tighter at the sudden sound of Jackson’s voice. “Yeah, I—I’m good. Super excited. We are so excited.”

“Are we? Y’sure about that? You look a little green, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the royal ‘we’ before.”

“No, it’s just—you know what? I think I forgot some papers and contracts inside. Maybe I could just go grab them real quick, be back in a—”

“Not exactly part of the formula,” Eileen cuts in. “I know you’re nervous, and don’t try to pretend like you aren’t, because we can all see your face, but it’s going to be fine. In all the major training sessions we had together—”

“All two of them,” Jackson clarifies.

Eileen purses her lips at him before continuing. “In all two of the major training sessions we had together at the main base, you held your cool like I’ve never seen. I was a total mess on my first mission, and you literally look like an ice cube compared to that. Stop overthinking it and just let yourself be excited.”

“Why does everyone keep saying I overthink things?” Logan mumbles. He shakes his head, partially to get rid of the nerves and partially to remind himself that this is actually happening, and flashes a smile at Eileen. “That didn’t help very much, but thanks anyway.”

“Sure deal,” Eileen replies. “And if this isn’t the first time you’ve been told you overthink things, then you definitely overthink things.”

“Definitely?” Logan asks, only slightly wounded.

“Definitely.”

---------

“Who is he to say I’m always working?” Logan demanded of the deaf night sky. His fists were rapidly balling and relaxing at his sides, his fingernails digging into his palms hard enough that he could almost feel his pulse jumping. “At least I’m doing something! I could hardly call the art thing a career, and even if I did, it’s not like he’s building on it! It’s patently absurd that he would dare say I’m in the wrong for trying to make a successful living! The least he could do is show some damn respect and understanding for how much I do! I put a roof over our heads, I got us a car, I keep us fed and warm and safe and he has the nerve to throw that back in my face? It’s ridiculous!”

Logan cursed under his breath as his foot caught on a loose chunk of pavement, his feet skidding out from under him. He stumbled to recover and nearly tripped over himself in the process. Another curse slipped out.

“I can’t believe he gets to get mad all the time, that he gets to be the one throwing a tantrum all the time like an insolent little child, and the one time I decide I want to feel something more than shallow irritation or genuine love, god forbid I say as much to his face, but oh, no, can’t do that! Can’t go upsetting Virgil! Can’t go letting him find out I’m actually a flawed human who’s actively working on his faults, because that sort of person doesn’t exist! Whatever. I don’t even care. I don’t even care!”

Logan’s rants dissolved into heated grumbles as he picked up his pace, from an agitated lope to a near-sprint as he continued on, farther and farther away from Virgil, farther and farther away from everything. He cursed again.

---------

The seconds pass by slower and faster and not at all, all at once. Logan isn’t entirely certain time is even following a linear path anymore. He closes his eyes and lets Eileen and Jackson’s chatter fill his ears, nonsense words about mundane daily tasks that would sound more at home in a coffee shop than in a multimillion dollar rocketship.

“So where’d you go to college?” The question floats into Logan’s head, and though he isn’t entirely certain whether he actually heard it or just made it up, he decides there’s no harm in answering.

“MIT.”

“A Massachusetts kid?” Jackson asks, at the same moment that Eileen exclaims, “He speaks!”

“A speaking Massachusetts kid,” Logan confirms, allowing himself a half smile at the memories of that place. Too many long nights to count, an obscene amount of papers and cups of coffee and dried pens and stubby pencils and smudged ink. The best years of his life, excluding what precious little he’s spent with Virgil. What precious little he’s spent with Virgil that didn’t include arguments, at least. Few things can send his heart skipping like acing a difficult exam or being at the top of his class, but the rare good days with Virgil certainly make that list. They top that list, actually. Logan’s smile grows.

“I think we lost him,” Eileen stage whispers. Logan shakes his head again.

“I’m still here.”

“Oh, good, I thought we’d be manning a three person mission with two people.” Eileen tosses her head back and laughs at her own joke—if it can be called a joke. Logan isn’t sure.

“I could cover him if I had to,” Jackson says.

“And how d’you figure that?”

“I’m twice the man you’ll ever be.”

“I mean, biologically speaking, yeah, but two times zero is still zero.”

Jackson gives his own cackle before slugging Eileen on the arm, and Logan wonders just how many minor training sessions they had together before joining him at the major two. Or, no, didn’t Eileen mention that her first (and only) mission so far was Jackson’s second? That would certainly allow for more major training sessions. Or is Logan making that up? He shrugs in answer to the question he didn’t vocalize and finds himself jolting just a little bit less when the director’s voice returns to announce the retraction of the orbiter access arm. Seven minutes to go.

---------

After all the shenanigans involved in convincing Virgil to look into colleges, even with the most cursory of glances, Logan was ready to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. It might’ve happened, too, were it not for the soft light illuminating the ceiling that was usually supposed to be dark at this hour.

“What’re you doing?” Logan mumbled, turning under the blankets to face Virgil. Rather than being asleep, or at least on his way there (which would be the correct manner of existing this late at night), Virgil’s head was propped up against four mismatched pillows, his face lit eerily by the light of his phone.

Virgil slammed his phone down on the blankets at the sound of Logan’s voice, snuffing out the light and descending the room into darkness. “Nothing!”

“Sounds like a lie.” Try as he might, Logan couldn’t get his voice to go any louder, too heavy with exhaustion and bleariness. He curved his spine inward, resting his head against Virgil’s shoulder. “What’re you actually doing?”

Virgil sighed and tilted his head to lean atop Logan’s before raising his phone again. “I was looking at colleges.”

“Why would you lie about that? That’s a wonderful thing to be doing!”

“Because I knew you’d react like—well, like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you got all excited over just the idea of me looking at colleges. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s basically just aimless googling, anyway, so it’s not like it’s even worth getting excited over.”

Logan tossed a heavy arm across Virgil’s stomach, making a weak attempt to pull him closer as he buried his head in Virgil’s side. “Everything you do to improve yourself is worth getting excited over.”

“Okay, now you’re just being a cheesy little dork.”

“But I’m your cheesy little dork.”

“That you are,” Virgil relented, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Logan’s forehead.

---------

At the same moment that the director’s voice announces the start of the auxiliary power units, Logan feels his mind drifting toward images of the horizon. Surrounded by words of confirmation and idle conversation, Logan closes his eyes and pictures the skyline, pink sunsets, orange flares, pillowy clouds drifting across an ocean of pale purple.

Though the director isn’t here to notice, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to read Logan’s mind if he were, Logan realizes he has a question he might like to pose to the dir—to Gazebo. He’s undoubtedly earned the right to be so informal by now.

How’s this for broadening my horizons?

And, despite himself, despite his mercifully waning fears—or maybe because of them—Logan laughs.

---------

Logan hunched over his usual computer, seeing it from a whole new perspective with every click, every keystroke, every breath. Form after form, contract after contract, case after case, he toiled away. If he were in a more fatalistic mood, he might liken it to literally signing away his life. Of course, he was too excited by the prospect of this mission to be thinking like that. Well, too excited to be actively thinking like that. The concern certainly lingered somewhere in the darker corners of his mind.

“Whatcha got going on there?” Roman asked, peering over the partition and drumming his fingers along the top.

Logan sent off another disclosure to the director’s given list of carbon copies before turning to face Roman. “Taking a risk or two. Nothing major, just the biggest achievement of my entire life.”

“Are you really still stuck on that lecture from Gaze-ze?”

“Please don’t call him that, and yes. He gave me areas to improve, and I’m improving them.”

“I already told you, he was exaggerating to get you to work harder. It was a garbage trick from a garbage man—well, trash man, not garbage man, since he’s a literal rocket scientist, but that’s beside the point. You shouldn’t be so focused on proving him wrong. He already personally tagged you for this mission, so there’s not a whole lot of room to grow here.”

“If there’s no more room to grow, then I guess I’ll just have to break through the ceiling. And don’t call the director a trash man, either.”

“I will call anyone a trash man if they are a trash man. Heck, I’m a trash man. At least I own up to it.”

Logan spun back to his screen and hammered out another couple files, his legs bouncing frantically with every second the sending delayed. On to a new contract. “Keep your trash to yourself, if you would be so kind.”

“I will put my trash wherever I see fit.”

“Good for you. Just keep it out of my stuff.”

“You know, you’re kind of a trash man, too.”

“A trash man who’s finally getting somewhere in his career.”

“Whatever blarts your mall cops, trash man.”

---------

“Aerosurface profile test complete, now beginning the main engine gimbal profile,” Gazebo’s voice announces. “Sixty seconds to beanie cap. Over.”

“Less than four minutes,” Logan murmurs, more of a confirmation for himself than an announcement for the rest of the crew, but the other two don’t chide him for it. Rather, they both share a look and nod as Logan’s eyes drift down to his left hand. Still encased in that glove, but he almost thinks he can see the outline of the band underneath. He definitely can’t, of course—the ring is around his neck on a chain—but he fancies the idea regardless. He twines his fingers together, slowly shifting them to wrap around his ring finger, running his thumb over the fabric protecting his fingertip. He breathes long and slow, in and out, an inhale pulling back his thumb, an exhale pushing it forward, his final frayed nerves stitching themselves back into one piece and sealing themselves to the memory of that thin metal band.

What a promise to make, as a mere man walking the surface of a spinning rock, floating in the middle of nowhere. I’ll bring you the moon. The moon. The thing that keeps the tides in check, circling the world, lighting cold nights with the reflection of the sun, and Logan had the gall to promise to bring it to Virgil. Logan has the gall to make that promise. He has the gall to believe he’ll do it, too. He has the gall to know he’ll do it.

He has the gall to try.

---------

“When did this get so hard?” Logan whispered, still gazing at their loosely intertwined fingers on the cafe table. “When did we get so bad at being in love? So bad at being humans? When did we get so bad at all this?”

“I don’t think we’re all that bad,” Virgil murmured. He ran his thumb gently along the side of Logan’s palm, keeping his eyes down, his voice soft. “I think we’re just going through the motions of a relationship. I don’t know if there is, or ever was, any real love between us, so much as it was that we were two lonely people in the same lonely world, and being lonely together was better than being lonely alone. I don’t think we hate each other, but I don’t think we really love each other, either. I don’t think we know how.”

“But I want to know how,” Logan insisted, desperate, pleading. He felt like a child throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want us going down in our own history books as a mistake. I want this to work, I want us to work. Is it really so hard to believe that we could do it if we tried?”

“Believing is the hard part.” Finally, finally, Virgil lifted his eyes, and though he didn’t want to see, didn’t think he could handle seeing, Logan couldn’t miss the puddles welling there. “But just because we’ve kind of been faking it until we made it, that doesn’t mean we have to keep doing that.”

“I want to try. I want this to work, without all the fighting and the arguing and the secrets.”

Virgil pulled Logan’s hand closer, now well past the halfway point of the table. Now making Logan meet him all the way. “I want this to work, too. I’m just tired of pretending we’re both happy to pretend.”

Logan lowered his head, tracing his gaze over the matching bands looped around their fingers. He wanted to promise him the moon, he wanted to promise him his heart, he wanted to promise him everything, but he hadn’t the words for any of it, so he just held his hand in silence.

---------

Savoring his last few moments of genuine exposed air, Logan swallows several deep gulps before moving to comply with the latest update from Gazebo—closing and locking their visors. Two minutes and counting. Logan glances out the window, half expecting to see the sun winking out with a morse code message from Virgil not to do it.

“Good to go?” Jackson asks.

“Good to go,” Eileen confirms. They both look to Logan.

He nods, finally certain, finally confident, finally ready. “Good to go.”

In unison, the crew snaps their visors down. Just over a minute to liftoff.

---------

Even after sending the final confirmation for the mission, Logan didn’t dare move beyond dropping the phone to the mattress. Neither did Virgil, who only adjusted ever so slightly to wrap his arms around Logan. Logan kept his focus steady on the folds of the blankets pushing at their feet, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

He’s really doing this.

He really just accepted a mission into space.

And Virgil really just gave him his final blessing on it.

How could Logan possibly survive being apart from Virgil for that long?

“I’m gonna miss you,” Logan mumbled, eschewing all pretense of caring about proper grammar. “I’m gonna miss you like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” Virgil sighed. He tightened his arms around Logan, the only thing Logan could say for absolute certain was happening anymore. Nothing felt quite real in that moment. “But you’re gonna go up there, and you’re gonna do so many great things. You’re going to amaze everyone, and you’re going to be amazing when you do it. You just focus on what you can do, and I’ll focus on waiting for you to come home safe. That’s all we can do here.”

“But I’m gonna miss you,” Logan insisted, feeling very much like an overworn record. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing we won’t be saying that, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“I mean, obviously we’ll see each other when you get back safe and sound, so there’s no reason to say goodbye. ‘Goodbye’ implies you won’t be coming back, but you will. We don’t have to say goodbye, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I’m still going to worry about you, though.”

“You aren’t allowed to do that, either. You just need to focus on yourself. Don’t let me distract you.”

“I would hardly call you a distraction. You’re more like the driving force that’s kept me on my feet long enough to get this far.”

“So I’m a really, really good distraction, then.”

“One that lo-oves me?” Logan managed to force some joviality into his voice, singing the word as he tilted his chin up to gaze at Virgil. Virgil rolled his eyes, but a smile crawled onto his face regardless.

“Yes. A really, really good distraction that lo-oves you. Nerd.”

“I love you, too.”

Virgil blew a puff of air through his nose and shook his head, still smiling. He held Logan closer.

---------

“T minus 60 seconds. 56. 53. 48. 43. 35. 32. 26. 21. 18. 14. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6. (Ignition sequence start.) 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Ignition. We have liftoff, Kennedy, we have liftoff on Oh-Nine-X-S-T.”

And just like that, they’re in the air. And they’re sprinting through the sky. And they’re in the troposphere. And they’re in the stratosphere, the mesosphere, the thermosphere, the exosphere, and they’re out of the atmosphere entirely and hurtling toward the stars and Logan can almost feel the distance between him and Virgil stretching and thinning, a long cable that’s ready to snap, a frayed thread that’s only just strong enough to remind Logan that Virgil is there, that there’s someone down way, way below him, waiting for him to come back safe and sound. And then there’s an odd weightlessness as the final stage breaks off, giving the rocket its final push out into space. And then into the stars. And then Logan is looking out the window, and he’s there. Among the stars. What he’s worked all his life to see, right there at his gloved fingertips. Logan can scarcely breathe.

“It’s amazing,” he finally says in a soft exhale.

“See what I mean?” Jackson murmurs, and Logan feels his shift to nudge Eileen. “Gotta love watching newbies.”

“Gotta love watching newbies,” Eileen agrees.

“It’s amazing,” Logan repeats, numb. He can’t think of anything else, nothing more manages to push past the tip of his awestruck tongue. No other words will come. So he says it again. And again.

“You’re on a solid trajectory for the moon,” the director’s voice informs them, a little less clear than it was before. A little cracked, a little broken, a little staticky, but it’s there. A real, live human on the real, live planet behind them, actually talking to Logan right at this very second as he’s in literal space. “Engage operations for the wormhole jump to Neptune. Over.”

“Altitude is on the line,” Eileen says, her voice switching from delighted amusement to no-nonsense business.

Jackson nods and reaches to adjust a different lever. “Velocity is right on the line.”

“Activating primary parting thrusters,” Eileen confirms. “Secondary action required, Jackson following. Over.”

“Secondary thrusters activated, temperature range optimal and confirmed,” Jackson says. “Tertiary opening sequence to be engaged, actions falling to Logan. Over.”

The clarity in their voices is enough to drag Logan out of his reverie and into laser-focused mode, as familiar an emotion as when a professor passed out an exam. He melts into the old attitude immediately, wearing it like an old jacket from the back of his closet. “Tertiary opening sequence engaged,” he says, flipping the correct knobs and levers. “Now opening rift five hundred meters forward. Tear stabilization required. Over.”

“You’re all good from down here,” the director replies. “Activate the tear stabilizer and head on through. I’ll patch back once you reach Neptune. Over.”

“Stabilizing tear at a distance of four hundred meters,” Eileen says, not impeded in the slightest by the director’s words. “Tear stabilized. Over.”

“Onward to Neptune,” Jackson says. Logan can almost hear the smile in his voice, even as his own eyes are focused on the console. “Over.”

“Onward to Neptune,” Eileen confirms. “Over.”

“Onward to Neptune.” Even with all his training and (admittedly abstract) experience, Logan cannot keep the awe out of his voice. “Over.”

