#first ‘i must do that more often! i mean… the detox…’

[hobgoblinns]

listening to no place is always an emotional trip for me (mostly bc wilf) but. i want everyone to know that the story revolves around ten and donna pretending to be a normal married human couple and that in one of the first scenes donna is about to leave the room and the doctor insists she gives him a lil smooch before she leaves

[jadekitty777]

The Emotionalist: Chapter 3

I’ma be honest, I just found out that copying and pasting to tumblr is not saving my bold and italics. I’m too lazy to fix it, so uh, I recommend reading these chapters on A03 lol Particularly this one which is text heavy.

Prompt for Day 4: Sick

Rating: T

Word Count: 5K

Summary: Clover Ebi was a huntsman who, like most Atlesian soldiers, hid most of his emotions behind a mask of calm professionalism. That is, unless, one knew where to look. And Qrow looked a lot.

Or, 5 times Qrow learned to read Clover’s mood not from his face, but from his ears. [An adjacent story to Hunting Season Hunting Season; events from Qrow’s POV]

Ao3 Link: Burning like the Sun

~

Did you get the day off too?

Qrow leaned against the wall beside the Aceops office, left leg propped on the wall behind him and beating a staccato rhythm while he tapped a message back to his eldest niece. Yeah. Ol’ Jimmy has a heart after all. Got plans?

FNKI invited us out to a club. She replied. Rubes and Weiss aren’t interested but Blake and I are going. 

He arched an eyebrow, snorting. Try not to blow this one up firecracker. 🔥🔥🔥🔥

IT WAS ONE TIME! 

He could practically imagine the way Yang was fuming. 

Another ping only moments later, Anyways, what are you gonna do?

Things. He thumbed out, eyes drifting down the hall. Still empty.

He didn’t look away until another ping chimed for his attention.

…Responsible things?

He started to type out one of his typical answers, something that fit the blasé and uncaring attitude he often pulled with his niece. He had a dozen he used on any occasion, but some of his favorites were ‘Responsible people don’t have fun’ or ‘Ain’t my style’.

Then he paused and wondered at the ellipses his brash and impulsive niece never used in her texting and wondered if this question was more serious than he was used to.

He didn’t have to think hard to figure out why it was there.

Swallowing guilt, he told her a half-truth instead of an uncaring dismissal. If you must know, I have a date.

That certainly started some sort of implosion, as he saw his niece start and stop typing for several moments. 

Then, nothing except a big long pause.

Qrow realized he should be worried when a reply finally came in a burst of yellow text drawing itself along his screen:

Congratulations Old Man!

His shoulders shook to contain his laughter. I think my eyeballs just exploded. Then, with a huff, added, And don’t call me old.

You’ll survive. She quipped right back. After firing off a few annoying emojis his way, she finally said, Figured something was going on between you and Mr. Prince of the Forest.

Any amusement he had left died in his throat. 

Blood burning, he typed back aggressively, Don’t call him that Yang. Ever. That shit’s not okay.

Why are you suddenly mad at me??? Even through text, he could hear her indignation. 

He started to type rapidly, not even double-thinking his harshness  - Gods, she liked Blake for maiden’s sake! - but before he could even finish, her next reply stopped him cold.

That's what you called him!

No I didn’t, He defended back immediately. Sure he didn’t used to be the most sensitive about Faunus discrimination. There were definitely things he’d said or did in his youth that he wasn’t proud of, with his jeering tribemates egging him on. And because he was an idiot so desperate for approval, he hurt a lot of people who never deserved it - but that was a long time ago, and he’d grown up a lot since he’d left his old life behind and better people opened his eyes.

But, his niece was swiftly proving that false, pings coming back quick and short,

Um yeah. You did.

Like two days after the whole arrest bs

During breakfast

I mean you were kinda rough but 

Yeah

As the words drilled into his skull, they reached into his brain, pulling out a foggy memory. 

He hadn’t been… great when he first stopped drinking. Better than most, aura was a blessing sometimes, but he knew detoxing threw him for a loop. It was why he often preferred not to.

But with James not willing to put them onto the field until they at least settled in and the kids got their weapons fixed up - not even him - it had left Qrow with little to do but ride the waves of sicknesses and nausea.

Still, he had made an effort to join the kids for breakfast, even if he couldn’t stomach it. It was important they knew - well, that Yang and Ruby knew - that he was still trying.

Those first few days were always the worst though, leaving him sweaty and shaky and just all around in a piss-poor mood. That day in particular, he recalled having just come off from one of the worst sleeps of his life. First at the table but slumped over it and clutching his cup of undrinkable coffee like a lifeline.

Yet Ruby joined him as if it was just another Tuesday. 

And the small exchange he’d completely forgotten about surfaced like an oil spill on the ocean, black and poisonous:

“Hey, hey Uncle Qrow!” Ruby said enthusiastically, “Penny told us that when we get our weapons back, the Aceops want to take us all out on a mission together. Doesn’t that sound great?”

He scoffed, saying loud enough he knew every single person heard every single last one of his damn words, “Oh great, can’t wait for a prance through the frozen wastelands with Mr. Prince of the Forest and all his little woodland friends.”

He couldn’t recall exactly how anyone responded beyond a few uncomfortable laughs before the subject was quickly changed. 

He especially didn’t know what Blake’s had been - he had never looked up.

“Fuck.” He hissed to himself, smacking his head back on the wall. 

He… owed her an apology.

But first he had to fix something else. 

He forced his eyes back onto his scroll, his turn to rapidfire back replies.

Well I shouldn’t have.

If I ever say anything like that again, about ANY Faunus, punch me in the face. 

As hard as you can. 

I want to go through the WALL.

Got it?

He watched the little drawing quill dance as his niece started to reply but never let her get there as he asked, Why are you repeating me anyways? 

The quill didn’t come back.

His scroll went dark, then black.

“Qrow?”

He jumped, almost dropping the device. Looked up and around, to see Clover standing just a few paces away, eyebrow raised. His arms were relaxed at his sides, his own scroll held limp in his hand. But through the transparent display, he could see the polls newscast rolling, sound probably feeding directly into Clover’s communicator.

The sight of his ears, still in the near-permanent droop they’d fallen into since the start of the week, reminded Qrow why he was here.

“H-Hey!” He straightened up, corner of his lip pulling up in a half-smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Clover’s eyebrow only hiked higher, looking past him briefly. “At my own office?”

“Uh.” He articulated gracefully. “Yeah well. Figured you’d have the night off like everyone else.”

“I do.” Was the even reply, playfulness starting to glimmer in Clover’s eye. “Which only further doesn’t explain why you’re here though.”

Damn. 

Qrow cleared his throat, trying to save himself by appealing to the clever idiot, “Lucky guess?”

Clover’s ears twitched, raising just a smidge, mimicking the slow smile gracing his handsome face. “Is that so?”

“Of course.” He jutted out a hip, placing a hand on it. “Come on, don’t act like you’re not happy to see me Clubs.”

The slow roll of the other’s eyes on him was heated and absolutely deliberate. “I’m always happy to see you.” The husky promise sent a thrill through him. 

Yet, as fast as the flame was lit, it suddenly burnt out as something Qrow didn’t hear made Clover look down at his scroll, holding it tight enough he was surprised it didn’t break.

His ears had fallen once more.

“Anyways, I was just here to send off a few files Winter requested before I headed to the polls.” Clover’s tone was that clipped professionalism he usually reserved for the field as he walked past, opening up the door. “Did you need something?”

The change of pace took out some of his bluster, but he carried on as he trailed in after the other. “Well, I haven’t had a chance to see the sights lately. Was thinking you could give me a grand tour. Saaaay over dinner? Your choice, my treat?”

The other paused, hand hovering over the power button to his computer as he stared back at Qrow. “Not sure I’ve heard of a lot of tours that happen stationary in a restaurant.” The playfulness was back.

“Clover.” Qrow santured over, hopping onto the corner of his desk. “Come on already. We can even go to your favorite.”

This time he actually chuckled, finally booting up his computer. “I’m afraid my favorite place isn’t really your scene.” Clover glanced at him meaningfully. “Or your crowd.”

He’d guessed as much. 

It said a lot about the soldier and the way he’d been treated over the years that he so quickly was willing to shelter Qrow from experiencing his own culture. He didn’t think it had to do with a lack of pride, but rather a lack of agency in his own position. A Faunus holding such a high rank in the military, being James’ literal right hand, should be something to simply praise for the accomplishment itself. A sign of times truly changing.