And then they’re hurtling forward, careening for a rip in the literal fabric of space, protected by only a glorified chunk of titanium and carbon composite, and then they’re two hundred meters away, one hundred, ninety, seventy, fifty, twenty-five, ten, nine, eight, sevensixfivefourthreetwoone—

There’s a sharp jolt to the craft. Logan winces as his head wrenches to the left, his helmet slamming against the side of Jackson’s. He bites down hard enough that he thinks he might sever his own tongue, forcing down a cry as Eileen launches into reactionary recovery mode.

“This is Operator Eileen to command, our tear jump failed and our craft seems to have taken an exterior hit. Over.”

Silence.

“This is Operator Eileen to command, craft carrying Logan and Commander Jackson, our tear jump failed and our craft took an exterior hit. Over.”

Silence.

Her voice is growing more frantic now as she starts flicking switches. They’re well past what should’ve been the entry point to the wormhole by now. “This is Operator Eileen to command, do you read me? We passed the opening and our speed is not reducing, how’s it looking on your end?”

Silence.

“Eileen to command, we are rightly fucked out here, do you copy?”

“Over,” Jackson adds. That Eileen would miss quite so many basic details does not escape Logan’s notice. He feels his head start aching where it collided with Jackson’s, but he doesn’t have time to moan at the pain as the rocket lurches again.

This time, a curse escapes Logan’s mouth at the same instant that the craft bangs to a sharp halt, throwing Logan forward in his seat. He’s pretty sure he has whiplash to some degree now, but he doesn’t pause to confirm this as the rocket rips forward once more. It slams his head into the back of his seat, the rest of his body restrained by the harnesses and helpless to hold his neck steady.

“Eileen to command, do you read me? Over.”

“Jackson to command, do you read me? Over.”

Logan shakes his head, trying to ignore the blinding pain as he tosses his own voice into the chorus. “Logan to command, do you do me read? Over.” His head hurts so, so much.

Still silence from the other end. Silence, silence, silence. Absolutely nothing.

“I’m trying another opening,” Eileen says, punching at far too many switches for Logan to follow. He flicks two knobs on his end, careful to keep in precise time with Eileen’s verbal commands as his fingers do what his mind is too harried to make sense of. Just one click, then another, and another, one thing at a time, one thing for his dwindling focus to latch onto. His head hurts. He shoves the pain down.

“Have we got it?” Jackson asks, doing his own sequence with far more calm than is in his tone. “Eileen, tell me we’ve got it.”

“We’ve almost got it,” Eileen says. She doesn’t stop her determined pace, tapping away with all the ease and calm of a court stenographer. “Logan, sequence three A. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hold. Hold. Hold. And—okay, now!”

In the same instant, Logan throws the switch, pushing the full force of his body into it, feeling the harness digging into his chest as he punches the button beyond the track. “Got it.”

“Jackson, we’ve got it.” Eileen allows herself the briefest of moments to inhale, then it’s back into motion, almost like an intermission for her mind. Logan’s vision blurs at the edges as the rocket recoils against itself, shuddering as if it’s dropped a thruster. Maybe it has. He sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head, immediately regretting the ache it brings on. Eileen blows out three sharp puffs of air. “Five hundred meters out. Four hundred. Jackson, I swear to God, if that damn switch doesn’t hit at exactly—”

“I’ve got it,” Jackson says sharply, his glove clenched tightly around a lever. “Logan, good to make the jump?”

“As good as I can be.” Logan keeps his voice low, his words clipped, fearful that anything too extended might literally split his skull down the middle.

“Two hundred meters. One hundred. Logan, hand on the switch?”

“Hand on the switch,” Logan confirms. He shifts his twitchy fingers to grip it tighter.

“Fifty meters.”

“Opening still stable?”

Even with her face shielded by the visor, Logan almost thinks he can see Eileen’s expression turning grim. “As stable as a theoretical tunnel can be.”

“That’s about as good as we can hope for.”

“Ten meters.”

Logan inhales tightly and calls up Virgil’s face in his mind.

“Nine meters.”

Virgil’s messy purple and brown hair.

“Eight meters.”

Virgil’s soft brown eyes, crinkled in laughter.

“Seven meters.”

Virgil’s mouth, open with a laugh at his own sarcastic remark.

“Six meters.”

Virgil’s body, curled up around Logan’s on a cold, dark morning.

“Five meters.”

Virgil’s voice, low and happy under the haze of coffee.

“Four meters.”

Virgil’s cardigans, draped around Logan like a sea of soft familiarity.

“Three meters.”

Virgil’s passions, always so stubborn and so unpredictable.

“Two meters.”

Virgil’s promises, never broken for fear of hurting Logan in the process.

“One meter. Hold onto anything that doesn’t move.”

Virgil.

The rocket jolts sharply, up, down, to the right, sending Logan smacking into Jackson before recoiling and colliding with the wall and whacking against the central control panel like loose leaves in the wind. His vision goes black for a second, two, and even without Eileen shouting orders, even without Jackson calling back steely confirmation, he can feel it, down to his very core, down to the bones crunching under his own skin.

Something is wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.

Through the blur of blackness and brightly flickering switches, Logan manages to bring his gaze to the window, through which he sees stars, so many stars, spinning around him in a dizzying waltz, borne of the flames in hell. He closes his eyes as the blackness grows thicker.

Eileen yells something as the rocket banks a hard left, ramming Logan shoulder-first into the window. He cries out before breaking off into a harsh whimper as Jackson knocks skulls with him, hard enough that he thinks (not for the first time) that he might actually genuinely literally bite off his own tongue. Logan swallows a hard, shallow breath through gritted teeth as he waits for Jackson to right himself, but Jackson doesn’t move. He’s a dead weight on Logan’s side.

“Jackson’s not moving,” Logan whispers, more of a realization than an announcement. Eileen doesn’t respond. “Jackson’s not moving!” he repeats, louder, more insistent, a plea for Eileen not to have gone quiet, too.

Eileen curses under her breath. “Shit. Okay, shit, okay, shit shit shit, this is bad, this is really fucking bad.” She glances at Logan, perhaps realizing that she shouldn’t be acting so panicked in front of a first timer. And, Logan thinks darkly, maybe a last timer. He pushes the thought away. Eileen curses softer this time. “Okay, shit, just try not to move him too much. There’s no way this thing’ll survive another tear go-around, the math on the opening must’ve been off, your director must’ve—whatever, it doesn’t matter. Are you good enough to help me turn this thing around?”

“As good as I can be.” Logan forces back a howl of pain as the craft snaps forward again, and he can feel his head straining to give in, to follow Jackson down into the blackness. He growls low and hard under his breath before sitting up straighter, groaning with the pain. “Which way are we turning?”

Just as he asks, the rocket jolts again, banking another sharp left. Logan’s head smacks into the wall, but he hardly feels it anymore. Just another ache to add to the list. He can’t think about that right now.

“Left work for you?” Eileen’s voice is as calm and steady as ever, and Logan has no idea how she manages it.

“Left works great.” He grits his teeth and reaches forward, feeling his right arm scream in pain. Probably broken. Nothing to be done for it now.

“Re-engaging main thrusters,” Eileen announces flatly. “Left thrusters gone. Great, that’s just great. Doubling pressure in right thrusters. Hold on tight for an accelerated spin, because I’m not doing this twice.”

“Fuel levels descending as normal,” Logan says, watching the bars drop at double the normal rate in time with the fuel usage. “Anything else I need to do on my end?”

Eileen leans forward past Jackson and, through her visor, stares Logan down with the heat of a thousand suns. “Pray like hell.”

Logan nods once, and even that alone is enough to send shock waves rippling through his skull. He inhales sharply to keep from crying out again as Eileen carries on with her stated actions, despite the messages obviously not going through to command anymore. And, calling up Virgil’s face in his mind once more, Logan closes his eyes. And he prays like hell.

“Full one-eighty achieved,” Eileen calls. “Heat on missing left thruster increasing. Evening out propulsion rates.”

“Levels not equalizing. Left thruster cavity surpassing advisable temperature,” Logan says, opening his eyes for only a split second to confirm this. “God, I hope this works.”

“You and me both,” Eileen mutters.

In the fraction of a moment after checking the levels again and before closing his eyes, Logan catches himself glancing out the window. Off in the distance, almost too foreign to recognize up close, the moon watches them tear past, hurtling for the planet that just spat them out. The whole of existence sprawls out away from them, appearing to almost vibrate with the intensity of the rocket’s shaking now. Logan shuts his eyes once more, the silhouette of the glowing moon imprinted on his eyelids like a halo behind the picture of Virgil that he refuses to drop from his mind’s eye.

Eileen yells again. Logan’s eyes fly open to see several of the switches going haywire, flicking around of their own accord and glowing like their lives depend on it.

There’s a loud bang, louder than anything Logan’s ever heard before, at the same instant that the rocket makes its hardest jolt yet. Then there’s heat, rising and rising and rising and boiling and boiling and burning and Logan almost can’t breathe as he swears he can feel his lungs melting and—

And then there’s cold. Stark, uncaring, suffocating, vast, endless cold. Freezing Logan to his very core. And after the heat, and after the cold, and after the stars and the planets and the moon have all faded away, there is Logan, and Logan is still clinging to the image of Virgil. And the stars glow brighter, and the earth grows bigger, and the sun burns hotter, and Logan looks out at the world pulling them apart, and he

[the-canary]

Starlight - B.B (4/6)

Summary: Mysterious, but life changing things always happen if you just let life take its course – you decided to try it for once. (Modern AU!Reader/Bucky Barnes).

Prompt: Emily Dickinson: XXI

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: This is for @abovethesmokestacks ‘s Summer Writing Challenge. Revelations! And me using that certain type of knowledge. 

Feedback is always welcomed.

It starts off timid at best, a good morning here and hello there throughout the day between the two of you though while taking into mind that there is a 3 hour difference between the two of you, as Bucky moves from Arizona and into California. The first step of more interaction is a bit before that when Bucky decides to sends you a series of photos from the Grand Canyon late in the afternoon. A huge smile is on your face for the rest of the work day that even Wanda couldn’t help but notice, as she shakes her head at your brightening attitude. You are slowly getting back into the rhythm of things and while it hurt just a little, you were used to your mother not talking to you once more.

It’s such a drastic change from a few months back that one day Wanda can’t help but ask.

“Are you seeing someone?” she asks during one uneventful lunch break, as you look up from your phone, looking away from the wildflower trail pictures that Bucky had sent you earlier in the day. Her brown eyes are curious as you look at her, but there is also a huge grin on her face -- waiting for your answer.

“No,” you manage to say, but the next thing that comes out of your mouth is a bit bitter as you aren’t sure what the hell Bucky is to you at this point, “I’m just chatting with a friend who’s traveling.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you?” she quips with a hopeful tone, as you raise an eyebrow though a little bit fearful about what your sort-of work friend wants from you, but you would always be kind enough to listen to anyone out at least once.

“Ask what, Wan,” you ask cautiously, as she gets up from her seat and moves to sit on your desk and as much as you enjoy her company, you can’t help but lean back like a frightened cat.

“I am going on a double date in a few nights with my boyfriend Viz,” she explains and you watch her carefully from your corner of the cubicle, “And I actually needed a date for my brother. ”

“Wanda--” you say in annoyance as she puts her hands up as if trying to defend her idea.

“He’s a good guy. I think you could hit it off,” she gives you a sweet smile and deep down you know she is trying to look out for you in a certain way. Wanda is the type of person that wants to see everyone happy and in her own way and that means is she’s together with someone, she wants everyone around her to be happy together as well. It was a little annoying, but you could tell she was coming from a good place not unlike --

No romantic life either, what good are you for anyways?

“Could I think about it?” you give her the most vague response possible. Her smile wanes for a moment  before she agrees since she sprang it up on you last minute before going back to her side of the office. You take a look at your phone for a moment before ignoring it for the rest of the work day, uneasy over what had just transpired and feeling like you were doing a disservice to Bucky as well.

 It’s been awhile since Bucky has had a “bad episode” as he moves from Arizona into Southern California and he is sure that it is from the easier transition and travel he has been having since entering the state. However, as Sam liked to point out in his most recent phone call -- Bucky also had a new connection to the world around him, someone that supported him in on this new journey. He wasn’t short changing Steve, as his lifelong friend, or Sam, who had been helping him since they meet at the VA. However, with you there wasn’t any old standards to uphold nor was there any coddling because of what he was facing. You knew a different Bucky and while he had been scared to show you the side that was scared of the dark, that had nightmares or heard voices sometimes -- you didn’t turn away. You didn’t put him under an x-ray, but gently accepted him at his own pace and that’s the most Bucky had ever gotten from anyone.

It had help that you had shared a bit of yourself during those days back in Arizona, and Bucky wholeheartedly took in everything you had shared and kept it in a corner of his heart. It also wasn’t helping that every time he sent you a new set of pictures, you were ready and waiting with a cute comment even if some of his pictures were a bit blurry -- Bucky wasn’t as good with his phone camera as he was with his carry-on one. He knew that this wasn’t healthy: how he looked at your very first picture together in the front of his journal, how he wrote to you sometimes in it, how he missed your warmth in the middle of the night and the sound of your laugh when he had something funny to say.

“Have you thought that maybe you’re sweet for her, Buck?” Steve finally breaks the ice that Bucky has been avoiding during the call between Hemet and Death Valley National Park. Bucky can’t help but want to deny it, but his oldest friend knows him better than anyone else. Bucky remembers the flower trail he had just sent you a few hours before, wishing that you had been there with him smiling and laughing at just how blurry his pictures tend to come out -- but you can only do that through emojis.

“Maybe, Stevie,” Bucky’s voice breaks towards the end, as he comes to another realization, “But, I don’t think I deserve her.”

The voice rings loudly in his head one more: He’s no good. He’s no good for anybody.

Death Valley National Park, CA

Neither you nor Bucky have contacted each other in the past few days, what with you trying to convince yourself if you should go on the date as Wanda had asked and Bucky dealing with his own turbulent emotions at the prospect of falling for someone he barely knew. Yes, he knew you lived in New York just like he did, you had a growing love for astronomy and mythology from all the old stories that you read up on, and that you have anxiety plus a strained relationship with most of your family. But, he also knows that you laugh at the strangest things when he says them in just the right tone, you carry a book everywhere you go, and that you enjoy lazy mornings more than anything else.

Bucky just thinks that it’s a case of meeting someone at just the right (or bad) moment and getting attached to them. It had happened to him all those years ago with a redhead in college -- one that he had been hopelessly in love with and couldn’t see the dangers of until it was almost too late. Looking out at the vast desert wilderness, Bucky wasn’t sure what to call what he was feeling towards you -- it was deeper than an infatuation but not quite that l-word yet, but he knew give time it could be. How could this have happened to him?  

My grandma always said that the universe will guide you to what you need.

He remembers you saying that with a fondness in your voice, and he wants to believe that with all his heart. He takes a seat on the steps of the small VR that Tony, Steve’s good friend and the designer for his prosthetic, had let him use for the time being -- the man was loaded and though they’re weren’t on the same wavelength all the time, Tony knew when someone needed a breather and would gladly helped one of his friends if need be. Blue eyes stare out at the darkened sky with a drink in hand and the soft melody of a familiar song not too far away from him, as he finds the stars that lovers destined to only meet once a year -- their time having already long past them.

Vega and Altair.

And thus Bucky sends a message, desperate and lonely, not really caring about what time it might be on the other side of the coast, just hopefully that he can hear your voice once more.   

Can I call you?

Truth be told, it takes you awhile to see Bucky’s message because it’s the same weekend night that you are having your double date with Wanda, her boyfriend Viz ( it’s a nickname , she swears), and her older brother Pietro. And while he could be sweet and rather humorous, it just didn’t feel right -- it felt like you were trespassing into a tight group that had known each other for years and were trying their hardest to make you feel included. It didn’t help that deep down you couldn’t help but compared the track star to Bucky because while one was lively with grand gestures, you were more used to the reserved silence of someone else.   

Both you and Pietro know that there isn’t going to be a 2nd date, but he is happy to meet the person that his sister talks so much about and you are happy to have a new potential friend, since he seems more like a sibling that won’t stop annoying you after everything is said and done. It’s nearly 10pm when you finally see Bucky’s message and as you lay down into bed, you hope that he still wants to talk -- because oh how you miss him.

Hey! I was a little busy, but if you still wanna call I’m all ears.

You’re in bed already, trying to read by lampshade as you try to get a bit sleepy but are too anxious about Bucky’s call. While there had been several messages and pictures traded between the two of you, this would be the first time you were actually going to have a phone call. It wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to, but you didn’t want to bother Bucky at an odd hour or if he was enjoying the moment somewhere else. You jump at the sound of your phone ringing, as you pick up to see a picture of Bucky from that weekend -- hairy sticking all over the place with a bright smile and eyes, as he laughed over something off screen which had given you the chance to take said picture. You take a deep breath before answering.    

“Hey, stardust,” he breathes out as a greeting and you can’t help the goofy smile on your face.

“Oh, that’s a cute nickname,” you giggle out.

“Well, I’m glad you like it then,” he admits, his voice not showing that he was actually quite nervous over how you were going to take said new nickname, but your reaction made him joyful, as he took a nervous gulp of water before resting on the doorframe of the RV.

The two of you trade pleasantries for awhile going over how you were doing at work and what he had seen since you had left him, though less about the details and more about he had been feeling. It should have been just like talking with Steve or Sam, but Bucky couldn’t but notice how more open he was about his feelings and you never deterred him from talking about anything that came to mind. Your laugh sending a warm feeling through his chest and he couldn’t help but get dragged into your stories over work or just random little moments in your daily life -- wishing he was there to share them with you. Eventually, you both run out of things to talk about as the clock reaches midnight and that’s when Bucky decides that he has to ask you -- to see just exactly if there is any inkling over what you might actually think of him, if he might have a chance with the star that has been shining so brightly in his life.

“Do you think everyone feels lonely when they fall in love?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

“Wow, that’s deep, Bucky,” you murmur with a soft laugh that catches his heart as he stares at a familiar  constellation, as you admit the last part a bit more bashfully, “But, I can’t really tell ya about that, I’ve never been in love before.”

“Never ever?”

“Not that I can think of. I mean there have been dates and stuff, like tonight,” you say without much thought and Bucky swears he stops breathing for a moment, though a little sad over the idea you had never been in love before, but he could understand from what he knew about your past, “But I have never been crazy over someone like that, but maybe that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“You went on a date?” Bucky says as calmly as possibly, already waiting for the utter defeat of realizing his feelings too late, that you had already been taken away from him, “H-How did it go?”

“Hmm, he was all right, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” you state, as Bucky lets out a sigh of relief trying to mend together his bleeding heart, though he can’t help but be a little envious at the mysterious man that you had gone out with, “So what about you, have you ever been in love?”

“I think I was once,” Bucky explains, though clearly confused himself, “I think I am now, but it’s not the same feeling?”

“Oh, what do you mean?” you can’t but ask.

“Have you ever heard of Vega and Altair story?” Bucky explains, giving a bit more detail before going on and you can’t help but let out a sigh, though you aren’t sure if it’s due to the story or how he talks about this woman, “They’re only meant to meet once a year. It’s maddening, doll. Sometimes, it feels like she’s a dream, something I came up with in my head until I hear her voice or see her messages. But, I’m scared -- that if I tell her or if she learns about the past me, she’ll disappear and I’ll never seen her again.”  

“Bucky Barnes, you listen to me,” you exclaim, jumping in momentary anger from your bed as you let out a tirade at this mystery woman, “Any gal would be lucky to have someone like you, if she doesn’t return your feelings, then it’s her damn loss. And I know it’s hard, but don’t you ever lower yourself for another person, ya hear me?”

“You’re a little scary right now, doll,” Bucky exclaims, as for a moment your fierceness over him reminds him of Peggy, though if you only knew it was you he was talking about. It’s ironic, but he still appreciates it either way, “But thank ya.”

“Just stating the truth,” you state confidently, as Bucky shakes his head on the other side of the phone.

The conversation swings from there to all the things, mainly constellations, that Bucky can see from the outside of the RV, and you can’t help the smile growing due to the fact that it isn’t bothering as much as before, something you had worried about when leaving Arizona. A smile can’t help but appear on your face as you close your eyes and just imagine yourself being there with him. His voice, deep but soft, slowly easing the tension and anxiety you went through just a couple of hours ago being forgotten as you started to fall asleep.

“--If I turn a bit more, I can see Lupus,” he remarks offhandedly, turning to the right for just a moment though he is surprised as to what you have to say next.

“Hmm, that one reminds me of you,” you state with yawn, remembering the talk from some time back that only made you wonder now if you could be like Cassiopeia in his eyes as well.

“And why would you say that, stardust?” he says with an easy laugh that makes your heart sped up for just a moment, as you turn on your bed and can’t help but think that’s it’s missing a mass of warmth you had gotten too quickly used to. You cuddle closer to your largest pillow and let out a sigh.

“Wolves get a bad rep, but they care about each other,” you explain and Bucky is happy that you aren’t there to see the massive blush reaching down to his neck in that moment, “Loyal and protective, it all reminds me of you.”

“That’s really sweet of ya,” is all he can manage to say through his embarrassment, as you hum in response. With that Bucky comes to the realization that you are falling asleep and while he wants to spend the whole night talking to you once more, he knows that it is late in New York with the 3-hour time difference.         

“It sounds like you’re falling asleep on me,” Bucky remarks with teasing quip as all you do is give him a hum in response, “Well, I should let you go then. Sweet dreams, doll.”

“Sweet dreams, Buck,” you response in kind, the tiredness and ache of tonight and not being near him dragging you somewhere where you can be -- at least for a few hours, “ Love ya. ”

And with that you leave a very confused Bucky Barnes on the other side of the phone, unsure of what you meant with your words, but with a hopeful beat in his heart at the possibilities he hasn’t felt he was worthy of for years finally flourishing around him. And for a moment, he wishes he was back home -- back in New York where he could be close to you, but for now he had to keep playing at being Altair for a bit longer.   

Part 5

[realwomanleader-blog]

Imagine being homebound for 3 years by no choice of your own - what do you do?

It was a dark and stormy April 1 (no joke). I’m delivering pizza for extra cash, working now 2 weeks beyond my 2-week notice, when my life takes a sudden turn for the much harder.

By now all I’d known all my life is work.

I was the caregiver for my mother from the day I could walk, and she gave thanks by killing my father when I was 19. I’ve never known a soft place to land, and spent many years homeless.

Fast forward to that fateful evening in 2016, and I’m feeling pretty hopeful about my life. I’ve made steady forward progress the last 7 years. Though I’m still suffering with crippling panic attacks every morning, this side gig delivering pizza did its job - we’ve finally moved out of the congested city into a place that was at-long-last big enough to more than just live, in the smallest town in NH by land mass. I felt like I’d actually achieved something.

In fact, April 1 is the first day of our lease. I’m looking forward to letting go of this side job real soon - maybe even tomorrow - and just focus on rebuilding the business I lost in a massive case of writer’s block way back in 2007.

I’m backing out of the coveted spot for drivers when my 5-speed transmission gives its usual kickback and hops out of reverse - the old Hyundai wouldn’t last much longer. Slowing to a stop so I could get it back in gear, I catch a flash of white in my rearview.

NOT GOOD!

I slam the transmission into first and rev hard to avoid colliding with what was certainly my co-worker’s Jetta, once again parked illegally at the ONE PLACE without lights - in front of a dumpster no less! He’d been told numerous times by the landlord to not park there for that very reason, but once again, he hadn’t listened.

I felt no bump other than my old Hyundai popping out of gear (besides, I was traveling so slow my speed-o hadn’t registered at all), so I went about my deliveries. But when I came back, I was greeted by Manchester’s finest, in classic interrogative form.

Turns out, I did make contact. The dent was about the size of my hand, on the driver’s side rear door, maybe half an inch deep.

I didn’t have ALL my insurance information as they required right then, but I was working for the pizza shop right there - in all my 10 years working this gig, I’d always been instructed to direct insurance queries to my employer, which is what I did.

I was called the next day and told I wouldn’t be on the next week’s schedule. The next 6 weeks were marked with constant harassment, and zero assistance from my former employer. The co-worker apparently put it all on his personal insurance, and was allowed to keep his job another 300 days.

All kinds of wrong kept happening. When I asked for a lawyer, I was escorted out the back door. When I was pulled over in June and my car impounded (new to me car, might I add - owned only 2 weeks by then), I put in to have the decision rescinded because I was never notified - but the DMV is its own system. This wasn’t a “decision” in the legal sense, and it would not be rescinded.

The School of Hard Knocks Offers a Master’s Degree

Apparently agreeing to pay restitution to my co-worker for his out-of-pocket expenses is what screwed me, and made this no longer an employment law matter. So much for “doing the right thing.”

There was nothing I could do or say to combat the $4,870 insurance levy, nor point out the clear insurance fraud (what the heck does a passenger-side tail light have to do with a 3-mph nudge to the driver’s side?!). And every lawyer I called either never called back or claimed conflict of interest.

I’ve been homebound ever since.

In the smallest town in New Hampshire.

Without a support network.

Taxis don’t come out here. There’s no such thing as public transportation. The nearest grocery store is a 30-minute drive away. To Uber it, would be $40 one way - not counting the added fees for rural service.

My husband at the time wasn’t any help either. Two years before that happened, he’d told another woman he was falling in love with her. Three months after he said that, my first and only friend died. I was utterly alone in the world when this happened.

Losing my license only served to further degrade our nonexistent bond.

So I Helped Myself

July 1, 2016 was my last anxiety attack. I networked my butt off to land a job back in my field, as marketing director for 1 of 4 people in the world with that expertise. July 2018, I left that job for an invitation to “test” his suitcase of sex toy inventions, and the sudden 180 on every bit of advice I ever gave - but only because it now came from a 15-year-old male.

I took it as an opportunity to rebuild my business, having tried for the last year with minimal success because I had to schedule meetings around a 9-to-5. Less than 30 days later, I landed my first good client - but it wasn’t enough according to my then-husband. October 2018, I made the decision to leave him. Being homeless again was better than living with someone who would never understand what it means to love an entrepreneur.

Then the Universe conspired to help me. Someone I served in a previous job, took me in to his home. A previous client who owed me 3 years in hosting fees suddenly cropped up, wanting access to their domain. I played hardball with their lawyer - and won, just in time to get some oil for the furnace in the bitter December cold.

January 2019, I was approached by a traditional publisher interested in my non-fiction work. That turned into a 2-hour phone call with the proprietor of 4 companies, and a contract gig doing exactly what I always knew would be my destiny.

Roses Smell So Sweet - But Beware the Thorns

You might not think working from home is all that hard - until you realize it’s 90 hours sitting at a desk, and that I was born with rheumatoid arthritis. I was told at 12 that I would be walking with a cane by 20, and wheelchair bound by 30 - but doctors don’t know everything. I’m 34 as I write this, and still a very capable dancer, hiker, swimmer, and sports enthusiast, because I’ve been extremely proactive about my health.

It’s also become apparent that I’ve been managing diabetes all these years too - when my diet changed for the move into another household, I kept getting light-headed, even passing out once, and my feet began turning purple. I’m managing that, too.

The person I’m living with is 5 years younger, without the life experience I’ve had - so even when he wasn’t working 6 days a week, being dependent on him for absolutely everything has resulted in little more than frustration.

In fact, 10 days ago I suffered a total mental meltdown. Someone I hoped to call friend longer than these last 2 years broke a 5-month-old promise to visit - and it was my last hope. When the last day of her week-long vacation came and went without a plan, I spent the evening in hysterics - banging my head against the carpet in my home studio.

The next day, I picked myself up again.

I can’t say that I have nobody.

I have me.

And I am grateful for this life, because I am clearly being groomed for something magnificent.

What it is, I haven’t the slightest clue - and I love that. Life is a mystery we unfold one minute at a time, and I am so very curious.

This past Saturday, I went surfing for the first time. It’s been a lifelong ambition, and I did surprisingly well given my horrible track record on snowboards, skateboards, and plain walking on flat ground.

“Tomorrow is always too late.” Even though I don’t have much for resources, I saw an opportunity to do something I’d always wanted to - and did.

Was I afraid? Sure. But fear is the least of my concerns. It’s all in my head - and if I’ve learned anything at all by overcoming anxiety in 5 years, it’s that -I- am in control of what happens between these two ears.

Aloha Hā’awina, Māhālo Kūmū

The belief I hold which serves me so well, is very simple:

There is always another way, and better places.

And I will find it.

Last night, I started putting together a speaker one-sheet. I’ve had a great deal of success working with this company since January. Every book that has launched under my watch - every single one - has made bestseller, making 23 bestsellers for our traditional publishing arm as I write this.

I’m getting out of this house, and will see the world - one way, or another.

Follow my journey here on Tumblr, LinkedIn, and Instagram.

[healthbetold]

Vacan makes Olympics 17 years after eating disorder forced her to quit racing – The Reporter

Robyn Stevens made an unlikely path to the Summer Olympics in the mysterious sport of race walking.

It probably should never have happened – not 17 years after she quit attending San Jose State because of an eating disorder.

“When I left in 2004, I didn’t see myself coming back,” Stevens said this week. “I was ready.”

Stevens, 38, qualified for the Tokyo Games on June 26 by winning the 20-kilometer race at the US Olympic Trials in Springfield, Oregon. With a winning time of 1 hour and 35.13 minutes, she was the first woman from the state of San Jose to be accepted into a US Olympic team since discus thrower Margaret Jenkins in 1932.

Her friend Nick Christie won the men’s 20 km in Oregon and secured an Olympic place with it.

Racewalking has been an Olympic sport since 1908, although it wasn’t until 1992 that women made their debut in Barcelona. The sport has only two rules, the biggest of which is that hikers must always stand with one foot on the ground. Losing contact with the ground is referred to as “flying,” a violation that is called by the judges on the course and can lead to disqualification. The races are 20 km (12.4 miles). There is a 50K (31 miles) event for men only.

The US has never won a medal in women; Larry Young is the only American bronze medalist in 1968 and 1972. Stevens, who ranks 54th in the world, is unlikely to change that, but it will be on August 7th in Sapporo at the age of 38 go a victory for yourself.

The Vacaville racer looked like a potential Olympic competitor for the 2004 Athens Games until she suffered from eating problems in response to college weight gain at the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, where she began her college career before going to the State of San Jose changed.

The National Eating Disorders Association estimates that 30 million Americans will have an eating disorder at some point in their lives. Top athletes in endurance sports such as running are at greater risk of developing problems.

“In the competitive sports world where there are performance-minded individuals, they’ll do pretty much anything to get that gold medal,” said Katherine A. Beals, associate professor of nutrition at the University of Utah.

Stevens said she had no one to speak to about her condition while she was in Parkside. She returned to California for assistance. Stevens pours water over his head on a hot day at the US Olympic Track and Field Trials. (AP photo / Charlie Riedel)

She said to her former youth coach in Solano County, “What I do to my body could kill me.”

Stevens moved to the state of San Jose for the 2003 cross-country season while he continued to struggle with his illness.

Stevens said she survived on two ice cream biscuit sandwiches a day because it only cost her $ 3 and provided the 2,000 calories she thought she needed.

During that time, a San Jose State teammate confided in Stevens that she had eating problems. The teammate even told Stevens about a product that made her vomit.

Stevens didn’t tell the teammate about her own trauma or how she would vomit badly after eating to remove the food.

But she bought the Expectorans the same day her friend mentioned it.

Stevens has since learned that she suffered from the early stages of the female athlete triad, a combination of eating disorders, missed menstruation, and osteoporosis that led to lifelong health problems.

In early 2004, she decided to stop the induced vomiting because it was causing so much pain. But she took the drug again after a cross-country race in which she set disappointing times.

Two days later, Stevens said, racer Al Heppner killed himself by jumping off a bridge in San Diego County after failing to reach the 50-kilometer Olympic team.

“He just gave up,” she says.

Stevens realized that her state of mind might be similar to Heppner’s.

“It’s no different for me,” she thought at the time, “I no longer concentrate on winning. I just concentrate on getting thin. ”

Stevens called her mother to say that she was through with competitive sports because it had become a toxic environment. She would end the season with SJSU and then quit.

“I hate myself and I hate food,” she told her mother. “How do I live?”

San Jose graduate Robyn Stevens celebrates victory in the women’s 20-kilometer race at the US Olympic Track and Field Trials in Springfield, Oregon on Saturday. (AP photo / Charlie Riedel)

Beals, the author of Disordered Eating Among Athletes, said some of the main causes of the problem are pressure to be thin, go faster, and be aware of body image with the kind of skimpy uniforms that distance athletes often wear.

“You put such pressure on an athlete and I’m surprised they don’t all have eating disorders,” said Beals, a retired triathlete.