But it was obvious from people like Robyn or Jacques, who would so easily use that stance against him, that all Clover could do instead was constantly mock an image of perfection and pureness to the world so that they couldn’t tear him and everything he stood for down.

He was so used to doing that, that it seemed to become almost second nature to hide anything that might come off as ‘troublesome’.

Unfortunately for him, Qrow wasn't really into all that rigamarole. He especially wasn’t when he wanted this to work so badly - the conversation they’d had two weeks ago about his insecurities over his semblance had only solidified that in his mind. What started out as just a bit of flirting and mutual attraction had turned into so much more. Clover was special and inspiring in a way he’d never met before, and he very much wanted to keep him in his life. 

“All I’m hearing is a bunch of excuses.” Qrow went in for the kill, leaning over the desk and dragging a hand through his own hair, disheveling it purposely as he put on his best smirk. “Come on Clover, take me out for a night on the town.”

Hook, line and sinker. Clover’s breath caught, eyes darting between his eyes and his lips, giving in with a simple, “I suppose dinner does sound nice. How ‘bout you meet me at the helipad docks at 6?”

Yes! Qrow did a mental victory dance, slipping off the desk. “You got it Clubs. I’ve got a few things to take care of, but I’ll see you then~”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” Clover’s bright smile and raised ears was the last thing Qrow saw before the door closed. 

He started down the hall, already looking up locations for a good clothing and cologne store when his phone pinged.

A message from Yang.

He paused, the conversation from before Clover’s arrival coming back in a rush.

Reluctantly,  he tapped over to read it.

I dunno. I guess ‘cause you said it, I thought it was okay.

A hard knot of shame bunched in his stomach as the implications of that fully hit him.

“Shit.”

-

Six o’ clock on the dot, Clover walked into the station. 

Qrow took a mournful moment to admire him. Despite neither of them saying a word, it seemed they’d come to the universal agreement that this was a date.

Clover had dressed down for the occasion, and though he already missed the sleeveless vest, Clover filled out the dark green turtleneck rather prettily. His pants were black and framed shapely thighs. Kingfisher was still hitched to his hip and the leather belt it was attached to had a buckle with a shamrock printed on.

And, of course, completely for Qrow’s benefit, he wore a single chain drop earring in the tip of his right ear, a set of silver feathers that hung at the bottom tinging together anytime he moved.

As he drew close, Qrow could smell the cologne he wore. 

“Hey.” Clover breathed, eyes rolling over him shamelessly. “You look great.”

He glanced down, almost forgetting himself. He’d kept it simple, going for a pair of charcoal gray pants and matching it with a black dress shirt that had a red and white floral design on the inside of his collar and the rolls of the sleeves. He’d dug out his old necklace, the little cross settled over his heart.

But where he’d really gone all out was his nails - colored with a polish so dark blue it was almost black, with little silver confetti stars pressed over top with a clear coat. They caught the light nicely, little constellations twinkling along his hands.

The question on why he bothered with the effort still escaped him when he was about to ruin everything.

“Not as good as you, Clubs.” He tried anyways, even though his heart wasn’t in it.

Clover picked up on it immediately, one ear raising up like an exclamation as he asked, “You alright? If you’re having second thoughts-”

“No.” He cut him off quickly, not wanting Clover to think for a second it was about that. “But you might in a minute. I just… need to come clean about something.”

“Okay?” 

Clover only seemed further confused as Qrow handed over his scroll. “Read it. Next page too.” He mumbled.

They were just screenshots of the tail end of his conversation with Yang, starting from the damning slur to her last words to him.

Clover was quiet as he read it, eyebrows twisting down somewhat as he swiped to the next picture. Swiped back and read it again. Neither his face nor his ears were giving anything away, as if he was completely frozen.

Qrow felt his anxiety fester the longer he just stood there, staring at it. Eventually it grew to be too much, and he blurted out, “I’m really sorry.” 

Clover looked up at him.

On instinct, he looked away, then forced his eyes back. Look at him damnit! 

“I-I know that doesn’t make up for it. But you had the right to know.” He explained hastily and then he waited for whatever punishment was coming.

He mostly expected a punch to the face.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Clover to just blink and hand back his scroll with a calm, “That’s it?”

Excuse him - WHAT?!

His shock must have been evident, because the other man continued, “Qrow you’re not the first person to relegate me to deer-focused idioms.”

“Doesn’t mean I shoulda fucking said it.”

A sigh. “No, you shouldn’t have. But, and take this as nicely as you can - I’m not surprised that you’re kind of a total asshole to people you first meet.”

Qrow winced, but didn’t deny it. He could sweet talk like the best of them when he needed to, but on a general day-to-day? Especially with Atlas folk? Yeah, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Nice Guy.

Still…

“Clover, don’t make excuses for me.”

“I’m not.” He insisted, placing a hand on Qrow’s shoulder. “Look, listen to me, okay? I understand that you’re human and that you probably grew up with a lot of racists throughout your life. I’m not about to hold you up on a pedestal above everyone else. This stuff is complicated and more terrifyingly systematic than even I like to think about most days.” His fingers squeezed, just slightly. “But that’s not the important thing. You want to know what is?”

Qrow thought it over, shrugging a bit. “That I... was honest?”

“No. Well yes, but no. It’s that you understand it’s wrong and are willing to change it. Most people don’t give me that kind of respect.” He insisted, pulling back to rest his hand on his hip. “You know what happened when I told my last boyfriend I didn’t like him calling me ‘Fawny’? He got mad at me, asked why I was being ‘so uptight’ about it. And when I explained, he claimed I was just being dramatic.” Clover rolled his eyes, spitting out, “Fucking asshole.”

Even though it sounded truly awful, it was odd that he actually felt lighter at hearing that - but Clover tended to have that effect on him. Somehow, he always saw the best in him.

Well. Mostly.

“Didn’t you just call me an asshole, like, two sentences ago?” Qrow teased.

He waved him away. “Yeah but you’re like a general asshole, not a calculated one.”

“And that’s better?”

“Will you let me compliment you already?”

“That was a compliment?!” He mock-cried.

To his surprise, Clover burst out laughing.

It was a really nice sound, and he couldn’t help but join in. 

As it petered out, the two of them sharing smiles, Qrow admitted cautiously, “I’m really surprised you’re not mad at me.”

“Trust me Qrow. When I’m angry, you’ll know.” That promise sounded oddly terrifying. Before he could dwell too much on it, Clover pointed to his scroll. “But I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit - again. You know you never needed to tell me this, right? That you could have hid it forever, and I probably never would have found out.” He met his gaze, sincere and kind as he said, “The fact you did despite that says a lot more about the good in your character than I think you realize.”

Qrow’s eyes widened, a flush of warmth rushing through him. He might have been swooning. He was definitely blushing. “Clover…”

The soldier just seemed pleased with himself. Then a chime from the itinerary display went off, and his ear perked up before his eyes followed it. “Our flight’s ready.” He jabbed a thumb towards the loading station, giving him a wink. “What say we get outta here?”

Utterly enchanted, there really was only one answer to that. “Lead the way Clubs.”

-

The Dog Pan was a hole in the wall kind of place, right in the center of Mantle’s lower end district. It wasn’t quite the slums, but it was clear the side of town had seen better, with broken out windows and graffiti on most walls. 

Yet, the moment they walked in, he could immediately feel the closeness and community that seemed to radiate from the very core. The windows had top curtains with little leaping dogs weaved out of yarn and privacy blinds made of bed sheets with colorful designs. They matched well with the walls where, in place of traditional pictures, were long, flowing, multi-colored tapestries with beaded ends. One of them depicted the God of Animals, another the Shallow Sea and the island of Unitas it banked. It all looked hand-woven.

The place was also packed to the brim, some of the chairs shoved against tables not matching as if they had been brought in. There was music playing but he could barely hear it over conversation, which seemed unusually loud; yet despite any eared Faunus obviously pinning their ears down, there was still a kind of comradery in the laughter and noise.

“Wow. I figured it’d be nuts but not this crazy!” Clover's own ears had dropped but he was grinning. He glanced at him. “You still sure you’re good?”

Qrow snorted. He used to frequent rave bars at an alarming rate. This was nothing. “You’re gonna have to try harder if you want to scare me off Clubs!”

“Clover!” The shout had them both looking forward, a plump and jolly looking woman weaving her way around the tables towards them. She had a skin tone that reminded him of Marrow and black dog ears that flopped over on the top of her head. As she reached them, she was quick to pull Clover into a hug. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight! You haven’t been around in ages.”