Stevens struggled for years to feel good, though the condition never required hospitalization or clinical help.

She had several jobs to help fund her college and graduated with an arts degree in 2007. The dangerous behavior of starving, eating, and overtraining to clean the food didn’t stop when she left the SJSU cross-country team. Stevens said she still suffered for years, including symptoms of body dysmorphism.

“Every time I looked in the mirror, I cried,” she says.

When Stevens was fit enough to train again, she stopped thinking about the Olympics. This time she did it for fun.

A friend persuaded Stevens to take part in a 20K race in Sacramento in 2014. Not only did she compete, she qualified for the 2016 US Olympic Trials and even surprised herself in only her second race at this length.

Vacaville Olympian Robyn Stevens is photographed on Thursday July 1, 2021 at Al Patch Park in Vacaville, California. Stevens travels to the Tokyo Olympics after qualifying for the 20K race. (Jose Carlos Fajardo / Bay Area News Group)

Following the success of qualifying for the Olympics, Stevens became concerned that returning to full-time competition would bring a return to her health problems.

“I don’t know if I’m well suited to racing,” she said. “If I wanted to come back to this, I had to know that it would be a healthy relationship and that it wouldn’t cause abuse.”

Stevens kept the idea at bay until he competed in the 2015 Pan American Race Walking Cup in Chile.

The pull was too strong. Stevens loved racing. She made it to the Team World Championship in 2016, but suffered a strained calf about a month before the Olympic Trials in which she finished 11th.

Robyn Stevens of Vacaville (right), a San Jose State graduate, won the 20 km race at the U.S. Olympic Trials in Oregon on June 26, 2021 to qualify for the Tokyo Games. Her friend Nick Christie (right) won the men’s 20K but is waiting to see if he meets Olympic qualifying standards. (AP photo / Charlie Riedel)

The disappointing experience motivated Stevens to apply for the Tokyo Games. She wanted to take part in at least one US test in good health. But it didn’t seem feasible because the racers have to support themselves financially.

Stevens was ready to forget her dream until the owner of the Campbell tax firm she worked for suggested that they devote the next four years to running.

She quit her job to give the sport another chance.

Stevens said she cried the day before the race last weekend in Oregon and remembered all the people who have helped her over the past two decades.

Some of those tears also represented how she found her way back from the dark nearly two decades after her first qualification for Olympic trials.

“This athletic version of me is the best I’ve ever been,” said Stevens.

The post Vacan makes Olympics 17 years after eating disorder forced her to quit racing – The Reporter first appeared on Health be Told.

source https://healthbetold.com/vacan-makes-olympics-17-years-after-eating-disorder-forced-her-to-quit-racing-the-reporter/

[rilenerocks]

The other morning, I walked into my house after working out in the yard. As usual, I was sweaty, my normal state once the temperature rises above 70• F. My standard complaint has always been the same – “man, am I hot.” When Michael was alive, he’d always answer that comment with the same response – “you’re telling me.” A part of me never believed him because I was keenly aware of my physical imperfections. But he really didn’t agree with me. I was lucky enough to spend decades with someone who always made me feel beautiful and desirable. What a great gift to leave me. On this particular day, my son was clacking away at his computer at the dining room table when I came in and spouted my “hot” line. I’ve told my kids what their dad used to say to me so I asked him for the proper reply to my prompt. He refused me, saying he knew the answer but that it wasn’t appropriate for him to say it. I got it. I can see where he’d think that was an off-color remark for a son to say to his mom, even though I was just testing his memory. I said I understood his point, then told him that some day when I wasn’t around any more, he’d still remember what those words meant to me. He looked at me and asked, “and what things did your mom say that you still remember?” I was surprised by the question and initially was at a loss for a response. But I’ve been thinking about this for days.

The phrase “that’s what she said,” is an iteration of a British double entendre implying some sort of sexual behavior.  Through Steve Carell’s use of it multiple times in the television series, “The Office,” the expression became popularized in America. But that sexist humor isn’t the connotation that I’m intending in this reflection. Rather, I’ve been pondering what comments, bits of advice, suggestions or instructions stick in our minds as we traverse our lives. The words you never forget, out of all those spoken to you by your family, your friends, your teachers, your mentors. In my case, I’d also include lines from books, movies and songs in that collection of the words that resonate, long after they’re initially heard. I’ve been trying to think of what different people have said to me, words that have stayed with me, which pop up randomly in my mind. And maybe even more significantly, what have I said to others, my family, my friends or even acquaintances, that they still hear in their minds. Isn’t it true that we are composite creatures, made up of input from so many sources we can’t possibly distinguish what got integrated into our perception of self? I remember once I was walking along on a sidewalk, and coming toward me was a woman pushing a stroller with a baby aboard, somewhere between 15-18 months old. As we got close, the baby and I made eye contact which we held for about ten seconds. As I moved past them, I remember thinking that the little moment of recognition we shared is stored somewhere in that person’s brain. I was old enough to remember that brief connection. For the baby who hopefully grew up, my image is tucked away somewhere, in the folds of its brain. 

But the words, though. My mind is packed with memories that I’m lucky enough to access regularly. If that ends, I hope I’m not alive. During this pandemic experience which I share with countless people, I’ve turned inward to reflect on my life. Having the ability to recall the places I’ve lived, literally strolling through physical spaces in my brain is fascinating. I’m reminded of the lyrics from the Beatles song “In My Life,” which is an example of the words that stuck with me over these 55 years since its release when I was just fourteen. As I’ve been sifting through my son’s question – what I remember of what my mother said to me, the aural landscape has gotten bigger. I’ve even given it a title – Ancestral Noise. What a surprising study I’m in right now. Both the presence and absence of verbal memories from some people who played a central role in my life, at least for awhile, is a mystery.

For example, I can’t recall a single word my maternal grandfather said to me, despite the fact that I spent as much time with him as I did with my grandmother. I can hear her talking all the time. The insignificant comments of random and mostly irrelevant people that still ring in my head seem absurd. So I decided I had to codify some of them. Otherwise they’ll disappear when I do and although that’s inevitable to a large degree, my historian impulse is to leave tracks of myself in my little universe so that my children, grandchildren and whoever may arrive after them, will have some sense of what influences affected the me I am today. So here’s a sampling of what’s emerged from the verbal past. My ancestral noise.

Mom. I thought about her first because she was certainly the most talkative person in my life, much like I am with my family. At first, I was hard put to think of anything but her stories, the growing up ones of hardship, her small victories over her rigid mother, her love story with my dad, her wretched ill health and her remarkable survival skills. But actual words? That took a bit of digging. Eventually, I dredged some of them out. The Dorothy-isms. “I always wanted to be a dancer.” Mom was always wishing she was something other than who she was. A way of being worth noting for me as her child. I didn’t want to do that.   “Never put anything in writing.” Ever paranoid, she believed in leaving no evidence which could be used against you (I guess I didn’t give that advice much weight.) “When I die, I’m never leaving you-I’m going to hover over you and protect you.” That one was interesting because the truth is, I starting protecting her when I was quite young. Everyone is entitled to the occasional illusion. “I could never survive the death of my child.” Another interesting memory for me, as I forced a tough decision on my conflicted family regarding this memory. When  my brother died, my mom was afflicted with dementia. I had never forgotten what she said. I was here with her providing care in addition to holding her power of attorney. I wouldn’t let anyone tell her he was gone. A controversy ensued but I prevailed.  All I could think of was her unnecessary pain and confusion as this lifelong dreaded event actually happened. She died a few months later. I’ve never regretted that decision. Maybe the most practical advice she ever gave me was to remember to be creative about keeping my marriage fresh over the long haul. Although that was impossibly sexist counsel, I did think a lot about putting my relationship with my husband first, as I wanted to be with him after our kids moved on. I implemented that philosophy. Not much sage advice after spending over 60 years with someone. She had a great sense of humor and could come up with  sarcastic zingers. But there’s nothing that earth-shattering resounding in my head from mom.

Ironically, my dad, who wasn’t known for being particularly verbal, said a lot of things which carried me through different periods in my life. Parts of him were utterly childlike and ridiculous. He called the four of us kids “little drips.” “Wake up and go to sleep.” “Why don’t you dry up?” “How about taking a long walk off a short pier?” “What’s the matter with you-you got rocks in your head?” “Did you marry your teacher today?” “Did you do your scientific studies?” “You know your mother’s crazy, don’t you? I could go on. Maybe all these inanities stuck with me because mostly, his head was usually buried in a newspaper so his pronouncements were memorable. But there was serious stuff too. “You have to make a plan and stick with it even if you get offtrack for awhile.” An excellent piece of advice. “You’re going to be smarter than many people in life. The average American voter is uneducated. When you believe in something, stick to your principles and don’t back down, no matter what.” Those words are central in my daily life and always have been. “When it comes to financial decisions, you rarely hit the high or sink to the low. Aim for some reasonable goals and don’t look back.” He explained a lot about how the world works to me. He also called me names like con artist and weasel. I can’t fault him for that. I was a streetsmart kid. A squeamish guy, not as physically courageous as my mom, when he got cancer, he bravely announced that he would beat it “the way Grant took Richmond.” He only got through one round of chemo before quitting. Unable to confess that to my mom, he told me first and asked me to arrange his funeral. A young woman in my 30’s, I did what he wanted. Years later, I figured out how inappropriate a choice that was for me. I also remember how incredible I felt when, while home from college in my freshman year, I was the only person available when my grandmother called early in the morning, shouting that my grandfather had collapsed. I called the fire department and ran a mile through the snow to their apartment, winding up in an ambulance tearing down Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. No cell phones in those days, so I was on my own while my grandmother was sedated and I stayed with my grandfather, being his advocate at the tender age of eighteen. Later that evening when my parents came to the hospital and eventually took me home, my dad said, “do you realize you saved your grandfather’s life today?” I’ve never forgotten that moment. I also remember our verbal war when he threatened to disown my sister if she married a non-Jew. I told him he’d have to disown me too and reminded him that he was the one who told me to stand up for my beliefs. He found me very irritating back then.  Finally, my dad was a an avid lifelong Democrat. When he was annoyed with Republicans, he’d always say, “death to the vipers.” At my sister’s wedding rehearsal dinner, her husband’s family, who were mostly on the other side of the political spectrum, were treated to my dad’s pronouncement following a few cocktails, shouting out, “the only good Republican is a dead Republican.” Oh my. Those are my most prominent memories of my dad’s voice.

I can hear my maternal grandmother’s voice frequently. An immigrant, she spoke decent English with some scrambled words like saying she was having her description, rather than prescription, filled at the drugstore. She was smart but illiterate, a product of a truly male-dominated culture. She didn’t see her way out of that. But she was sharp-tongued and used a lot of Yiddish phrases, most of them judgmental and demeaning. “Gey cocken offen yom – go take a shit in the ocean.” “Gey avek – get out of here.” “Momzer, schmendrick, schlemiel – bastard, fool and stupid, respectively.” When she thought something was funny, she’d say, “gib a kick,” which meant look at that. She told all of us grandchildren individually that each of us was the only person she could trust while she confided her complaints to everyone. She liked watching baseball because she thought the players were sexy, especially when they adjusted their protective cups. She paid attention to politics and I remember her muttering that Ronald Reagan was a stupid cowboy. She was a compulsive cleaner, plastic covering her furniture which was so sticky and hot in the summer. Perhaps her most famous line was – “you can eat off my floors.”

I barely remember any specific thing that my brother told me. He made up his own alphabet which I recall and I remember discussing world wars and predictions of what the future would look like in terms of superpowers – his money was on China. The only outstanding line I remember from my older sister was her always telling me to “modulate your voice, Renee,” because I was apparently too loud. My younger sister frequently told me that if I died, she would hurl herself into my grave. The sum total of these individual words from my siblings doesn’t sound like much in the overall scope of aural memory.

I can hear my friend Fern telling me she wanted her epitaph to be “she died smiling, if you know what I mean.” I hear my first true love Albert saying, “just for tonight, I love you.” That didn’t bode well for the future. Another boyfriend Dennis, told me that if I’d married him, he wouldn’t have wound up divorced and unhappy. That wasn’t true.

I can’t begin to list all the things Michael said to me over the years, both romantic, sarcastic and funny. “The only place I belong is with you.” “No one has a face like yours-you with the face.” “You’re the smartest person I know.” “We are cosmically connected -I’ll be with you forever.” “Take a hike.” “Life’s a hard road.” “Would you mind removing your feet from my back.” “Everything would be perfect if you’d just stop talking.” “What seems to be the greatest single problem?” “Put a cork in it.” Michael is still so alive in me. The books, music and movies we shared helped us develop a code that bound us together inside and out. He may not be here, but my dialogue with him continues daily. He’s in my head.

So what about me? What have I uttered that my kids will remember when I’m gone? I asked my daughter. Her response was, “run.” When she was driving me crazy as a young girl, there were times when I wished I believed in corporal punishment. But I didn’t. I found a benign way to express my hostility. I held her ponytail and told her to run. She was too smart to do it but it made for a memorable moment. When my son made me want to tear my hair out, I quoted a line to him from the wonderful film, Diner. I told him if he didn’t get a grip on himself, I’d hit him so hard I’d kill his whole family. Preposterous, of course. But one day with an uncooperative playmate, he repeated it to this sensitive child. I thought I’d have my kids taken away by the Department of Children and Family Services. Aside from a variety of movie lines that I adore, I do think I’ve said some things of worth to my kids. I told them about the five year rule, the premise being that whatever is happening right now, which feels so overwhelming, should make them stop and think of exactly what they were doing five years ago. Since they can never recall what that was, I remind them that five years from now, they won’t remember the intensity of this moment. Perspective is everything. I’ve told then ad nauseam that the people with the best lives are the people with the best coping skills. Everyone’s life requires coping and the better you get at managing, the better life will be. Lastly, I tell them that when you tackle problems in life, you want to be operating from a position of strength rather than one of weakness. Identifying what’s directing your internal responses and shifting from your worst skills to your best is always the right move. Those are the best examples of my attempts to provide a strategy for moving forward. Who knows how they’ll feel years from now, when I’m part of their history. Maybe they’ll only remember me walking around quoting Animal House saying, “you’re all worthless and weak.” I’d give a  lot to see the future, to hear them discuss me and declare, “that’s what she said.” Joining the ancestral noise of the past.   

    That’s What S/he Said The other morning, I walked into my house after working out in the yard. As usual, I was sweaty, my normal state once the temperature rises above 70• F.

[undertale-rho]

Underearth: Book 2 - Chapter 2

The Snowdin Province was one of the smallest province in the Kingdom of the Monsters. It featured a frosted-over forest of evergreen-like trees, and massive bamboo-like trees. The rest was simply snow-covered rock and dirt. The entire province even had its own self-contained magic-powered weather cycle that renewed the snow every few days. With how cold it was, you only need to imagine what it was like for Frisk to open the Citadel door and step into the chilling foot-deep snow once again.

Crunching through the snow, Frisk soon felt eyes tracking his every movement from the trees surrounding him.

Sans must have spotted me by now. Frisk thought to himself, crunching ever forward toward a chasm in the plateau.

As soon as Frisk reached the chasm, more crunching of snow could be heard coming from behind him. Knowing who this was, Frisk stopped immediately, barely able to contain the surge of excitement that now flowed through him. You see, if not for Sans, Frisk never would have realized the consequences of his careless actions within the Underground before, and so never would have returned to make things right.

"Human." came a mysterious voice that now stood just behind him.

No longer able to contain his excitement, Frisk swiftly turned around and grabbed the skeleton's outstretched hand.

As soon as he did, a loud farting sound erupted from within the handshake. When the farting sound faded, Frisk burst into laughter.

"Heh, the old whoopee cushion in the hand trick." the skeleton, Sans, said. "Wait a sec... Have you heard it before or something?"

"Oh yeah," Frisk said without much thought, "It's always funny. A real classic, it is."

Sans's smile, which was already stretched from ear-to-ear, somehow widened.

Stepping forward and slinging his arm over Frisk's shoulder, they both started to walk over the bridge that spanned the chasm.

"You're a Human, right?" Sans asked.

"Yeah."

"That's hilarious. I'm Sans. Sans the skeleton."

The two then went through similar motions as before. Frisk once again hid behind the lamp, Papyrus showed up, scolded Sans for being lazy, then stormed off. Frisk, too, then moved on ahead. At the crossroads, Frisk checked the box. The leather gauntlets were once again inside. Retrieving and equipping them, Frisk moved on ahead, where Sans would reveal 'the Human' to his brother, Papyrus.