“Good to see you Maxi.” He replied, hugging her back. 

She stepped back, zeroing in on Qrow, curious and welcoming. “And who is this handsome one?”

“This is Qrow, my new field partner.” Clover chuckled, patting his shoulder. 

Taking his cue, he held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She shook it. “You as well darling. So, just you two then? I can’t get you a table, but I do have some room at the end of the bar.”

Clover shot him a questioning look.

He knew she meant a food bar, but it still settled like an itch on his skin. Shaking it off, he assured, “Works for me.”

“Lovely! Follow me.” 

They picked their way carefully through the restaurant to get towards the back, settling into circular seats that creaked and had tears in the leather. The counter was worn and he could see words and symbols carved into the softwood. Maxi took their drink orders and, with her so close to the kitchen, was back within moments with a soda and a pot.

“Gotta say,” She said to them as she poured Qrow’s coffee. “I’m disappointed you didn’t bring my son with you.”

Wait…

“‘Fraid we couldn’t. He’s working security tonight.” Clover explained.

Maxi sighed. “Remind that boy of mine it wouldn’t kill him to see his mother now and again, would you?”

He gave her a two-fingered salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You just call when you're ready, dears.” She said before departing to handle some of the other tables.

Qrow leant towards Clover. “So she’s…?”

“Yeah. Marrow’s mom. This is actually how I met him. Saw him stop a whole tray from falling out of his sister’s hands when she tripped.” Clover told him. “I asked him why he wasn’t in the academy, and he told me he was. He just spent all his free time here, bussing tables and cleaning dishes. I knew ever since then that if I ever got a spot on the team, I wanted him on it.”

How exactly a spot ‘opened up’ was left unsaid.

Qrow could probably guess anyways.

“He was a good choice. Kid’s got talent, just needs more steadiness.” He said instead. “So, you’re the only one with the night off?” He knew Elm, Harriet and Vine were all working security for Jacques’ campaign. They’d been specially requested, for obvious reasons. Likewise, Robyn had asked for whoever was left. 

“Perks of being Captain.” Clover joked. “And, James wanted Winter and I on standby.”

“For what?”

“For whatever happens once the polls close. Riots are uh, likely.” His eyes flicked to a TV set in the corner, and though it was inaudible, the picture of Jacques and Robyn on screen, the gap between their percentage ratings narrowing every minute, told them all they needed to know. “Among other things.”

Qrow kinda wanted to shoot it. “Y’know, I was trying to get you away from all that tonight.”

“Oh Qrow, I was always going to look. But,” He slid his hand across the table, the sides of their hands brushing. “At least I’ve got some good company to get me through it.”

Qrow hooked their pinkies together, a silent support.

“Come on, let’s order.”

-

Qrow had never seen a menu with so many post-it notes. The effect of the embargo was clear, as many foods had become too expensive or outright impossible to obtain - but anything with a cheaply grown vegetable, like corn or rice, or an easily obtained meat, like chicken which were bred plentifully or fish which was naturally fished and farmed out of the tundra, were still in supply.

In the end, he took Clover’s suggestion to try the smothered chicken legs.

Baked in gravy and coming with a side of cornbread and mashed potatoes, it was all sinfully good and filling.

He also managed to coax Clover to let him have a bite of his - the fried pike burst with flavor, likely attributed to its freshness. It came with a side of fries. Qrow stole a few of those too, mostly being cheeky about it.

Yet, as dinner carried on, the mood of the restaurant shifted. Conversations became hushed and subdued, a worry rippling through the people. No, a fear. If he strained to listen, he could catch snippets of conversation, whispers of what would happen to families stuck in the slums, of their children in the schools, of their jobs, their very way of living. Even Maxi seemed to hold her tray heavier with every pass, her smiles more strained. More people came in. Few left. It got so crowded, Qrow only had to lean back slightly to touch another person.

Try as he might to keep him distracted, Clover kept glancing at the TV. His ears were low enough, the feathers of his earring were resting against his shoulder.

As the last of the fries disappeared between them, Qrow asked softly, “You want to stay here?”

“‘Til it’s over.”

He nodded, and as their plates were gathered, asked for a refill. Sipped black coffee in one hand while the other slipped over damaged wood to touch Clover’s again. 

After a moment, Clover reached back, nudging under Qrow’s fingers so they slipped over top of his own.

The minutes ticked on. 

The percentages between Schnee and Hill grew smaller and smaller.

47-53.

48-52.

49-51.

At the final second, it hit 50-50.

The whole restaurant had gone dead silent as the polls disappeared, reporter Oliver Sikes taking over the screen. “And there we have it! The polls have officially closed and the final tallies are coming through now. Phew, what a close race. It’ll be just a minute now folks.” He rambled on for a bit more, detailing out the last districts that were decided on and the few they were still waiting on the exact counts from. But like all things in Atlas, his prediction was precise. 

As the sixty second ended, Sikes was announcing, “Oh and here we go, I’m being told the counting is done! And it looks like…”

The polls flashed back on screen.

57-43.

“Jacques has been announced the winner!”

The declaration was like pulling the pin off a grenade, a sudden, explosive roar starting up around them as the restaurant descended into chaos. 

The hand in his had tightened into a vice.

“What the fuck!” Qrow exclaimed. There was no fucking way, with a race that close, that Jacques pulled that much ahead. That meant some of the votes had been falsified. He jerked his head around, spitting, “Clover, that’s - Clover?”

Clover didn’t so much as respond to him, his wide eyes still staring at the screen where Jacques had started his victory speech. His face was completely motionless and impassive.

It was his ears that told Qrow the real story, as they had flipped back horizontally, the entire lengths of them trembling with barely withheld rage.

Just as soon as he’d seen it, it was gone when a furious outcry from the back had them both looking over their shoulders in time to see a man with moose antlers toss his chair. It hurtled its way across the restaurant and slammed right into the TV, shattering it on impact.

Had it been up to him, Qrow would have given the guy a medal.

Clover didn’t seem quite as praising, as he slammed his hands on the counter before climbing up onto it, shouting across to the crowd. “EVERYONE CALM DOWN!” He bellowed. “This is a Faunus-friendly establishment - a piece of our own community! What are you doing wrecking it?!” 

Some people heard it, others didn’t, still arguing and trying to trash the place. 

“No-No, please don’t!” Qrow heard Maxi cry just as one of her tapestries was pulled off the wall. Another person threw a plate on the floor. 

A window cracked.

Sensing things were about to get further dangerous, he hopped the counter while Clover continued to try and appeal to the growing mob. Just as Qrow had managed to usher the sobbing woman through the kitchen door where the rest of her family was, ordering, “Get out the back!” he heard someone’s scream pierce the air that had him whirling around in horror.

“Wait, aren’t you Clover Ebi!? You voted for Schnee! Traitor!”

“Traitor! Traitor!” The mob chanted.

It was like a wave as they surged towards Clover, grabbing at his legs and trying to pull him off the bar. He yelped, grabbing onto a light fixture. It yawned worryingly.

“HEY!” Heart hammering in his chest, Qrow lunged towards Clover, trying to pull him the other way, kicking some of other Faunus back. “Let him go!”

The light fixture snapped but Qrow had just enough leeway to yank him down on the other side of the bar. 

They backed up against the wall as the mob all started to round it and climb over.

He curled a hand around Harbinger’s hilt. Was he really going to have to…?

In the corner of his eye, he saw Clover desperately flick the feathers of his earring.

A second later, an unmistakable siren pierced the air.

Grimm.

Everyone froze.

Then some started to panic, rushing out the doors. Others flung themselves under tables or into the corners. 

Sharing a look, he and Clover moved, using the sudden space to leap onto the tables around the thinning crowd and make it to the exit.

They spilled into the street and started running. The first block was for safety. 

At the second, Clover finally managed to lift his shaking hand to his earpiece, “Marrow, report.”

Qrow grabbed his shoulder, pulling them both to a stop. He could feel the tremors leaking from Clover’s skin.

“Right. Roger. We’re on our way.” Clover dropped his hand to Kingfisher, taking a deep, steadying breath as he unfurled it. “Robyn’s party was attacked. A dozen people are dead and the grimm are flocking to it.”

Qrow gave him one last check over, just to make sure he was really okay, before he unsheathed Harbinger. “Let’s go.”