"SO, AS I WAS SAYING ABOUT UNDYNE," Frisk heard Papyrus say as he approached. As soon as he came into view, Sans looked over at him, closely followed by Papyrus. They then looked between each-other and Frisk multiple times before Papyrus bent down to Sans's height and whispered loudly enough for Frisk to hear.

"SANS!!! OH MY— IS THAT... A HUMAN!?!?!??!?!"

They both looked past Frisk.

"Uhhhh... Actually, I think that's a rock." Sans replied.

"OH."

Sans then pointed at Frisk. "Hey, what's that in front of the rock?"

"OH MY—" Papyrus started shouting before quieting back down to a whisper (at least as much of a whisper he could manage). "IS... IS THAT A HUMAN?"

"Yes."

"OH MY G— SANS! I FINALLY DID IT!!! UNDYNE WILL... I'M GONNA... I'LL BE SO... POPULAR!!! POPULAR!!! POPULAR!!!"

Frisk gave out a small chuckle as Papyrus regained his composure.

"HUMAN! YOU SHALL NOT PASS THIS AREA! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL STOP YOU!!! I WILL THEN CAPTURE YOU! YOU WILL BE DELIVERED TO THE PALACE! THEN... THEN!!! I'M NOT SURE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. IN ANY CASE! CONTINUE... ONLY IF YOU DARE!!! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!!"

Papyrus then ran off ahead. Sans turned to face Frisk.

"Well, that went well." he said.

"I thought so."

"But hey, don't sweat it kid. I'll keep an eyesocket out for ya."

Sans, too, then went on ahead, soon followed by Frisk as well.

Eventually, Frisk came to a sentry station that smelled of smoke. As he got closer, a large dog-like Monster jumped out of the station with a knife in each hand.

"Did something move?" the Monster said. "Was it my imagination?"

Frisk froze in place.

The Monster looked around some more, then growled. "I can only see moving things." he said, evidently frustrated. "If something was moving, for example, a Human... I'll make sure it never moves again."

The Monster raised one of its knives, which began to glow a light blue, and brought it down towards Frisk. As he brought it down, the glow expanded, making the knife appear much larger. As the glow approached, Frisk closed his eyes and tried to remain as still as possible. Once the glow reached him, it was as though somebody had poured icy water on him, requiring him to grab hold of every ounce of strength he had just to keep still.

Once the chill had passed, Frisk opened his eyes again, relieved of its passing. Taking care not to move excessively, he looked around. The Monster had brought its knife up opposite to where Frisk was and was about to bring it down there as well. Frisk, as quietly as possible, approached the Monster while its back was turned to him and gave it a pat on the head.

Almost immediately, the Monster freaked out and flipped back around to face Frisk, who had once again frozen in place.

"S-S-S-Something pet me..." the Monster said. "Something that isn't m-m-moving..." the Monster then gave a disparaging sigh. "I'm gonna need some dog treats for this!!!"

The Monster then climbed back inside the sentry station and disappeared behind the counter.

Frisk, somewhat relieved from the Monster retreating, slipped past the station and continued down the path.

From there, Frisk continued through the Snowdin Heights, encountering four other Monsters that were part of the Canine Unit of the Royal Guard. Two of these Monsters attacked Frisk relentlessly until he'd rolled around in the dirt, mud and snow enough to confuse them into thinking he was simply a dirty pup instead of a Human. The other two were so affection starved that they were completely pacified from the simple act of petting or playing with them. Along the way, between all these Monsters, Frisk encountered Sans and Papyrus a few more times. Just as before, all of this continued until the Gauntlet of Deadly Terror, which Papyrus once again abandoned using. After the Gauntlet, Frisk entered Snowdin Town, the somewhat quiet capital of the Snowdin Province. Since he had already looked around the town in the previous World, Frisk simply rushed to the other end of the town, where Papyrus stood waiting to capture him.

"HUMAN." A deep, loud voice called out through the fog that dwelled over the area. "ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU ABOUT SOME COMPLEX FEELINGS. FEELING LIKE... THE JOY OF FINDING ANOTHER PASTA LOVER. THE ADMIRATION FOR ANOTHER'S PUZZLE-SOLVING SKILLS. THE DESIRE TO HAVE A COOL, SMART PERSON THINK YOU ARE COOL. THESE FEELINGS... THEY MUST BE WHAT YOU ARE FEELING RIGHT NOW!!!"

"Oh absolutely." Frisk replied.

"I CAN HARDLY IMAGINE WHAT IT MUST BE LIKE TO FEEL THAT WAY. AFTER ALL, I AM VERY GREAT. I DON'T EVER WONDER WHAT HAVING A LOT OF FRIENDS IS LIKE. I PITY YOU... LONELY HUMAN... WORRY NOT!!! YOU SHALL BE LONELY NO LONGER! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL BE YOUR..."

Papyrus suddenly stopped speaking. After a few second of silence, his voice penetrated the fog once more.

"NO... NO, THIS IS ALL WRONG!" he said, "I CAN'T BE YOUR FRIEND!!! YOU ARE A HUMAN! I MUST CAPTURE YOU! THEN, I CAN FULFILL MY LIFELONG DREAM!!! POWERFUL! POPULAR! PRESTIGIOUS!!! THAT'S PAPYRUS!!! THE NEWEST MEMBER... OF THE ROYAL GUARD!!!"

As soon as Papyrus finished speaking, a burst of air created an air bubble around him, clearing the fog for a battlefield.

"Wait, Papyrus." Frisk shouted. "So what if I'm a Human? We could still be friends."

"NO. I AM SORRY, HUMAN, BUT YOU MUST BE CAPTURED. SO I MUST CAPTURE YOU!"

"Don't expect me to go quietly, then. But I'm sure someone as great as you won't have any trouble whatsoever capturing me."

"RIGHT YOU ARE. I SEE THAT EVEN HUMANS CAN SEE THE GREATNESS OF THOSE AROUND THEM."

"But of course." Frisk said. "Now let's go."

"EXCELLENT! BECAUSE I AM SO GREAT, I SHALL LET YOU TAKE THE FIRST MOVE."

"Me? Oh, I'm not gonna attack you. Why would I attack someone so great?"

"SO YOU WON'T FIGHT..."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"THEN LET'S SEE IF YOU CAN HANDLE MY FABLED 'BLUE ATTACK'!"

As he said this, his eyes began to glow a light-blue as bones of the same color erupted from the ground, racing towards Frisk. Frisk, however, simply sucked in his breath and stood as still as possible while the bones passed. After they passed, Frisk readied himself and flexed his legs. Papyrus's eyes then began to glow a deep blue, followed by Frisk collapsing down onto his knee. Upon collapsing, a bone jutted up from the ground near Frisk, though (with great difficulty) he managed to roll away.

"HARD TO STAND? THAT'S MY ATTACK! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!!"

The battle between the two raged just as before. By the end, both Frisk and Papyrus were exhausted, but neither were defeated.

"WELL! IT'S CLEAR... YOU CAN'T... DEFEAT ME!!!" Papyrus said. "YEAH!!! I CAN SEE YOU SHAKING IN YOUR BOOTS!!! THEREFORE I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, ELECT TO GRANT YOU PITY!!! I WILL SPARE YOU HUMAN!!! NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO ACCEPT MY MERCY."

Frisk collapsed to the ground. "Oh Papyrus, you are too great. I accept the mercy you have granted me." he said, holding back laughter.

Once Frisk finished accepting Papyrus's mercy, the air-bubble around them expanded, blowing away the remaining fog.

"NYOO HOO HOO... I CAN'T EVEN STOP SOMEONE AS WEAK AS YOU... UNDYNE IS GOING TO BE DISAPPOINTED IN ME. I'LL NEVER JOIN THE ROYAL GUARD... AND... MY FRIEND QUANTITY WILL REMAIN STAGNANT!"

Frisk walked up to Papyrus and patted him on the back.

"Don't worry, Papyrus, I'll be your friend."

Papyrus shot around to face Frisk. "REALLY!? YOU WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH ME??? WELL THEN... I GUESS... I GUESS I CAN MAKE AN ALLOWANCE FOR YOU!" Papyrus turned back around and stared into the distance. "WOW!!! I HAVE FRIENDS!!! AND WHO KNEW THAT ALL I NEEDED TO MAKE THEM WAS TO GIVE PEOPLE AWFUL PUZZLES AND THEN FIGHT THEM???" Papyrus turned back toward Frisk. "YOU TAUGHT ME A LOT, HUMAN. I HEARBY GRANT YOU PERMISSION TO PASS THROUGH, AND I'LL GIVE YOU DIRECTIONS TO THE SURFACE! CONTINUE FORWARD UNTIL YOU REACH THE END OF THE CAVERN. FROM THERE, YOU'LL NEED TO SCALE A MOUNTAIN UP TO ELYSIUM, AND CROSS THE BARRIER. THAT'S THE MAGICAL SEAL TRAPPING US ALL UNDERGROUND. ANYTHING CAN ENTER THROUGH IT, BUT NOTHING CAN EXIT EXCEPT SOMEONE WITH A POWERFUL SOUL, LIKE YOU!!! THAT'S WHY THE KING WANTS TO ACQUIRE A HUMAN. HE WANT TO OPEN THE BARRIER WITH SOUL POWER. THEN US MONTSERS CAN RETURN TO THE SURFACE! OH, I ALMOST FORGOT TO TELL YOU... TO REACH THE EXIT, YOU WILL HAVE TO PASS THROUGH ELYSIUM, AKA THE DREEMURR PALACE! THE KING OF ALL MONSTERS... HE IS... WELL... HE'S A BIG FUZZY PUSHOVER!!! EVERYBODY LOVES THAT GUY. I AM CERTAIN IF YOU JUST SAY 'EXCUSE ME MISTER DREEMURR... CAN I PLEASE GO HOME?' HE'LL GUIDE YOU RIGHT TO THE BARRIER HIMSELF! ANYWAY!!! THAT'S ENOUGH TALKING!!! I'LL BE BACK HOME BEING A COOL FRIEND!!! FEEL FREE TO COME BY AND HANG OUT!!!"

Papyrus then returned to Snowdin Town. Frisk, on the other hand, headed into the Waterfall Caves ahead of him. Within the cave, though not very deep in, he came by Sans's Waterfall sentry station.

"Hey Sans." Frisk said as he approached the station.

"Hey. You caught me at a good time, I just went on break. I'm going to Grillby's, wanna come?" Sans asked.

"Sure, why not."

Sans stood up and walked around the sentry station to Frisk, then gestured forward.

"Over here, I know a shortcut." he said, offering a hand to Frisk.

Just as Frisk took Sans's hand, Sans's eyes began to glow a very dark green. Next thing Frisk knew, they were both standing in Grillby's.

"Fast shortcut, huh?" Sans said.

"Yeah, really fast."

Sans turned towards the counter. "Hey, everyone." he said.

"Hey, Sans." "Hi, Sans." the two dog-Monsters wearing cloaks that attacked Frisk said.

"Greetings Sans." said a rather large-mouthed Monster in one of the booths.

"Hiya, Sansy~" said a very drunk bunny in another booth.

Frisk and Sans walked towards the counter.

"Hey Sans," a fish-Monster said. "weren't you in here for breakfast a few minutes ago?"

"Nah, I haven't had breakfast in at least half an hour. You must be thinking of brunch."

Everyone laughed.

"Here, get comfy." Sans said to Frisk, gesturing to one of the stools in front of the counter.

Before Frisk sat down, however, he looked over the seat, since last time there had been a whoopee cushion on it.

"What's the holdup?" Sans asked.

Frisk looked up at Sans. "Oh, nothing." he said, moving to sit down. Just as he sat down, a farting noise came from the seat.

"Whoops," Sans said. "watch where you sit down. Sometimes weirdos put whoopee cushions on the seats."

Frisk looked completely baffled. I looked over it, though, there was nothing.

"Anyway, lets order. Whaddya want?" Sans asked.

"What? Oh, uh... Fries."

"Hey, that sounds pretty good. Grillby, we'll have a double order of fries."

Grillby, the fire-Monster behind the counter, walked off into the back room.

Sans then turned to face Frisk.

"So, what do you think of my brother?" he asked him.

"Oh man, what isn't there to think about him? He's so cool." Frisk said enthusiastically.

"Of course he's cool. You'd be cool too if you wore that outfit every day. He'd only take that thing off if he absolutely had to. Oh well. At least he washes it. And by that, I mean he wears it in the shower."

Soon, Grillby came out of the back room with two plates of fries.

"Here comes the grub." said Sans.

Sans then pulled out a full bottle of ketchup from his blue jacket. "Want some ketchup?"

"No thanks."

"More for me."

Sans then chugged the entire bottle without pausing. Upon finishing, he put the cap back on and stashed it in his jacket.

"Anyway, cool or not, you have to agree Papyrus tries real hard, like how he keeps trying to be part of the Royal Guard. One day, he went to the house of the Head of the Royal Guard and begged her to let him be in it. Of course, she shut the door on him because it was midnight, but the next day, she woke up and saw him still waiting there. Seeing his dedication, she decided to give him warrior training. It's, uh, still a work in progress."

Sans then paused for a second.

"Oh yeah, I—"

Sans's crotch suddenly began glowing a light-blue color.

"Whoops. I gotta take care of this. I'll see you later."

And with that, Sans rushed out the door.

What was that? Frisk thought as he got off the stool.

Frisk then looked around Grillby's. Same as before, but this time, the table on the right side that had cards all over it was surrounded by the dog-Monsters he'd killed in the previous World, though here they were playing poker.

"Hey, you!" said the dog across the table from Frisk, who Frisk recognized to be the first dog-Monster he'd encountered (the one who can only see moving things, if you remember).

"Me?" Frisk asked, unsure if they were about to attack him.

"Yeah you. Since when did you and Sans become friends...?"

"Um... pretty recently, I guess. He's cool."

"Well I don't like him... He loves to appear without moving."

"Ah, don't be like that, Doggo." called the Monster with the large mouth. "Sans is interesting."

"How so?" asked Frisk.

"Well, he has told me about all kinds of incredible foods." the Monster then chuckled to itself. "But, despite his knowledge, he always orders the worst burger off the menu."

"Sansyyyy..." the drunk bunny suddenly called out, apparently finally realizing Sans had left. "Come back and sit with me... Everything's so fun when you're around!!!" the bunny then collapsed back onto the booth table.

I think it's about time I moved on. Frisk thought, exiting the restaurant.

From outside the restaurant, Frisk started making his way back to the Waterfall Caves. As he was passing the last house in town, Papyrus came out the front door carrying a trash-bag.

"OH, YOU CAME BACK TO SEE ME!" Papyrus said, placing the bag outside by the front door.

"What? Oh, yeah, of course I did!" Frisk said, somewhat surprised by the sudden appearance of Papyrus.

"YOU MUST BE REALLY SERIOUS ABOUT THIS... I'LL HAVE TO TAKE YOU SOMEPLACE REALLY SPECIAL... A PLACE I LIKE TO SPEND A LOT OF TIME!!! FOLLOW ME!!!"

Papyrus and Frisk then both walked back into town, though when they reached where Grillby's was, Papyrus flipped around and started walking back. He then stopped when they reached the house he'd come out of.

"MY HOUSE!!!"

Papyrus then went back inside, followed by Frisk.

The inside of the house wasn't much of anything special. The main room consisted of a table against the wall just right of the door, a couch sitting across from a television in the middle of the room, a large doorway leading into the kitchen on the right side (just across from the front door), and a staircase leading to the second floor on the left side. The second floor wasn't particularly special, either, as it simply housed two doors, one on the left and one on the right. Between the two doors hung a portrait of a femur.

"WELCOME TO SCENIC MY HOUSE! ENJOY AND TAKE YOUR TIME!!!"

Frisk went into the kitchen, closely followed by Papyrus. The kitchen wasn't really anything special either. It sported a trash can in the corner next to the door sitting across from a stove. Next to the stove was a counter. In the back-right corner of the room stood a refrigerator. Next to the fridge was what looked like an extremely tall sink, which peaked Frisk's curiosity.

"IMPRESSED? I INCREASED THE HEIGHT OF MY SINK. NOW I CAN FIT UNDER IT. TAKE A LOOKSY!"

Frisk opened the under-sink cupboard. The inside looked like a shower stall, complete with lights circling around the showerhead at the top.

"Real interesting house you got." Frisk finally said, closing the cupboard door.

"WHY THANK YOU, HUMAN. IF YOU'VE FINISHED LOOKING AROUND... WE COULD GO INTO MY ROOM AND... *HANG OUT* LIKE A PAIR OF VERY COOL FRIENDS?"

"Sure, why not."

Frisk, following Papyrus, ascended the staircase to the second floor and entered the left door.

This was Papyrus's room. Mostly empty space, the things that were in the room told quite a bit about Papyrus. In the front-left corner of the room sat a red Fiero that lacked a windshield and roof, and had the entire cabin remodeled into a bed. Next to the car sat a table covered in action figures. Next to that was a bookshelf stocked full of books. Between the table and bookshelf hung a jolly roger. Next to the bookshelf was the closet, followed by a computer sitting in front of a window. The center of the room was covered by a purple rug that was decorated around the outside with flames.

"WELL, HERE WE ARE!! HANGING OUT!! I'VE ACTUALLY NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE. BUT DON'T WORRY!!! YOU CAN'T SPELL 'PREPARED' WITHOUT SEVERAL LETTERS FROM MY NAME!!!" Papyrus reached into his outfit and pulled out a book. "I SNAGGED AN OFFICIAL HANGOUT GUIDEBOOK FROM THE LIBRARY! WE'RE READY TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!"

Great idea. Frisk thought as Papyrus opened the book and started reading it.

"'STEP ONE... ASK THEM TO HANG OUT.'" he read. Papyrus put the book down, stared straight at Frisk, then said "HUMAN! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS... WILL HANG OUT WITH YOU!!!"

"Alright..." Frisk said while thinking Not exactly a question, but alright.

"R-REALLY??? WOWIE!!! I GUESS THAT MEANS IT'S TIME FOR STEP TWO!!!" Papyrus pulled the book back up to his nose. "'STEP TWO... PUT ON NICE CLOTHES TO SHOW YOU CARE!'" Papyrus paused, then slowly brought the book back down, setting it on the table filled with action figures. "WAIT A SECOND. 'WEAR CLOTHING...' THAT GREEN JACKET AND THOSE LEATHER GAUNTLETS YOU'RE WEARING... YOU'RE WEARING CLOTHING RIGHT NOW!!! NOT ONLY THAT... EARLIER TODAY, YOU WERE ALSO WEARING CLOTHING! NO... COULD IT BE??? YOU'VE WANTED TO HANG OUT WITH ME FROM THE VERY BEGINNING!??"

Frisk didn't know what to say. What the heck are you on, Papyrus? he thought. After a bit, Frisk finally decided to say "Yeah, that was it. Totally."

Papyrus was immediately struck with awe, eyes gone wide with disbelief. "NO!!" he said, trying to deny the truth of what he'd just heard. "YOU PLANNED IT ALL!!! YOU'RE WAY BETTER AT HANGING OUT THAN I AM!!!"

After a few more seconds of disbelief, Papyrus finally managed to recompose himself.

"NYEH!" he shouted suddenly, "NYEH HEH HEH!!! DON'T THINK YOU'VE BESTED MY YET! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS... HAVE NEVER BEEN BEATEN AT HANGING OUT, AND I NEVER WILL!"

It's not a competition, Papyrus...

"I CAN EASILY KEEP UP WITH YOU!!! YOU SEE, I, TOO, CAN WEAR CLOTHING!!! IN FACT... I ALWAYS WEAR MY *SPECIAL* CLOTHES UNDERNEATH MY REGULAR CLOTHES!! JUST IN CASE SOMEONE WANTS TO HANG OUT! BEHOLD!!!"

Papyrus then ran into the closet, slammed the door, then burst out of it a few seconds later wearing a strange outfit you might wear to the gym.

"NYEH!" he said after appearing again. "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY SECRET STYLE!?!"

"Oh, it's absolutely fantastic."

"NO!!! A GENUINE COMPLIMENT...!!!"

That worked out...

"HOWEVER..." Papyrus said after a short period of silence. "YOU DON'T TRULY UNDERSTAND THE HIDDEN POWER OF THIS OUTFIT!!! THEREFORE... WHAT YOU JUST SAID IS INVALID!!! THIS HANG-OUT WON'T ESCALATE ANY FURTHER! ... UNLESS YOU FIND MY SECRET!! BUT THAT WON'T HAPPEN!!"

Sighing, Frisk took a good look at the outfit. After a minute of looking around at it, he spotted something bulging underneath Papyrus's baseball cap.

"Is it your hat?" he asked.

"MY HAT...? MY HAT. MY HAT! NYEH HEH HEH!" Papyrus took his hat off, revealing a flat present. "W-WELL THEN... YOU FOUND MY SECRET! I SUPPOSE I HAVE NO CHOICE! IT'S A PRESENT... A PRESENT J-JUST FOR YOU!!!"

Papyrus took the present off his head and gave it to Frisk, who opened it, revealing a plate of food within.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS?" Papyrus asked.

"Of course."

"SPAGHETTI. THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE THINKING, ISN'T IT?"

"Yeah."

"RIGHT! BUT OH-SO WRONG! THIS AIN'T ANY PLAIN OL' PASTA! THIS IS AN ARTISAN'S WORK! SILKEN SPAGHETTI, FINELY AGED IN AN OAKEN CASK... THEN COOKED BY ME, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS! HUMAN!!! IT'S TIME TO END THIS!! THERE'S NO WAY THIS CAN GO ANY FURTHER!"

Frisk looked down at the spaghetti. He didn't know what it was, but every cell in his body was screaming at him to not eat it.

"I'm sorry, Papyrus, but I can't eat this. It is too great for one such as I." he said.

"YOU MEAN... YOU'RE LETTING ME HAVE IT INSTEAD? BECAUSE YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE PASTA..."

"Yeah, that's it."

"IMPOSSIBLE!! TAKING MY PRESENT AND TURNING IT AROUND ON ME! HUMAN. IT'S CLEAR NOW. YOU'RE COMPLETELY OBSESSED WITH ME. EVERYTHING YOU DO. EVERYTHING YOU SAY. IT'S ALL BEEN FOR MY SAKE. HUMAN. I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY, TOO. IT'S TIME FOR ME TO EXPRESS MY FEELINGS. IT'S TIME THAT I TOLD YOU. I, PAPYRUS..." Papyrus then stopped speaking for a second. "WELL, I'M FLATTERED YOU CARE SO MUCH. BUT MAYBE COOL IT A LITTLE BIT...? YOU ARE A VERY NICE PERSON. I'M GLAD WE'RE FRIENDS. BUT I THINK YOU CAN REACH YOUR MAX POTENTIAL... IF YOU LIVE MORE FOR YOUR OWN SAKE, RATHER THAN JUST FOR MINE. HMMM... HEY, I KNOW THE SOLUTION!!! YOU SHOULD HANG OUT WITH MY BOSS, UNDYNE!!! I THINK IF YOU SPREAD YOUR FRIEND-ENERGY OUT MORE... YOU'LL HAVE A HEALTHIER LIFESTYLE. YEAH!!! LET'S BE FRIENDS WITH UNDYNE!!! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!! OH, AND IF YOU EVER NEED TO REACH ME, HERE'S MY PHONE NUMBER." Papyrus gave Frisk a slip of paper. "YOU CAN CALL ME ANY TIME! WELL, GOTTA GO! NYEH HEH HEH!"

As Papyrus finished speaking, he ran out of the room.

Well that was a roller-coaster. Frisk thought as he, too, exited the room. From there, Frisk descended the staircase and left the house. Though he hadn't realized it earlier, it was actually quite warm inside, and he regretted the fact that he couldn't stay inside where the cold was not.

Once outside, Frisk stretched his arms up into the sky and, just as he was about to move on to the Waterfall Caves again, spotted a humanoid figure draped in a leather-brown cloak watching him from the shadows of some buildings across from Papyrus's house. As soon as Frisk looked in their direction, the shadowy figure turned around and walked down the alley between the houses.

What the hell!?! Frisk thought. Living on the streets for years, he knew straight away that this was a very bad sign, and so he gave chase after the figure. "WAIT!!!" he called out, but the figure didn't seem to hear, or didn't seem to care. By the time Frisk reached the alley, the figure had completely disappeared. What the hell was that!?!

Frisk looked down the alley for what seemed like an eternity, scanning for any sign of the shadowy figure and where it may have gone. Eventually, Frisk stepped away from the alley and cautiously made his way towards the Waterfall Caves.

"Possibly... More research must be done before I accept this hypothesis, though." the shadowy figure mumbled to himself far out of earshot from Frisk, crouching in the trees behind the houses. With stealthful grace, unknown to Frisk, the shadowy figure pursued him.

Replay : Papyrus

Previous First posting First of this book Next

[araeph]

How do you see relationships between the Gaang progressing throughout adulthood? Bryke obviously did a bad job portraying them in general, and seeing how the other avatar writers felt the same, I imagined so much more for our favorite characters than what Bryke lazily did. Any thoughts on other characters like June?

First of all, therewould be NO leaving Zuko completely on his own to govern the Fire Nation. Thatis just a stupid move politically, militarily,

Jack: Spiritually, ecumenically, dramatically …

You name it. Thismeans that Iroh stays in the Fire Nation with Zuko, so that rather thanbacksliding by chatting with Ozai, Zuko would gain ground in his mission toredeem himself and the Fire Nation. The first few years would be extremelyvolatile, and there would be a lot of challenges ahead. He would have to searchfor his mother and reconcile, somehow, with Azula. But you know who would havebeen there to help him?

Aang. No, not theAang who decided “A promise is a promise!” and went into the Avatar State twice to attack Zuko. No, this Aang hascomplete control of the Avatar State, as he shouldhave by the end of the show, since that was one of the main goals of hischaracter. Aang would have gone to the Fire Nation first, since he spent theleast amount of time there out in the open and would have major trustrebuilding to do after what happened with Ozai.

During his time inthe Fire Nation, he would have discovered Ty Lee as an untrained airbender.This would give him the impetus to start looking for other airbenders, whomight not even know about their gifts. He would have difficulty with awork-life balance, but he would eventually find a way with the help of:

Toph. Toph’smetalbending academy is something I wholeheartedly approve of. I think sheshould eventually become a businesswoman and use her family’s vast wealth tomake Gaoling (and their new ally, Omashu) alternate power centers, so Ba SingSe wouldn’t have such a stranglehold on the rest of the Earth Kingdom, with metalbenders initially acting as private security, and later, a police force in the city. But while I understand that Toph has the attitude of a beat cop, she hates the city,walls, and rules, and there would be a bunch of all three if she became Chiefof Police. (P.S. She would have many more tea times with Uncle, and get that life-changing field trip with Zuko we allwanted to see.)

Toph would alsohave issues to sort through with her parents, and she would probably never seeeye to eye with her family. But one person would help coach her through it:

Katara. At first,Katara would bury herself in her work at the South Pole, helping her father,brother, and Pakku rebuild the Southern Water Tribe. She would be at the heartof social justice issues, especially for Water Tribe women, and would challengemore than one antiquated idea that the Northerners would bring with them. Shewould get many marriage offers once she turned sixteen, and to take a breakfrom it, she would answer Zuko’s request help find his mother. This leads toher realizing how stifled she feels at home, where everyone expects her tocater to them, in addition to helping lead their tribe. She would apply for adiplomatic post to the Fire Nation and eventually create her own cross-bendingschool, adapting her school from Toph’s metalbending academy. At first, shewould worry about not being at home enough to help the women’s rights movementin the Water Tribe, but someone else has the situation under control:

Suki. Suki would bean asset as the head of the Kyoshi Warriors, and also as a partner for Sokka.Her island’s location and the fact that the villagers wear blue all point toWater Tribe influence on Kyoshi anyway, and once the war is over and tradebegins booming again, she would work to make Kyoshi less of a spectator in theworld and more of a participant. She would be an excellent role model forSouthern Water Tribe girls who don’t want to be pigeonholed into the homemakerideal, and could also play a part in Republic City eventually. As the leader ofan island that was neutral during the war, Suki would be an ideal person tohave on the Republic City Council. (P.S. Why it’s a Council of Five when thereare no nonbending representatives in LOK is a mystery to me. This would fixthat oversight.) But who would lead the Kyoshi Warriors if she took up such aposition?

Ty Lee. Ty Lee didn’tget a real explanation for why she joined the Kyoshi Warriors, especiallyconsidering her misgivings about spending the rest of her life as a matchedset. She could turn the tables on the idea, lending individuality to theWarriors and teaching them chi blocking techniques while learning some of theirfighting styles as well. These nonbenders could eventually form the Equalistmovement, but a different one than in LOK—a morally ambiguous movement, insteadof a villainous cadre led by a demagogue.

In the end, though,Ty Lee is a wanderer, and I’m inclined to believe that she is, in fact, anuntrained Air Nomad. Eventually she would discover this, and that not only isshe not part of a matched set; she is possibly one of the rarest human beingsin the world. This would interfere with her “aura” for sure, because she’s notnecessarily cut out for the ascetic Air Nomad lifestyle. So while she would behappy for Aang to train her, she might also butt heads with him about how tobest secure the Air Nomad legacy for the future. Of course, since the AirAcolytes in Korra treated Kya andBumi so abysmally, in my opinion this could only be a good thing. Through itall, she would still keep in touch with:

Mai. I have adifferent character path planned for Mai than what other fans might suggest. Maibecoming a bounty hunter is a popular fanon idea, which makes sense, since shedid seem to enjoy tracking down Zuko and Iroh so that Azula could imprisonthem for life, as anyone would enjoy doing to a person they supposedly had acrush on. To me, Mai’s poker face and cool-under-fire attitude screams“White Lotus”, of which there are no female members that we know at the endof A:TLA. The main obstacle to inducting her into the Order would be that theWhite Lotus is based on principles of interconnection and understanding othercultures, which Mai categorically does not have. But this is one of the placesshe could thus grow the most, without having such character development tied toa specific person. The fact that she fooled the Fire Princess means she canplay both sides skillfully, which she’ll need to, considering a rival to theidea of a balanced world is going to be:

Azula. With Ozaiimprisoned and without his bending, Azula is the most creditable foe thefranchise still has. Patchy though her sanity might be, she is still extremelydangerous (as we saw during the Agni Kai). In an ideal world, she would use heralmost preternatural instincts for personal weakness and manipulation to be aruler, but the very confidence she exudes is based on her rigid mindset and afalse sense of Fire Nation superiority. As natural as leadership might be forher, she burned all her bridges when she banished or imprisoned every followershe had. I like the idea of her relearning the meaning of firebending from thedragons and bringing the Sun Warriors into the modern era, but it would be avery painful character path for her when just being mentally stable is a hugehurdle. I think she would need to stay in the Fire Nation for several years,slowly healing with Zuko’s help, before even attempting it.

There is one otherpath that I would consider for Azula, and that is: the Spirit World. Azula isnot a terribly spiritual person, but a spiritual journey such as Iroh underwentmight actually help her. It could train her mind to separate illusion and self-deceptionfrom reality, and give her a better sense of where she belongs in the world.Not to mention, the Spirit World is dangerous and full of tricksters such asKoh; I think she would enjoy the challenge.

And what about Sokka?

Well, Sokka’s character got shoved to the side in the comics, but honestly, him being on the Republic City council, helping the White Lotus, and likely being chief one day is just fine! Legend of Korra didn’t really do him the disservice that it did the other characters. However, there is one thing that he will never, EVER be, and that is the possible deadbeat dad of Suyin. For my reasons why, please look at this post.

I don’t have ideasfor anyone else, really, but we can’t leave out our most important character:

The GAang. In thecomics and LOK, the GAang all seem to have gone their separate ways, especiallywith Zuko being so isolated from everyone except Aang. Katara, too, seemsvery cut off from current events, which is unacceptable. The GAang remainedlifelong friends, regardless of any romantic relationships or lack thereof.Busy and hazardous as their lives might have been, they would always make thetime to write, visit, plan projects, and attend reunions together.

(P.S. I don’t knowthat June needs to develop as a character; she’s one of those tertiarypersonalities that’s just fine with the amount of screentime she has.)

[thedaywebuiltthefort-blog]

Welcome to DnD

After something of a manic few weeks, I’ve finally had time to sit down and update the blog. What with marathon training, working on the novel, going to my actual job and playing with pygmy hedgehogs I’ve found myself unintentionally putting the blog on hold.

That isn’t to say that during that time I haven’t been ticking a few things off the list. Because I very much have. But I’m not here to write about that today, no.

Today I am here to write about a challenge that would defy everything I have come to know about my physical, mental and spiritual limitations and teach me that anything can, and will happen.

Or at least it would have, had my character not fallen asleep.