[concubuck]

((Hey y'all have another ficlet from Alastor's early days as a succubus. Why? Just because. Set in between Alastor's first attempt at having sex and the first time he has sex successfully. Warnings for mentions of alcoholism & noncon; and also mild aphobia in the sense of "these two dopes don't know what asexuality is so they're trying to compare it to medical disorders."))

✨ Alastor Visits The Doctor ✨

Alastor had detoxed from alcohol in the 1980s. Before Rosie had helped him cut himself off, he'd been living with a bottle constantly at his side and blacking out on a near-daily basis—never mind how often he was drinking himself to temporary brain death on purpose. That week of withdrawal—the week of non-stop shaking, of sleepless exhaustion, of heaving sickness, of creeping crawling hallucinations—was the worst physical agony he had ever known to that point, worse than his near-fatal bout of Spanish flu, worse even than dying.

By now, after thirty-odd years and apodiabolosis, withdrawal was a far, fuzzy memory, one Alastor recalled more as a series of vague facts than he did as something that felt like it had happened to him. But the misery, that delirious misery—he imagined it must have felt something like this endless, interminable arousal.

But unlike withdrawal, there was no promise of coming out the other end of this arousal. No light at the end of the tunnel. Just the tunnel. Dark, muffled, ever-narrowing, claustrophobic, and weighing ever heavier on his soul.

Alastor was still trying to figure out how he could verbally explain the oppressive weight of this need, when the door opened and the imp doctor walked into the examination room.

Alastor automatically hunched forward, arms crossed over his lap, trying to conceal his boner in spite of the flimsy medical gown that felt as thin as tissue paper.

The imp took one glance at Alastor, rolled his eyes, and muttered, "You couldn't have taken care of that before you got you came in?"

The mutter scattered Alastor's mental attempts to corral his suffering into a narrative. His brittle patience developed another couple of cracks. "No, doctor," he said testily, "I couldn't take care of it before I came in. That's why I'm here." 

"Hm." Clearly not satisfied with Alastor's answer, the imp tossed Alastor's medical file on the small desk in the examination room, but didn't take the chair yet. "You do realize I'm a real doctor, right? I graduated from medical school?"

Alastor blinked at him. "Yes. I do realize that," he said, speaking slowly and pointedly.

With the same slow and pointed tone, the doctor replied, "That means I'm here to offer medical care to real patients. Not to indulge... whatever the hell medical kink you've got."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't know what kind of doctors you've had before—if they're grateful for the break or what—but I'm getting paid to practice medicine, not to do whatever—"

Alastor laughed in disbelief, loudly, harshly, angrily. "You expect me to believe that's really a problem you deal with?! Or do you just—assume that when a succubus walks in?!" His patience snapped sharply in half. "My dear doctor, believe you me, if I could have come here without a stiff, I would have! But if I had chopped it off and left it at home I am quite afraid you'd have elected to treat my blood loss instead of the ailment I came here for! And chopping it off is the only way I could have shown up without a stiff, because it hasn't been flaccid in nearly six months! Which! Is! Why! I'm! Here! Now are you going to keep making—disgusting insinuations, or are you going to..."

Alastor didn't realize he'd gotten to his feet and advanced threateningly on the doctor during his tirade, until he had him backed against a wall and was looming over him. The doctor stared up in terror at Alastor's face... and then, slowly, his gaze rolled down to the thinly-concealed erection inches from poking him between the eyes.

Alastor spun away from the the doctor, face heating—it felt less like a blush and more like a raging fever—realized that the gap in the back of the patient gown (which he'd been unable to fit right over his wings) probably exposed his ass crack—and he ended up awkwardly shuffling sideways away from the doctor to sit on the exam table again. Look at him. What a pathetic, undignified sight he was. Half a year ago, the Radio Demon was the most feared sinner in Hell—what was he now?

"I'm sorry," Alastor muttered, hunching forward again, elbows on his knees and arms crossing in an X to shield his shame. "You understand, I'm—under a significant amount of—distress. I, uh—I don't mean to be a difficult patient." Now he was even groveling.

But what was he going to do if his outburst caused the doctor to refuse to treat him? This was the only affordable hellborn doctor within walking distance of Alastor's rental; he didn't know what he'd do if he was kicked out.

For a moment, the imp was silent; then he said awkwardly, "Yes, in fact. That really is a problem I deal with. I mean, succubi trying to..."

Alastor nodded stiffly. "I see." He wondered whether the imp had truly been solicited by kinky succubi masquerading as patients, or if Alastor was just the first one to get outraged enough to break through the doctor's assumptions. He grudgingly decided to give the imp the benefit of the doubt. He didn't have any other option. "Rest assured that regardless of what my anatomy might think, there is nothing I want less than to have sex."

"But—you can't get rid of your erection."

"Not without physically removing it," Alastor confirmed. "Such as by chopping it off. Or reconfiguring the whole thing into a vagina—but the arousal persists, that's the real problem."

The doctor ventured, "Skilled with magic?"

"Off the charts."

"Still. You shouldn't be castrating yourself without a doctor's supervision."

It was such a mild chastisement. Hellborn doctors were less easily scandalized than human ones. "Believe me when I say—" he kept his voice calm and even, "—I would not have resorted to such extreme measures if the alternative had not become psychologically unendurable."

The doctor paused, then tentatively took a seat, flipped open Alastor's medical file, and made a note. 

Alastor let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Can you orgasm?"

"Yes. It makes no difference. My arousal remains the same."

"Hm. For six months, you said?"

"Nearly," Alastor said tiredly. "Short a couple of weeks, I believe."

The imp opened his mouth, and Alastor was sure he was about to ask what had taken him so long to seek medical help. But instead, the doctor paused, and then asked: "Did you experience anything medically unusual within the month before your symptoms started? Illnesses, head injuries, unfamiliar narcotics, orgies...?"

"I." Alastor shrugged. "I became a succubus?"

The imp stared at him, then quickly flipped to consult another page of Alastor's medical file. "Oh."

That didn't sound promising. "'Oh'?"

"Sorry," the imp said, "sorry. You're, uh—you're just the first humanborn patient I've—first ex-human humanborn, I mean. Obviously I've seen humanborn sinners, but—but not..." He gestured vaguely.

Alastor's heart sank. "So, you can't—?"

"It's fine," the doctor insisted. "It's covered in medical school! You can be treated like any other succubus. Biological differences are—superficial. Aside from a few cosmetic differences..." His gaze slid up. "Are... Those are ears, then?"

"Yes." Did he think Alastor's hair looked like that on purpose? "Is that relevant to...?"

"No! Just—just wondered." The doctor cleared his throat. "Ah. So."

"So." Alastor could feel his hopes falling by the moment.

"This isn't a change so much as it is, uh... the norm for your tenure as a succubus," the doctor clarified. "Correct?"

Alastor nodded.

"I'm sure you were told that succubi's libidos are much higher than other demons? And you're basically going through a succubus's puberty on fast forward?"

Fast forward. He turned the phrase over in his head. He would have said it some other way—like an LP set to 78 rpm, maybe—but he caught the meaning; and he felt old. He nodded, "I'm aware. I was prepared for that. Which is why I didn't come in five months ago. But the adjustment period is supposed to only last two to three months, and I'm arguably worse off now than I was then. Everyone I've spoken to says this is—abnormal for a humanborn succubus. Abnormal for any succubus." His voice trembled with the effort of keeping it even, calm, collected. Clinical and detached. Like he wasn't scared out of his wits—and horny on top of that. "You have to understand, I haven't had a minute's peace in half a year. I can't sleep, I can't cook, I can't dance—I've been losing weight because I can't focus long enough to stand up and walk to the kitchen or call for delivery. I didn't venture farther than my own porch for months. I've tried everything to satiate my needs. Nothing's worked.

"What have you tried?"

Alastor hesitated, running through the list in his head, trying to figure out how to answer the question without being uncouth.

The doctor muttered, "Right. Human," and set his pen down. "Listen. I understand humans have different taboos, but I treat succubi. Hellborn ones, I mean. You could tell me, I don't know—that you've been getting off by smothering baby puppies in your asshole—and I've probably heard worse. So."

"Right," Alastor murmured. He had trouble shaking the instinct to couch his language in terms appropriate for a hypothetical listening audience, some family sitting around their living room radio receivers and ready to write station management if he said anything too uncouth. His only audience was a doctor.

A doctor who had taken one look at Alastor and assumed he'd gone through all the time, effort, and expense of dragging himself to the only hellborn doctor in this side of the city because he wanted to fuck him. So to hell with what the doctor thought of him. "I started with masturbation, obviously," he said. "Hands, inanimate objects, toys—as many shapes and materials as I could find, both manual and electric, the full spectrum of realism..."

"I'm sure you know that toys aren't usually enough for succubi?"

"Hope springs eternal." One corner of his smile quirked up sardonically. "I know, I know—I saw the 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here' sign on the way into this lousy joint."

The doctor gave him a quizzical look. "Sorry?"

"Never mind. Maybe that's only funny to sinners." Alastor suppressed a sigh. "And then I tried tentacles—I've got an extraplanar friend—"

"Sapient?"

"Yes—distant relative of the Von Eldritches, I believe."

The doctor looked duly impressed, and it was the first thing about this entire meeting that had felt right to Alastor. He was supposed to impress people. "Those, uh... entities are supposed to be fairly effective at dispensing sexual gratification. But...?"

Alastor shook his head. "Damn thing went through one end and out the other. I had tentacles in holes I didn't even know I had. In the end it gave up in boredom and frustration." That was maybe anthropomorphizing its motives a bit too much; but Alastor couldn't think of any other explanation. It had never before given up on any of Alastor's requests.

The doctor pursed his lips as he made another note. Alastor had the sneaking suspicion that it was this that finally convinced him of the severity of Alastor's issue.

"And after that, I tried people. First prostitutes—humans, then succubi—and then..." Alastor trailed off.

"Anyone other than prostitutes?"

Alastor hesitated. "Yes."

"Old sex partners?"

"N... no. I've..." His throat went dry; he swallowed hard and attempted to sound normal, "Found people and—forced them." He'd rather have admitted to murder. 

The doctor only said, "Most succubi get better satisfaction from established lovers than from hiring prostitutes or rape."

The last word felt like a slap; the nonchalant way the doctor said it made it feel like a gentle caress of a slap, which was even worse. Alastor forced himself to keep his voice even. He didn't want to be the one of the two of them who was more disgusted by his own actions. "I'm aware. I don't have any established lovers I could have called."

"Tried any exes?"

"I have never had lovers," Alastor clarified. "I did not have sex as a human."

The imp gave him a dubious look. "You've been celibate for..." he glanced at Alastor's file, "a hundred and twenty years?"

He huffed out a sigh. "In the eighties, I received a tentative diagnosis of..." He shut his eyes for a second, trying to remember the term. "Hypoactive... sexual desire disorder?" (The imp gave a tiny nod of recognition.) "Tentative because I never bothered to pursue a full diagnosis or treatment, because I had no interest in developing an interest in sex. So, no. Before becoming a succubus, I never had sex before. I never lusted before. Not in any way I couldn't take care of with my hand in two minutes. What?"

The imp was staring at him. He quickly shook his head. "Sorry, you've—never had an interest in sex? Not even any... desires you didn't have the opportunity to fulfill? Fantasies? Paraphilic interests—unusual objects or acts that bring sexual gratification?"

Alastor shook his head impatiently. "Never. Nothing. Not anything." Were they going to get stuck on this? If this doctor got hung up on the idea of treating Alastor's alleged HSDD... Hell, if it might lead to him getting him some relief, he'd consider it. But they weren't going to get anywhere if the doctor thought Alastor was lying about his disinterest. "Are you familiar with Kinsey's studies of human sexuality? I was sorted into Category X in the fifties."

"Uh, pff—I'm not intimately familiar with Kinsey's..."

"'Equally disinterested in sexual contact with both sexes; no attraction, no desire to experience—'"

"Right. Okay, that—checks out." The imp nodded. And then went still, chewing the corner of his mouth, brow furrowed in thought.

Alastor stood the silence as long as he could (which was about ten seconds); and then he asked, "What?"

Slowly, the doctor said, "I've seen patients without naturally occurring lust before—it's pretty common in some rings, but..." He trailed off again, tapping a claw on Alastor's paperwork. "For most persistent arousal conditions in succubi, the treatment is based on figuring out what it is they crave that they're not getting, and finding a way to supply it. I'm—I don't know what the treatment is for a succubus that doesn't crave anything. If the challenge here is to satisfy a craving that doesn't exist..."

If only the sex he desired could satiate a succubus's appetite, and Alastor didn't have any desires—then was this hunger, by definition, insatiable? Alastor's blood ran cold. He had to fight to speak around the knot in his throat. "Then, is—there no treatment—?"

He would have liked if the doctor had hastened to reassure him. Instead, the doctor was silent for a long moment, like he was wondering that himself. Finally, he pulled out a fresh paper and started writing, muttering, "We'll do some blood tests—rule out the possibility that it's a hormonal issue. And I can refer you to a specialist to get a brain scan, in case there's anything up there."

"How far away is the specialist?"

"Not too far; maybe thirty minutes by bus."

Quietly, Alastor said, "I can't ride the bus like this."

The doctor stopped writing. "... I'll see if there's a closer clinic."

Alastor nodded, staring hard at the tile floor. He was afraid that if he looked up, he'd see pity in the doctor's eyes.

###

Alastor got a full physical exam. He came twice. The first time he coped with the humiliation by biting his lip and unflinchingly staring down the word Tuesday on a bland wall calendar and pretending it hadn't happened. The second time he claimed he had to make an emergency restroom run and bolted from the room, and hid there until his hitching breathing was under control and he'd stopped shaking. The imp said nothing either time. At least he'd been convinced this wasn't Alastor's kink.

And he got a full patient interview. He described his magical capabilities and how he'd been using them on his body; he described how often he switched his sexes or outright amputated his genitalia completely—it was important to know, the doctor insisted, since what bits he had affected his hormone levels. The doctor tried to criticize Alastor's drinking habits, his irregular sleep, his poor takeout-based diet, his dearth of exercise and fresh air. Each time, Alastor had to remind the doctor that in his state he couldn't sleep right, couldn't cook, couldn't go outside—and he knew, because he'd attempted all of them as distractions—and the only distraction that did help even a tiny bit was drinking. He was well aware of the consequences, he'd spent a decade at the bottom of a bottle and almost two decades sober, and he'd damn well change his drinking habits when it stopped being preferable to the alternative, thank you.

And he got his blood test. The doctor cautioned that, as much as Alastor manipulated his anatomy, it might be difficult to find anything conclusive in his hormonal results. They scheduled a follow-up blood test in a couple weeks, with strict instructions for Alastor to keep his God-given banana and coconuts exactly where they were until then, and that might give them more useful blood results.

"And you've got your referral for a brain scan," the doctor said, gesturing at the papers sitting on the examination table beside Alastor. "And for a physical therapist." (During the physical exam, he'd noted the poor control Alastor had over the wings caught awkwardly in his medical gown. The wings were the least of Alastor's concerns.) "And in case it's a psychological issue, if I can find any therapists who have treated humanborn succubi, I'll get you their information. Otherwise, I've got a list of succubi therapists you can contact."

Alastor nodded along to each statement, jaw clenched and arms crossed tightly, sitting on the examination table. He felt like he'd been stripped bare in a hailstorm: cold and exposed and raw-nerved.

"And before you come in for your next blood test, I'll look into... less common causes of persistent arousal in succubi. I've never heard of a succubus with hypoactive sexual desire—or without desires altogether—but—well, I'm sure it would present very differently in a succubus than in other demons. If it even naturally occurs in succubi at all."

As opposed to unnaturally occurring, as it had in Alastor. "You think it might be because I'm ex-human."

The imp shrugged helplessly. "Right now, we can't rule it out."

"Then there would be precedent, wouldn't there? In other ex-human succubi? Has—has that been studied anywhere, post-apodiabolosis medical conditions?"

The imp shrugged again. "Maybe. But—frankly, there probably aren't a lot of humans who don't love sex that choose to become succubi."

Alastor wanted to disagree—he'd done it for power, he imagined most other ex-humans did it for the same reason—but less than a dozen sinners a year were chosen for promotion. The infamous Radio Demon might truly have been the only human in history powerful enough for his lack of a libido to not disqualify him.

The thought that Alastor might be the first ever succubus stuck with an insatiable libido should be chilling; but over the course of his appointment and examination he'd gone numb to the mounting dread. He just nodded again.

"It's just—" Staring up at Alastor in bewilderment, the doctor said, "I don't get it. Why the hell did you decide to become a succubus if you didn't want to have sex?"

If Alastor had a nickel for every time he'd been asked that in the past few weeks. He cracked a pained smile. (Had he stopped smiling?) "It's funny, really. I thought the fact that I'd never needed sex as a human would spare as a succubus. I thought it would give me an advantage." His laugh sounded like a broadcast from somewhere far away. In his ears, it sounded like a sob.