I’m talking about my very first foray into the dark and mysterious world of Dungeons and Dragons.

Now, if you don’t already know what D&D is, I would suggest looking up Critical Role. Whilst there is an absolute trove of D&D sites, books and blogs to get you up to speed, for anyone that has come to the game recently, there is a good chance that it’s all thanks to the online show.

As a writer and lifelong fantasy fan, I have always been vaguely aware of how D&D works. I’ve helped draw up character sheets, I’ve watched videos and I know that at some point there was a largely disappointing movie made based on the game. However, I’d never actually played it, until now.

Thanks to a borderline obsession with Critical Role, my husband recently started playing D&D and had tried a few different online groups. Having sat and watched him play a few times, I thought perhaps it might be time to give it a try on a one-off, non-committal basis.

After a quick chat with the DM (Dungeon Master) of his most recent group, it was agreed that I could join their current quest as a six foot tall, bald female half-elf character named Ude.

The first thing we did was run through the different aspects of the character and what she could do. My other half got me to pick out my choices for spells, cantrips, and physical attributes. Now, this I could deal with, and I’m told that I made fairly decent choices.

I did find, however, that as my other half was happily explaining in lengthy detail what each of the different choices meant, my eyes were glazing over and my brain found itself pondering whether or not birds technically have armpits, which is the sort of question my brain often asks.

I discovered very quickly that when it comes to D&D, whilst anything can and will happen during the game, before that there are an awful lot of things you need to know. Most of which I found very confusing. It eventually ended up with me saying things like ‘yeah but that one’s got a fireball, I want that one.’

With Ude’s character sheet finalised, we sent it off to DM for a quick check through. Following this and prior to the game, my husband arranged for me to have a quick chat with the DM to run through some of the finer points of the character and what we would be doing.

Unfortunately, I was under the impression that the DM wanted to speak to me.

The DM was under the impression that I wanted to speak to him.

It made for a somewhat stilted conversation as I desperately tried to think up questions and not look as unprepared as I was, whilst my other half stood in the background looking confused and whispering ‘go on then, talk...’

Fortunately, the DM turned out to be a pretty chilled out person and he managed to talk me through some of my expectations, answered my off the cuff questions and generally made me feel like a lot less of an idiot than I felt.

Several days later it was game day. I spent a few hours rearranging the kitchen, setting up various props and lighting (much to my husband’s amusement/annoyance) so that I could film the session both for reference and so I could use a few video snippets on the blog.

Despite his reservations about both my skills in cinematography and furniture moving, my husband did dutifully create me a camera holder for my phone using the best cardboard box and masking tape that money can buy.*

*This later turned out to be pointless as the video wasn’t even of good enough quality to edit, much less bother publishing. I will state just for the record that the kitchen however remains rearranged because it looks better now.

As is normal with any social event (albeit online), about an hour before we start I’m hit with a wave of nerves which only seem to increase as we get set up.

I’m nervous about meeting new people in any capacity. This is largely based on previous experience and my natural talent for looking and sounding like a bit of a weirdo around strangers.

I remedy this with the liberal application of wine from the shop over the road.

Just before we get started, I have a quick chat with the DM.

As I’m joining part way through the campaign there are a few things I need to know about the setting, where the party is heading and what they do and don’t know at this point.

He tells me a few things and all of a sudden it all feels a little bit espionage-esque, like my laptop will self destruct thirty seconds after receiving all of the pertinent information.

I’m not entirely sure how much, if anything, of what I’m told I am meant to reveal however it doesn’t matter as I instantly forget everything I’ve just been told.

The game starts and I spend the first few minutes just trying to get a grasp of the other characters and what they’re doing. As my character is a guest on this session I don’t actually get introduced until a little while in.

At this early point, I encounter my first hurdle. I can recognise the DM’s voice and I can pick out the only other female in the group, but other than that I have no idea who is talking when. This makes it hard for me to track which characters are where. We also had several problems with internet connection and lost the sound feed a couple of times. This meant that there were a few occasions where I missed large chunks of the conversation.

So before my character even gets to put in an appearance, I’m sweating with nerves and completely lost, almost to the point of thinking it would be better if I just bowed out gracefully with my dignity in tact.

The thing about D&D - and especially the worlds that it creates - is that this is not just a board game that you whip out and play off the cuff.

This is hours of planning, creation and prep work for the DM.

People get emotionally invested in the story and their characters. I don’t want to be the idiot that comes in and accidentally kills everyone by launching an inadvertent fireball at them.

Eventually, my character is introduced. I summon up all of my courage and prepare to reel off the detailed description of Ude and her personality that I have spent the past few weeks preparing.

But I don’t.

Instead, my character sidles up to the only other female character and stands there, looking awkward and generally being closer than it is necessary to be to someone you’ve just met. So pretty much mirroring my normal reaction to this situation in the real world.

Now I’m going, to be honest – I don’t remember a whole lot of what was going on at this point. I wanted to be as engaged in the campaign as possible but really I was just having trouble keeping up.

I also wasn’t sure what I could and couldn’t do, despite my husband’s constant reassurances that my character can pretty much attempt to do anything (although any actions will have varying degrees of success).

I think at one point I actually said ‘Ude is going to suggest that she might possibly have something to say’ before waiting for permission to say what it was she wanted to say and still not being one hundred percent confident I should have said anything at all.

I knew the party was required to fetch a black orchid from the jungle, for reasons that have since escaped me, and saw this as my first opportunity to utilize one of my amazing character attributes.

I offered to turn into a dire wolf so that I could run really fast and go fetch it.

The plan didn’t actually work out, so sadly for me, I didn’t get to show off my wolfy prowess, but I was duly told by my husband that this had been a good suggestion.

Lack of wolfiness aside, the party set out to find the black orchid having spent the earlier part of the game flicking between sourcing information from the bird people (https://www.dndbeyond.com/races/aarakocra) who resided in the mountain village we had just visited, and making humorous digs at the bard (who seemed to inexplicably have a lot of musical instruments).

Just as I start to feel like I’m starting to hit my stride and get into it, the party is attacked by a tiger hybrid. As the other members of the party start to take their turns, I revel in the fact that finally, my character can do something cool and awesome!

I will save the day and everyone will love me! I mean Ude!

My turn rolls (no pun intended) around and having quickly refreshed myself on the various powers and spells I can use (tangling vines, woo yeah, firebolt, woo yeah, big magic stick, woo yeah) get ready to do a battle like a badass heroine.

Then my character falls asleep.

I’m not sure how or why, but once again D&D feels strangely relatable. Weeks spent worrying and stressing over a big event only to inevitably sleep through it all and miss it.

The group put in a good show and once Ude eventually wakes up she does get to use some of her healing powers to patch up a couple of players who fell afoul of a few well-aimed tiger beast strikes. Personally, I’m just happy that a) nobody has died and b) I didn’t accidentally kill them.

As we come to the end of the session, I actually find myself finally feeling a little more relaxed. I now have a sort of understanding who is playing who and which characters bring what to the group. There is a little bit of post-game chat which seems to mostly be the other members of the group reading out the list of tasks I have to complete from the blog with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

Despite their reservations at some of the tasks (in particular the ones that my niece came up with), they’re a group of funny, engaging and welcoming people.

There are not many places you can go where people are genuinely intrigued by the idea of farting in public as a challenge. Apparently, that isn’t the case in the world of Dungeons and Dragons.

I’d like to have been able to give a more detailed account of the gameplay itself and what happened; unfortunately, the truth is I still haven’t quite worked out about eighty percent of it.

The only way I’m going to remedy that is by trying again, which I intend to do.

D&D isn’t just a game that you can pick up and play – there are worlds within worlds and a lot to learn. Did I have fun? Yes, I did. Do I think I was any good? Absolutely not, I was a whisper away from completely useless.

I guess Ude is just going to have to put in another appearance.

You know, for research purposes.

[lextenou]

The Gayest Bunch of Songs I Ever Did Hear

AKA The Songs That Helped Lead to My Sexual Awakening.

I love music. I love having something playing in the background. I apparently know a lot of songs, if my record at pub quiz is any indication. In this spirit, I’ve curated this list of songs that mean something to me as part of my journey from child to adult.

Many a year ago, as but a spritely lad, I saw a movie. ‘Twas a rather pedestrian movie, all told, but well casted and well framed teen movie. What really threw it over the top was the blatantly “fuck you, I am in charge of me” feminist slant that the movie took. A baby Yeardley Smith was in it - notable as this was released three years before she would take on her lifetime role of Lisa Simpson. 

She was not what caught my eye and my burgeoning interest. No, that honor was reserved for the lead and namesake of the movie, Helen Slater. In her role as the confused and desperate teenager Billie Jean, Slater managed to create in me a respect for the autonomy of self, and a lifelong deep seated weakness for blondes with short hair. 

All told, The Legend of Billie Jean occupies a special place. Ostensibly inoffensive, it has as its crux the story of a girl who deals with unceasing, unrelenting soul crushing beatdowns of spirit. But then! In taking up protection for her brother, she finds in herself the will to stand up, fight, and demand what’s fair. Indeed, the mantra of “Fair is fair” rings throughout the movie, and the slimy douchebaggery of a crotch grabbing ass spelunking ephebophile attempting to convince her to accept payment in the form of his dick throws her past the breaking point. 

At which point there’s kidnapping and running from the law. 

The main song, and indeed, the theme of the movie is Pat Benatar’s “Invincible”. The video includes the standard clips from the movie, including scenes of Slater both before and after she cuts off her hair. Also, no, she and Christian are not actually brother and sister despite playing siblings in the movie.

I went through a lot of changes in 1999. Not the least of which was mourning the passing of the Prince song “1999″, I also had a magnificent few months in San Francisco, where I first listened to The Butches. Comprised of Kaia Wilson, Alison Martlew and Melissa York, they were iconic and pioneering. Every bit as much as Wilson’s first major band, Team Dresch, The Butchies managed to find an accessible and aggressive sound rooted firmly in dyke loving. 

Seeing them at San Francisco Pride remains a highlight of my life. 

While “Send Me You” is their most perfect song, “Sex (I’m a Lesbian)” was the first track from them that I ever ran across while silently tapping at my keyboard after everyone else had gone to bed. It’s frenetic energy rises and ebbs, bringing the listener to an abrupt crescendo that leaves you gasping. 

Much like an orgasm. 

Listening to The Butchies reminds me of a very simple adage: fuck ‘em. I owe no one an explanation for who I am. 

If you ever look them up, they are also quite attractive. I highly recommend it. 

The late 90′s had rather a zeitgeist of queer culture coming to the public. Peter Jackson’s Heavenly Creatures burst on the scene, leaving everyone stunned that such a horrific murder could be made into such a beautiful movie. Lillith Faire was touring - and releasing compilation albums. 

I had the chance to snag one of those compilation samplers. Lillith Fair 1998 New Music Sampler had as track three “Everything for Free” from K’s Choice. 

From the moment I first heard Sarah Betten’s voice, I was captivated. Fronting the band along with her brother Gert, The band took a break a year after Sarah came out in 2002. They have formed and re-formed in the years since, and her solo work was able to be heard in numerous places, including on queer shows. K’s Choice did also perform “Virgin State of Mind” on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

It is difficult to say which era of the band, or which of her solo songs is my favorite. At different times, each one has spoken to me in different ways. “Stay” is a beautifully sweet and romantic mid tempo ballad. “Come Over Here” with its driving bass and drum simplicity gets stuck in the head incessantly. “Killing Dragons” has some of the best harmonies I’ve ever heard. “Hide” gets me through some incredibly dark times. 

watch me, I’m coming closer

I am the mood you’re in tonight...

The first song I heard, however, remains near the top of the list. It’s story is not initially complex until it becomes clear that the narrator may or may not require institutionalization. It may just be a gay kid, locked up because their parents don’t want to deal with learning who their child is. It may be someone who’s had a break from reality. Realizing that the narrator is unreliable throws the entire song off kilter and completely transforms it from a straightforward tale to layered and mysterious. 

To bring it full circle, K’s Choice did do a song based on Heavenly Creatures. It’s called “Winners”. 

we will be winners, our heads glued together

and all is indefinite in you

In 1992, Nakayoshi magazine printed the first act of Bishoujo Senshi SailorMoon, finishing in 1996. In August of 1993, Bishoujo Senshi SailorMoon Musical Gaidan Dark Kingdom Fukkatsu Hen was staged. For the next thirteen years, the musicals, or Myu as they are colloquially known, were staged. 

The Myu is notable for multiple reasons, not the least of which is that the original cast can be seen on an inside jacket of one of the issues of the original manga. They are canonical every bit as much as the anime is - though the Myu actually took Naoko Takeuchi’s direction. In the third story arc, the Infinity/Mugen/S arc, there are a couple new characters introduced. 

SailorUranus and SailorNeptune. 

They are always presented as a loving lesbian couple, so much so that directors have told the actresses to “Act like you’re married. You are a married couple.” In the Myu, this is seen much more than in other versions. The longest running actresses to play Uranus and Neptune were Nao Takagi and Asami Yuuhka. The two were fan favorites as well, leading to their roles being prominent in multiple musicals. The characters were also given multiple duets or group songs, all of which embraced fully their rampant lesbianism. Of these, the song that blew up the Myu fandom was “Destined Couple”.

A duet between Uranus and Neptune, it takes place as the closing of a fight between the senshi. They are admonishing SailorMoon that sacrifices must be made. The song is a powerful ballad that illustrates the love the two share, and their devotion to their mission of protection. 

Seeing these two for the first time, learning about the musicals and how downright blatant their representation is to this day...

It made me realize that I wasn’t alone. There were people who did feel the way I did, who did think similarly to how I did. It was possible to not be living according to the restrictive gendered norms that I grew up with. I could live as myself, be comfortable with myself, without apology.

Through SailorMoon and Myu fandom, I’ve met and made friends with more people than I ever would have imagined. The first time my wife came over to netflix and chill, the first thing she noticed was a Myu poster. I almost messed it up by correcting her that they’re not “scouts”. Everything went better than expected. 

I still have my Myu dvds. It’s almost time for a rewatch. I’m going to have a couple friends over and introduce them to Hikari Ono, the Lesbian Vampire Ninja Pirate. 

But first, the lesbian soldier love song. This version is a fanvid with Nao and Yuhka singing, but the video is of the current reboot, with Shuu and Sayaka. I chose this one because its subtitled. At the end, it switches to include Nao and Yuhka. 

I came out when I was a teenager. It was a difficult decision. I didn’t honestly know how my mother would take it. I knew she’d had close gay friends before, but I’m her kid. Would she kick me out? Would she stop loving me? Would she be able to accept me for who I am? I went to a record store and bought Melissa Etheridge’s “Yes I Am”. I put it on to play and sat my mother down. I told her. She was quiet for a while, then told me that she loved me and while it might take her a little bit to adjust, it was okay. Everything was okay. She hugged me as I cried in relief. I told her that I’d been worried. It was a catharsis I didn’t realize I needed. I’m significantly older now, and have been able to be there for my mother over the years. I am proud to call myself her kid, and she is proud to have me as her oldest. She loves and accepts me as I am. She told me more about her gay best friend in high school, who died of AIDS in the 80′s. I had always wondered why she’d gone to California when I was little, and why Dad was so upset about it.  When my sisters told Dad that I was out and proud and married to a woman, he put down his dinner fork and stared for a while. When I met up with him a few years later, he’d adjusted and was able to tell me he was happy for me and still loved me. 

I’ve never been shy about who I am. I’ve yelled at more than one person telling me I’m using the wrong bathroom. I surround myself now with good people, who love and respect me. I’m apparently able to make friends easily when we’re in bars and clubs, to my wife’s amusement. I don’t go to gay spaces much anymore. I spent my last birthday in our local Irish pub and made friends with a beer rep who is from the town that makes my all time favorite beer. I have no idea how many beers she bought me. It was magical. 

When I came out to my mother, I would have never imagined that my life now could possibly be the way it is. It is due to her strength and character that I am who I am and that I can stand up and be proud of who I am. 

In that spirit, I am including here “Mama, I’m Strange”. From Melissa Etheridge’s “Breakdown” album, this song resonates strongly with me. I find the message a powerful one, and the upbeat nature of the song lets me sink into the song without further thought. The first time I heard it, I sat stunned and remembered coming out to my mother. 

[seungcheolrk]

naboogungan uploaded a new video ! 꽃길 (flower way) — 세정 (구구단) (sejeong (gugudan)) (special video)

to raise a single flower, how much rain fell in your eyes? november, eleventh month. thank you for everything.

posted: december 25th, 2016.