If he didn't need the doctor's help, he would have clawed the pity out of his eyes.

The doctor dragged his gaze from Alastor and back down to his notes, like he was searching for something else he could offer. Finally, he said, "Vitamins. I'm going to prescribe you some nutritional drinks. I can't make you cook, but supplement the takeout with the nutritional drinks." He made another note and looked up again. "And... I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

Nutritional drinks. Nutritional drinks and a whole list of other doctors he had to talk to, none of whom would know what to do about his unique, one-of-a-kind insatiable libido. And that was it. Alastor couldn't remember ever needing so badly cry. He wanted to double up and wail until he hyperventilated.

He sat upright. He smiled. He said, "Let me know if you find anything new."

[legends-of-time]

Thorn Bush (Doctor Who Story)

Chapter 37: The Unicorn and the Wasp Part Two

Masterlist

The Doctor begins stumbling on his feet halfway to the kitchen as his limbs have become numb. Kathy keeps him steady and pushes him onward.

"Ginger beer! We need ginger beer!" Kathy shouts as soon as they enter the kitchen. The cooks and servers within the room stare at her and a stumbling Doctor in confusion.

"I need ginger beer!" The Doctor yells as he pushes away from Kathy's hold on him as he rushes over to a shelf. Knocking the other shelf items over, he gulped down the contents of the bottle. Even doses some of the ginger beer on himself for extra measure.

Kathy rushes over to another shelf and cabinet, searching through for the next item the Doctor needs. "Protein, protein, protein." She mutters rapidly as she searches. Agatha and Donna come into the kitchen just then, going to the Doctor's side as he slumps against a counter.

"I'm an expert in poisons, Doctor. There's no cure. It's fatal." Agatha tells the Time Lord.

The Doctor spits up some of the ginger beer. "Not for me! I can stimulate the inhibited enzymes into reversal." The Doctor explains rapidly, panting from the exertion his body is going through. His body convulses again, making him grit his teeth from the pain. "Protein! I need protein!"

"Here, protein!" Kathy calls as she spots a jar of walnuts on a counter one of the cooks at been preparing. Grabbing the walnuts, she sprints over to the Doctor, shoving it into his hands.

"Brilliant." The Doctor fills his mouth with them. As he chews, he begins making frantic movements with his hands, trying to show them what he needs next. Unable to speak at the moment from his full mouth.

"We can't understand you! How many words?" Donna exclaims. The Doctor holds up one finger as he keeps up his actions. "One-one word. Shake! Milk! Shake! Milk! Milk! No, not milk! Um, shake! Shake! Shake! Cocktail shaker!"

"Salt! He needs salt!" Kathy exclaims as she slaps herself on the forehead for forgetting what else he needs. Donna, Agatha, and Kathy go back to the shelves in search of something with salt.

Donna grabs the first item. "What about this?!" She asks the Doctor hurriedly as she rushes back over to him, showing him a brown bag.

"What is it?" The Doctor questions her.

"Salt!"

The Doctor shakes his head hastily. "That's too salty."

"Oh, that's too salty." Donna retorts in exasperation as she rolls her eyes.

Agatha comes up next, handing the Doctor a jar of anchovies. He eats the contents immediately, coughing in trying to chew as fast as he can. He then mimics something else that he needs.

"What is it? What else? It's a song? Mammy? I don't know. Camptown Races?" Donna rambles.

"Camptown Races?" The Doctor cries in disbelief.

"A shock. He needs a shock." Kathy interrupts. As much as this is a funny moment, she would rather stop the Doctor from being poisoned right now.

"Right then. Big shock coming up." Donna grabs the Doctor and kisses him long and hard. When she releases him, smoke comes from his mouth.

The Doctor coughs, clearing his throat. "Detox. Oh my. I must do that more often." He receives an alarmed look from Donna. "I mean, the detox."

"Doctor, you are impossible." Agatha gasps at the Doctor, who simply winks and runs out of the room. "Who are you?"

——

Night has fallen, and thunder and lightning crash overhead. The hosts and guests are on the soup course. There is a vase of Yellow Irises on the table.

"A terrible day for all of us. The Professor struck down, Miss Chandrakala taken cruelly from us, and yet we still take dinner." The Doctor remarks.

"We are British, Doctor. What else must we do?" Lady Eddison rebuts sharply.

"And then someone tried to poison me. Any one of you had the chance to put cyanide in my drink. But it rather gave me an idea."

"And what would that be?" The Reverend asks.

"Well, poison." The Doctor replies lightly with a smile. Everyone sort of freezes as all had been in either mid-sip of their soup or were about to take a gulp from their spoons. Donna even spits some of her soup out after drinking it. Only Kathy continues to sip on her soup, unaffected at all by his comment. The Time Lord gives them all a knowing smile as he lifts another spoonful of soup. "Drink up."

Kathy smacks her lips lightly, holding a sly smile as she says, "I do love pepper in my soup. Like to mix things up a bit. Thought you all would enjoy it as well, so I asked the chef to add just a bit." She takes another sip of her soup as she and the Doctor watch with guarded eyes to see how everyone's expressions change when they realise it is only pepper added to dinner.

"Ah, I thought it was jolly spicy." The Colonel comments, smiling easily as he takes another gulp of his meal.

"Oh, yes. Pepper does make great spice." Kathy agrees with a nod. "Though, pepper isn't only just good for extra flavour."

"The active ingredient of pepper is piperine," the Doctor explains in a chirp comment, "traditionally used as an insecticide." Everyone around the table stiffens again as thunder rumbles distantly outside. The Doctor, gazes around carefully, observing each and every one of their faces to judge who is the most affected by this. "So... anyone got the shivers?"

"Someone will get the shivers soon enough." Kathy says in a mumble, keeping her gaze steady on one person in particular, her eyes unmoving from his face. The Reverend across from her seems to swallow as his own face remains blank, staring right back at her with guarded eyes.

On cue, there is a crash of thunder and the windows blow open, extinguishing the candles. All the guests sort of make startled gasps and begin murmuring about what is going on. But when shushed by the Doctor, they then hear a loud buzzing going off in the room.

"No. It can't be." Lady Eddison breathes at the end of the table, sounding in complete disbelief at what they are hearing.

Thunder roars around as lightning lights up the room, illuminating their faces in a white light. It continues to flash wildly as more lightning hits around the place, causing panic for most of the guests as the buzzing grows louder and louder by the second. Footmen in the room rush to the door with the Colonel not far behind them.

Kathy hears the Doctor yelling, "Out, out, out, out, out, out!" But she doesn't listen, instead focusing on her plan. She quickly pulls Roger out of his chair and shoves him forward.

"What the devil are you doing?!" Roger exclaims in panic.

"You heard the man! Move!" Kathy responds, purposely shoving Roger towards the door. It is dark enough that making out anything other than vague shapes is basically impossible. But there is a faint light under the door. If Roger still gets stabbed, it won't be because she isn't guarding his back. That is for certain.

Kathy pushes Roger through the still open door and then swiftly shuts it behind him so that the killer (or should she say his lost elder half-brother?) isn't able to sneak out as well. She takes a deep breath. The feeling of relief is swiftly replaced by the sensation of someone punching her between the shoulder blades as hard as they can. And then, then the pain hits. It is sharp and cold, and yet it burns.

The killer couldn't get Roger, so it got her. Got her good.

Kathy instinctively tries to shout, but it comes out as a cough instead. Her mouth tastes metallic. Her vision blurs. She stiffens for a moment and stumbles d forward. Kathy slams against the closed door and feels herself slide down and onto the floor.

She looks down to see her hands beginning to glow orange. The energy flows over her, her insides and outer skin slowly sowing together the best they can, but they can't fully heal due to the sword sticking in her back. Thank you, Reverend...

"Mrs Raedan's been stabbed. She's in front of the door!" Someone screeches.

One of the double doors that Kathy is pressed against is pushed open as people rejoin the rest of the party. The opening of the door jostles her, and Kathy does her best not to scream. Her body has healed the damage that actually put in her hypothetical danger so there is no chance of her dying, but she still has a sword in her back. As long as someone doesn't shove the knife in deeper, she is going to be fine.

From her place on the door, she sees someone walking closer. She stares blankly at them for a moment, until she recognises the shoes. The Doctor crouches down in front of her.

"Hey..." Kathy mumbles. "I've mostly healed, but I've got a bit of a problem..."