( tw !! brief mention of dieting )

getting signed to sphere had put a lot of things into perspective. 

first, how precious his free time was. the hours he had spent watching movies out of boredom, the long afternoons he’d spend in his friends’ company; it all felt so much more significant when he lost it. no longer could he let his bedroom fade into darkness, eyes trained on ‘a new hope’. no longer could he make the journey over to jihoon’s when he needed a warm, small hug. sure, he had seen him yesterday and they had let the sun set behind them as they tucked into popcorn and movies, but that had been the first time since he signed the dotted line that he felt as if he was really enjoying his spare time. usually, he walked through the front door of his home, greeted his parents and crashed the moment his head hit the pillow. 

second is how much junk food he truly used to scoff down during the daytime. he isn’t one to be obsessively unhealthy, and he works out regularly, so it never really shows either way, but for the boy who just ate whatever he could find whenever he was hungry, being placed on a strict diet was difficult (to say the least) to adapt to. his stomach growled for a while, but he thinks, by now, he’s used to the lingering hunger. 

but what hit him the hardest, what he saw in the pride and the sadness in his parents’ eyes was that he had always taken their love for granted. 

he isn’t an ungrateful child — far from it. seungcheol buys his mother flowers every so often, never forgets a birthday or anniversary, exercises the manners they’d taught him when he was little, but he hadn’t realised quite what his parents had given up to help him blossom into the young man he is today. 

his father’s career, countless hours of his mother’s life caring for him when his father was away— seungcheol could go on forever listing the things his parents had given up for him, no matter how big or small, and yet, he felt like he hadn’t truly thanked them for any of it. there’s not a bone in his body that isn’t thankful, and he knows that they know without him having to speak a word, but that isn’t the point. 

the first time he heard flower way, he cried. the second time, harder. by the hundredth, five hundredth even, it still brings him close, his throat closing and his heart racing, but it’s clear — this is it. this is perfect.

maybe it’s a little conceited to gift your parents a song cover for christmas (among other things), but there’s more to it than that. this project is more than a few hours in their studio, a couple hours editing and done. it’s a thank you. for everything. now and forever.

세상이란 게 제법 춥네요 당신의 안에서 살던 때 보다 모자람 없이 주신 사랑이 과분하다 느낄 때쯤 난 어른이 됐죠

한 송이 꽃을 피우려 작은 두 눈에 얼마나 많은 비가 내렸을까

in the style of the original music video, seungcheol took a look back on the life his parents had given him. home videos were of the plenty in their family. his mother had always been a stickler for organisation, so it was no surprise to him that all their old vcrs and tapes were converted to discs and filed in chronological order in the spare room. there have been many times where seungcheol had cursed his mother’s business background; the times where she’d catch him out for treating himself to candy whilst on errands, for example. she would work out the price exactly, yet always ‘accidentally’ give him too much, and it hadn’t been until he looked back that he realised she did this without fault, every time. however, there are times where he’s grateful for it, like that cold saturday evening earlier in the month when his parents had gone out for a nice meal and he watched through each dvd from his birth (though he skips the actual birth video; he’s only human) to today to pick out his favourite clips. 

the first clip fades in from a few seconds of a black screen, the instrumental from the single increasing in volume slowly. as the guitar kicks in, a clip of christmas 2004 starts. he’s tearing the festive paper off a brand new guitar — the one he uses to this day — eyes twinkling. faintly, the sound of his cooing and his parents’ laughter can be heard over the music. 

the second jumps forward almost nine years to the summer of ‘13. he’s filled out (though still growing) and still no taller than the boy beside him (though certainly broader). where jeonghan’s build appears graceful, seungcheol’s is like a bull in a china shop, but neither of those things are obvious as they’re tucked under four blankets on the sofa, the loading screen of a movie long finished illuminating their faces just enough for them to be distinguishable on camera. 

oh rewind 돌이킬수록 더 미안 포기 안 하려 포기해버린 젊고 아름다운 당신의 계절 여길 봐 예쁘게 피었으니까 바닥에 떨어지더라도 꽃길만 걷게 해줄게요

filtered in between each blast from the past are clips from this month. over the last few years, the amount of home videos his mother recorded had fallen to almost none, and he intended to change that. maybe it was a little suspicious, him suddenly picking up the camera whenever he was home and something interesting was happening, but he shrugged off their questions with a laugh and they were eventually dropped. 

the first present day clip is the decorating of the tree. the living room is filled with fairy lights, but his mother can barely see the branches to hang her baubles. she laughs, and his father wanders over with an extra light source in the form of a small snowman to help. 

then, it rewinds again, this time to early 2009. he stands before his parents as a young boy so desperate to impress them, a hairbrush for a microphone as he raps for them for the first time. he can’t be heard in the video, but the bounce in his body is clear and the joy on his facial features as he rounds off the song is unmistakable. he shines; he always has, despite everything. he bows politely and laughs, gums on show — something else that never changes. 

문득 쳐다본 그 입가에는 미소가 폈지만 주름이 졌죠 내게 인생을 선물해주고 사랑해란 말이 그리도 고마운가요

한 송이 꽃을 피우려 작은 두 눈에 얼마나 많은 비가 내렸을까

the next clip is his father’s last performance with the kbs symphony orchestra in late ‘12. seungcheol had begged to take the day off school, but his mother had been adamant. they sit in the audience that evening, seungcheol still in his uniform. they’re the only two in the crowd wiping tears as the curtains close. neither of them can be seen in the footage, or heard over the sweet vocals and soothing backing track, but it’s emotional nonetheless. his heart aches looking at the stage his father gave up in order to settle with his family. it aches looking at how happy he was, though it’s nowhere close to the vibrancy of his smile in the next few seconds. 

it’s late summer 2003, just past his birthday. he’s perched on his father’s lap as they play the piano together, tiny hands pressing down on keys to disrupt the beautiful melody his old man plays. it’s a mystery how a child so playful was plagued — is plagued — by so many fears, but it’s an even bigger mystery how the young boy’s horrific playing had grown so quickly into the talent he adores to this day. 

or maybe it isn’t, really. not anymore. no part of him really seems a mystery when he looks back at these memories he shares with the two who had raised him through all the challenges, taught him about life and about respect, but most of all, taught him love — gave him love. 

oh rewind 돌이킬수록 더 미안 포기 안 하려 포기해버린 젊고 아름다운 당신의 계절 여길 봐 예쁘게 피었으니까 바닥에 떨어지더라도 꽃길만 걷게 해줄게요

the next clip jumps back forward, this time to not long after high school, another clip of himself in the company of a best friend — though this time a significantly smaller best friend. his soft blonde hair is the biggest giveaway of his identity, though there’s only two people in the world at that point that seungcheol would wrap his arm over the shoulders of, regardless. neither of them have any idea they’re being filmed from behind, so much is obvious in the playfulness of their antics instead of the timidness he’d often fall into at that age with a lens pointed at him. he ruffles the younger’s hair, earning a light punch. he reacts dramatically, clutching at his side until jihoon laughs, no matter how small, at which point he hooks his arm back around his shoulders, tugging him into an affectionate hug. it’s a moment they have in passing, and something they’d do often, but it means so much more when he looks back and reminds himself how scared he’d have been to make friends when he was younger — even when he started high school, he was still the same. yet, he had grown into an incredible young man with lifelong friendships under his belt thanks to his parents, who never gave up on him — who always encouraged him to try.

it reminds him of the time he ridden a bike without stabilisers, his mother letting go despite his fears of falling. he’d breezed through it, and seungcheol had wondered why he let any of his fears control him, but it’s easier said than done. 

still, he’s better than he’s ever been, and it’s his parents’ — and his friends’ — guidance that has gotten him here. he isn’t quite the man he hopes to be just yet, but he’s only young. he has plenty of time and plenty of support for getting there. all he needs is a little patience.

겨울이 와도 마음속에 봄 향기가 가득한 건 한결같이 시들지 않는 사랑 때문이죠 

the last few clips pass by in a flash as the bridge comes to an end and the final chorus starts. his gentle vocals are shaken, tiny sniffles audible in the gaps between lines. a quick slideshow of childhood photos displays, taking a trip from infancy to today, before the video fades to black as he finishes singing. the instrumental continues, and slowly, words appear and disappear on the screen — a message to the man and woman who had given up so many things to watch him thrive. 

“to my parents, who have spent twenty and a half years thus far raising me and caring for me and showing me the most love possible,

thank you. 

thank you for the sacrifices you have made and the hardships you have overcome. I know I have not been the easiest son to raise, with all the things that I’ve been frightful of over the years, but

you have never let that stop you from encouraging me every step of the way to overcome those fears and chase my dreams, even when you had to give up yours for me. 

thank you. 

thank you for teaching me the value of life, and for showing me what it means to love and be loved. thank you for teaching me music and even though I complained a lot, business. 

I love you. 

I don’t think anyone ever truly feels like they can say it enough, but I know I certainly don’t. thank you for everything. thank you for being the best parents in the world. thank you for being you. 

I will make sure you walk only on flower paths.’ 

oh rewind 짧은 바람 같던 시간 날 품에 안고 흔들림 없는 화분이 되어준 당신의 세월 여길 봐 행복만 남았으니까 다 내려놓고 이 손잡아요 꽃길만 걷게 해줄게요

the version of the video he shows his parents on christmas day is the instrumental and videos only; his vocals are live and uncharacteristically quiet in the warmth of their home. as the room falls silent, he chokes on a fresh set of tears he’d been holding back in order to sing, and two arms soon wrap around him from either side. 

“merry christmas, cheollie.” soft fingers gently wipe his cheeks, “thank you for everything, too.” 

“you’re the best son we could have ever asked for, and we’re so incredibly proud of you.” 

“right. your dad and I couldn’t have possibly gotten any luckier,” and a kiss is pressed to his temple. 

“sure?”

they laugh, “we’re sure.” 

[suudonym]

so I said that botw got me way the hell into the chosen hero trope right? this is what I’ve been ruminating on for a few days:

the sextuplets are hanging around at home one day just doing the usual nothing in particular when totoko visits, but something’s very different about her - most notably the fact that she’s dressed in some very classy-looking clothes and wearing her hair differently but also in how she carries herself and the way she speaks. she says she wants to speak to karamatsu and the others are immediately highly suspicious and then downright outraged when she clarifies that she wants to speak to him alone, but she shuts them up with an especially sharp command. intimidated out of objecting further, the others say nothing as totoko takes karamatsu and leaves the house. they go a little ways away towards a quiet alley, karamatsu asking for some kind of explanation the whole way to little avail, and then takes a weird looking pen and starts drawing some pattern on his palm (and he can’t help but notice in the process that there’s something drawn on her palm too). not sure if she uses a device to make a call/push a button/input a code or if she has a watch on her wrist and waits for a certain time or if it just happens but shortly after the pattern is finished the scenery shifts and they’re suddenly in... a place.... I haven’t decided if it’s like a wide open field or a forest or whatever but it’s somewhere nature-y and very much not tokyo. there’s a little hut nearby and some carriages and it’s all whirring with machinery, and dekapan is there - but properly dressed - and he’s all “ohh princess it worked!!”

NOW totoko takes the time to explain what’s going on, starting with an apology for not doing so sooner but she’s in a desperate situation and she thought he might be less likely to turn her down if he saw the reality of things with his own eyes first. she says that she is the ruling princess of a country that’s on the brink of destruction after years of conflict with some kind of evil force or another. the one thing keeping them together was their knight (who has some kind of fancy title I’m sure but I don’t know what it would be atm so I’ll just call him the knight), who was born with a power that allows him to ?? fight/drive back/seal/destroy/whatever the aforementioned evil force, like others are able to fight against it and hold it off but their knight is the only one capable of dealing blows that would have any tangible impact. was, was the only one - the enemy, realizing that the knight posed a real threat as he became more and more experienced and powerful, poured a ton of time and resources into developing a one-chance weapon to use against him. the weapon succeeded and the knight was killed, but his allies were able to retrieve his body before the enemy could confirm his death. totoko couldn’t allow the enemy to think that they’d successfully defeated their only threat, hid the fact of the knight’s death, and took a big risk with a piece of new magic/technology/magitechnology that I’ve been mentally referring to as “world crossing,” i.e. the ability to transpose a person into a parallel world. entrusting dekapan, the head royal scientist and her lifelong advisor and confidant, with the calculations and preparations to locate a world where they would find a match for their lost knight, totoko put herself on the line to visit the world in question and bring said match home

karamatsu’s really skeptical. he can’t really deny what he’s seeing but they’re expecting him to be some kind of fancy knight and fight against a powerful evil? totoko assures him that he can do it, that he’s the only one who can do it, and that this is surely is his destiny just as it was the destiny of his predecessor. at the very least, she pleads, allow her to hold an event showing him off as alive and unscathed to raise public morale and convince the enemy that their attack had no effect so that they won’t use it again (since it was so heavy on resources and it’s super wasteful if it doesn’t actually work). kara agrees if only because he just can’t resist a direct request from totoko like that, and they begin traveling back to the capital. totoko urges kara to never ever EVER tell ANYONE about how he’s not originally from this world because if it gets back to the enemy that their weapon worked then it’ll surely doom them all, and she offers to personally fill him in on anything and everything he needs or wants to know about the world. so throughout the whole trip back to the capital - which is fairly long because she had to go out of her way to get to a place where the worlds would intersect close to kara’s home - she tells about the world she lives in and her life and their long battle against the evil force but also of all the fun things and delicious foods and such that there is to offer. when they start getting close to the capital and pass through the rural populated areas, people are all excited to see the princess and the knight and it makes it really clear just how loved they both are

they finally get to where they’re going (a castle I guess?) and totoko immediately starts ordering preparations for some kind of parade or something. while that’s all underway, karamatsu gets a taste of being the hope of a country and a hero of destiny and it’s really weird but also thrilling and ego-boosting. he doesn’t always know what people are talking about when they refer to his heroic feats and whatnot but he’s into it, he starts thinking that maybe he really can do this. after all, it’s his destiny, right? he’s the only who can stand up to the evil force, so doesn’t he kind of have a duty to do so? kara tells this to totoko a couple days later as they’re making the final preparations for the parade and she’s just delighted. she says that they’ll start working on accessing his power after their show-offy celebration dies down, and that’s exactly what they do. things don’t go well, though - kara doesn’t really understand what this power is or how he’s supposed to use it, and none of the training that his precedent went through seems to be having much effect. totoko assures him that it’s not surprising since the original knight had his power discovered when he was very young and he trained for years and years to control it, but it’s obvious from how she talks and acts that she’s very concerned by the development (or lack thereof). as karamatsu starts losing heart and considers giving up on being the nation’s knight, totoko makes the somewhat reluctant suggestion that they track down and speak with his brothers. kara’s like “whoa what, I have brothers here too??” and totoko says yes, just as in his own world, he was born as a set of sextuplets in this as well. she doesn’t say much more about it but makes plans to set out in the morning to find osomatsu

that expedition does not get underway, because in the middle of the night the enemy launches an all-out attack on the capital. it’s horrible, the body count is huge, the property damage is even huger (i.e. practically the whole city is in ruins), and karamatsu rides it out mostly by hiding. the dust settles as dawn arrives, and it becomes apparent that totoko has been captured - or maybe karamatsu witnesses that part, idk, this isn’t as fleshed out as the length makes it seem. either way, the devastation is just enormous, and kara’s hesitations immediately come to a head. there’s no way he can fight that. there’s no way he can do this. but totoko’s gone, dekapan is killed (and his lab and study have been thoroughly ransacked and wrecked), and everyone who’s left is looking to their knight as a pillar of strength and leadership. the pressure is overwhelming, and kara makes up a lie about how he has to go and do something that’s super integral but also super secret and he just packs up and leaves. he travels for a while with nowhere special in mind to go but eventually, inevitably, he starts feeling guilty. totoko had been really nice and everyone had had so much hope for him and what was he going to accomplish by running away? he had no idea how to get home on his own. his best - and perhaps only - hope was to rescue totoko and hope that she would be able to do the world crossing again. if he stands any chance of wresting her from the enemy’s hands, however, he’s going to need to understand this mysterious power he supposedly has, so he follows through with the original plan and starts to look for osomatsu

AND THAT.... is pretty much just the beginning, really, but also it’s as far as I’ve thought. I don’t really know yet if this is something separate from the holy knight story or if I should try mashing together what I can since they’re both isekai stories and it’d probably be repetitive to have both of them separate. so yeah that’s what’s been rattling around in my head