The Doctor lets out a slight snort. "I can see." He very lightly rests a hand on her shoulder and ever so slightly pushes her to the side so he can get a better angle on the knife. Kathy hisses as the Doctor lightly grabs a hold of the knife.

"Don't take the knife out!" Kathy hears Agatha cry quickly. Kathy turns her head to see Donna and Agatha standing nearby. Both look alarmed but while Agatha is frantic and confused, Donna is calmer. She's probably seen this before. Something to look forward to... "I don't know how Mrs Raedan is still alive, but we need to get help. We need to call a hospital. She'll bleed out you can't—"

In one swift motion, the Doctor pulls the knife out of her back. Kathy hisses in pain. It hurt a lot, but nowhere near as much as it had going in. Kathy hears the sound of the knife clattering to the ground as the Doctor lets go of it. He lightly pushes her, so she is resting on her stomach.

"Thanks, Doctor." Kathy sighs.

"Doctor! What have you—" Agatha goes silent. Probably because of the sight of the faint glow and the last of the wound sowing itself back together, the energy leaving a tingling feeling. Kathy is finally fully healed.

When the Doctor helps her to her feet, Kathy realises that the Doctor had positioned himself in such a way that no one was really able to see her back unless they were as close as Agatha, Donna, or himself had been. Everyone had at least gotten a glimpse of the knife in her thought. Kathy can see it in their faces. Kathy looks around the room for something to use as a distraction.

"Are you human?" Agatha asks.

Kathy blinks. "A little bit?"

She is saved from any more awkward questions when Lady Eddison puts her hand to her neck and then freezes. She pats her neck again, and then her eyes go wide. "My jewellery. The Firestone, it's gone. Stolen."

——

"Stop scaring me like that." The Doctor scolds Kathy the instant they are in the drawing room, leaning against the fireplace. Agatha tags along inside, sitting on a sofa.

Kathy sits next to her, rolling her eyes. "If I didn't stay behind, Roger would have died. Had to save him from the Vespiform."

"What do you mean?" Agatha quizzes.

"Did you see the knife sticking in the table? That was the weapon the murderer was trying to kill Roger with." Kathy explains to them. The door opens to the sitting room as Donna walks in.

"Did you enquire after the necklace?" Agatha asks.

"Lady Eddison bought it back from India. It's worth thousands." Donna tells them, taking a seat on the opposite sofa.

The Doctor's brow is furrowed as he tries to make sense of it all. "This thing can sting, it can fly. It could wipe us all out in seconds. Why is it playing this game?"

"Every murder is essentially the same. They are committed because somebody wants something." Agatha concludes, staring off into the distance.

"What does a Vespiform want?"

"Doctor, forget about that. What you need to do is listen to the human exert." Kathy tells him. She gestures at Agatha, who blinks at her in confusion.

The Doctor's eyes widen. "Ah, I've been so caught up with giant wasps that I've forgotten. You're the expert."

"I'm not." Agatha scoffs. "I told you. I'm just a purveyor of nonsense."

Kathy frantically shakes her head, moving to sit on the table between the sofas to look directly at Agatha. "Don't say that, Agatha. Plenty of people write detective stories, but yours are the best."

"She's right." The Doctor adds. "You know about people. Their passions, their hope, and despair, and anger. All of those tiny, huge things that can turn the most ordinary person into a killer."

Kathy can see the wheels turning in the author's mind as it seems to spark into life in thinking over the day's events. All the murder. All the facts and clues.

"Just think, Agatha, anyone can solve this, it's you." The Doctor presses on.

——

Everyone is now gathered for the traditional denouement.

The Doctor addresses them once seated. "I've called you here on this endless night because we have a murderer in our midst." He slowly turns to face them, keeping his expression levelled. "And when it comes to detection, there's none finer. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Agatha Christie." Waving a hand for Agatha to stand at the fireplace. He walks over and sits by Kathy on the sofa across from Lady Eddison. Donna comes over and joins them on the seat as they watch Agatha face them all squarely.

"This is a crooked house, a house of secrets." Agatha starts. "To understand the solution, we must examine them all. Starting with you, Miss Redmond."

The woman sitting behind the rest in a corner seems startled by this as everyone shifts their gaze onto her. "But I'm innocent, surely." 'Redmond' counters in defence, trying to keep her voice light and calm.

"You've never met these people, and these people have never met you," Agatha speaks carefully, and thoughtfully as her eyes pierce at 'Redmond'. "I think the real Robina Redmond never left London-you're impersonating her."

One could tell that the woman had been caught by the strained smile on her face. But 'Redmond' keeps her cool, "How silly. What proof do you have?"

Agatha nods, explaining, "You said you'd been to the 'toilet'."

"Oh, I know this. If she was really posh, she'd say loo." Donna eagerly remarks.

Agatha picks up the locksmith's case. "Earlier today, Miss Noble and I found this on the lawn, right beneath your bathroom window. You must have heard that Miss Noble was searching the bedrooms, so you panicked. You ran upstairs and disposed of the evidence."

"I've never seen that thing before in my life." 'Redmond' responds tightly.

"What's inside it?" Lady Eddison questions.

"The tools of your trade, Miss Redmond. Or should I say, the Unicorn?" Everyone gasps upon this reveal as Agatha smirks at the fuming 'Redmond'. "You came to this house with one sole intention. To steal the Firestone."

"Oh, all right, then." The Unicorn spits out as she glares at Agatha and her once proper voice changes in accent. "It's a fair cop. Yes, I'm the bleedin' Unicorn. Ever so nice to meet you, I don't think." She stands up from her seat, going over to stand closer to the group, closest to the Colonel. She jerks the large Firestone out of the front of her dress, showing it to everyone. "I took my chance in the dark and nabbed it. Well, go on, then, you nobs. Arrest me. Sling me in jail." She tosses the jewel in the air, allowing the Doctor (who now stands by Agatha, getting up when the Unicorn did) to catch it.

"So, is she the murderer?" Donna asks curiously.

The Doctor sits back down next to Kathy as he begins to examine the Firestone very closely.

"Don't be so thick." The Unicorn retorts crossly at Donna. "I might be a thief, but, well, I ain't no killer."

"Quite. There are darker motives at work." Agatha agrees as she places down the Unicorn's black case. The author then directs her gaze onto the Colonel. "And in examining this household, we come to you... Colonel."

The man sits in his wheelchair, appearing very nervous now. Then, his expression turns sour. "Damn it, woman." He grumbles, standing up from his chair, revealing to everyone that he could always stand. "You with your perspicacity. You've rumbled me."

"Father?!" Roger exclaims in shock.

"Hugh, you can walk." Lady Eddison gasps. "But why?"

"My darling, how else could I be certain of keeping you by my side?" The Colonel replies.

"I don't understand."

"You're still a beautiful woman, Clemency. Sooner or later some chap will turn your head. I couldn't bear that. Staying in the chair was the only way I could be certain of keeping you." He turns to Agatha. "Confound it, Mrs. Christie. How did you discover the truth?"

"Um," Agatha replies with a grimace, "actually, I had no idea. I was just going to say you're completely innocent."

Kathy and Donna both let out conspiring sniggers.

"Oh. Oh." The Colonel's face goes red, embarrassed to have jumped the gun.

"Sorry."

"Well. Well, shall I sit down then?"

"I think you better had."

The Colonel slowly sits back down on his chair. Lady Eddison reaches over to grasp his hand softly and Roger leans over to give him a pat on the shoulder.

"So, he's not the murderer." Donna states.

"No, but I have to say," Kathy says, "faking a disability because you're afraid that your wife is going to leave you is a really really scummy thing to do."

"Yes, but it isn't murder." Agatha continues. "So, to find the truth, let's return," she holds out her hand to the Doctor, who then hands her over the Firestone, "to this." She lets them all see it. The golden chain holding the deep purple jewel in the centre of the golden heart-shaped charm. "Far more than the Unicorn's object of desire. The Firestone has quite a history. Lady Eddison." Agatha turns her gaze upon the woman sitting on the sofa next to her, seeing the wary demeanour of the lady.

"I've done nothing." Lady Eddison says in defence.

"You brought it back from India, did you not?" Agatha inquires. "Before you met the Colonel. You came home with Malaria. And confined yourself to this house for six months, in a room that has been kept locked ever since. Which I rather think means—"

"Stop. Please." Lady Eddison begins to sob, holding her hands to her mouth.

Agatha stares at the woman in sympathy. "I'm so sorry. But you had fallen pregnant in India." The Colonel stares wide-eyed at Lady Eddison as the woman's shoulders shake in quiet sobs. "Unmarried and ashamed. You hurried back to England with your confidante, a young maid, later to become housekeeper-Miss Chandrakala."

"Mother," Roger speaks up in question, "is this true?"

"My poor baby." Lady Eddison whimpers as she tries to hold back her sobs the best she can. "I had to give him away. The shame of it."

"But you never said a word." The Colonel says, shaking his head in pure disbelief.

"I had no choice." Lady Eddison replies solemnly. Then, her voice changes to that of a drone as though she has had to repeat these words many times. "Imagine the scandal. The family name. I'm British. I carry on."

"And it was no ordinary pregnancy." The Doctor says from where he sits with Kathy and Donna. Now, instead of Agatha, everyone turns to look at him.

"How can you know that?" Lady Eddison replies, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and fear.

"Excuse me, Agatha," The Doctor says quickly glancing at the woman before continuing, "this is our territory. But when you heard that buzzing sound in the dining room, you said, it can't be. Why did you say that?"

"You'd never believe it." Lady Eddison replies in a harsh whisper.

"Lady Eddison," Kathy says, standing, "somebody in this room literally stabbed me in the back. The Doctor took the knife out of my back, but I'm still breathing, and I know that everyone here saw it. Also, the person who stabbed me was a giant wasp. I'm pretty sure that everyone is just a little bit more willing to believe the seemingly impossible than when they woke up this morning."

"It was forty years ago." Lady Eddison begins. Her eyes stare off into the distance as if seeing the memory again. "In the heat of Delhi, late one night. I was alone, and that's when I saw it. A dazzling light in the sky. The next day, he came to the house. Christopher, the most handsome man I'd ever seen. Our love blazed like a wildfire. I held nothing back. And in return, he showed me the incredible truth about himself. He'd made himself human, to learn about us. This was his true shape. I loved him so much, it didn't matter. But he was stolen from me. 1885, the year of the great monsoon," she inhales deeply, "the river Jumna rose up and broke its banks. He was Taken at the Flood. But Christopher left me a parting gift. A jewel like no other. I wore it always. Part of me never forgot. I kept it close, always."

"Just like a man." The Unicorn comments. "Flashes his family jewels and you end up with a bun in the oven."

"A poor little child." Agatha continues her denouement. "Forty years ago, Miss Chandrakala took that newborn babe to an orphanage. But Professor Peach worked it out. He found the birth certificate!"

Donna's eyes light up. "Oh, that's maiden. Maiden name!"

"Precisely."

"So, she killed him?"

"I did not!" Lady Eddison insists.

"Miss Chandrakala feared that the Professor had unearthed your secret." Agatha continues. "She was coming to warn you."

"So, she tried to kill her!"

"No, cause Lady Eddison is completely innocent." Kathy says.

"Correct Mrs Raedan." Agatha nods. "Lady Eddison is innocent. Because at this point, Doctor—"

The Doctor leaps up, standing in front of the fireplace. "Thank you. At this point, when we consider the lies and the secrets, and the key to these events, then we have to consider it was you," he turns and points, "Donna Noble."

Donna gawps. "What? Who did I kill?"

"No, but you said it all along. The vital clue. This whole thing is being acted out like a murder mystery, which means it was you," he turns and points again, "Agatha Christie."

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Agatha splutters, flabbergasted.

"So, she killed them?" Donna eagerly questions.

"No. But she wrote. She wrote those brilliant, clever books. And who's her greatest admirer? The Moving Finger points at you," he points again, "Lady Eddison."

Lady Eddison sobs. Roger rubs her back comfortingly, frowning at the Doctor. "Don't. Leave me alone." The former gasps through her tears.

"So, she did kill them."

Kathy sighs. "No. What he means is, what were you doing last Thursday Lady Eddison?"

"I was–I was in the library," she paused for a moment, "I was reading my favourite Agatha Christie, thinking about her plots, and how clever she must be. How is that relevant?"

"That's not the only thing that happened last Thursday. Is it?" Kathy turns to face the Reverend. "Along with Lady Eddison curling up in the library with a good book, what else happened that day?"

"I'm sorry?" The man replies, speaking for the first time since this whole denouement had started.

"You said on the lawn, this afternoon." The Doctor reminds him. "Last Thursday night, those boys broke into your church."

"That's correct." The Reverend responds. "They did. I discovered the two of them. Thieves in the night. I was most perturbed. But I apprehended them."

"Really?" The Doctor retorts. "Really? A man of God against two strong lads? A man in his forties? Or should I say forty years old, exactly?"

"Oh, my god." Lady Eddison gasps in a tremor of astonishment.

"This is poppycock." The Reverend laughs in spite, looking unnerved by the truth of his identity.

"What's so poppycock about it?" Kathy speaks. "You're a Vespiform who's part human, born from Lady Eddison and raised by Fathers from the church. A Vespiform who finally broke through his genetic lock for the first time and is now angry with his mother for abandoning him."

"Acting out upon the stories of Agatha Christie that transferred from the Vespiform telepathic recorder." The Doctor explains along with Kathy, standing next to her as he indicates at the Firestone being what he is talking about. "It beamed your full identity, your brain, your very essence, right to you when you activated. Along with absorbing the stories Lady Eddison loved to read. It all became a part of you. The mechanics of those novels formed a template in your brain. You killed in this pattern because that's what you think the world is. Turns out we are in the middle of a murder mystery. One of yours, Dame Agatha."

Upon Agatha's clearly bewildered expression, Kathy pokes the Doctor in the side lightly. "Too soon." She whispers to the Time Lord.

"So, he killed them. Yes? Definitely?" Donna asks.

"Yes." The Doctor affirms.

The Reverend shifts in his chair, narrowing his eyes at them all. "Well, this has certainly been a most entertaining evening. Really, you can't believe any of this surely, Lady Edizzon."

"Lady who?"

"Lady Edizzzzon." Everyone begins staring at him, eyes piercing at him in observation as they hear the buzzing in his voice.

"Little bit of buzzing there, Vicar." The Doctor provokes.

"Don't make me angry." The Reverend spits.

"Why? What happens then?"

The Reverend stands, glaring at them all. "Damn it, you humanzz, worshipping your tribal sky godzz. I am so much more." The more he tries to speak, the more his anger grows, and the more the buzzing in his voice increases as he rages at them. "That night, the universe exploded in my mind. I wanted to take what wazz mine. And you, Agatha Christie, with your railway station bookstall romancezz, what'z to stop me killing you?"

"Oh, my dear God. My child." Lady Eddison sobs.

"What'zz to stop me killing you all?" He shakes as a cloud of purple smoke surrounds him as he transforms into his Vespiform body. The massive wasp, with a yellow and black hard body, large wings that beat rapidly in the air with their deafening buzz, and an enormous stinger at the end, pointed and ready to kill them all.

Everyone begins panicking as the Vespiform crawls on the empty sofa across from the others, snapping its sharp mouth at them.

"Forgive me." Lady Eddison cries as she tries reaching for her long-lost son, to comfort him and beg him for forgiveness. But the Colonel and Roger hold her back for her own safety.

"No, no, Mother, come back." Roger says.

"Keep away. Keep away, my darling." The Colonel adds. The two of them pull the screaming woman into the corner and away from the Vespiform man where the Unicorn is standing, huddled and rightly terrified.

"No." Agatha loudly declares. She holds up the firestone in her hand. "No more murder. If my imagination made you kill, then my imagination will find a way to stop you, foul creature."

And then she opens the door and runs. The Vespiform, antagonised, chases after her. Kathy, Donna and the Doctor bolt after her.

They reach outside, ahead of the Vespiform, to find Agatha driving a car and she hoots the horn. The Vespiform bursts out behind them.

"Over here! Come and get me, Reverend." Agatha yells.

"Agatha, please, it's not your fault! You don't need to do this!" Kathy cries.

"You're wrong Mrs Raedan. You don't know everything. I started this so then I must stop it." Agatha drives off. The Vespiform hesitates and then follows her.

"Come on!" The Doctor cries. He, Kathy and Donna get into another car and give chase.

——

Finally, Agatha suddenly makes a sharp turn, and the Doctor follows after her. She stops her car and gets out, holding the Firestone in her fist. It glows the same violet as the Reverend had when he transformed.

"Here I am!" She shouts. Her voice carries across the lakeside. "The honey in the trap. Come to me, Vespiform."

"She's controlling it!" Donna observes, climbing out of the car.

"Its mind is based on her thought processes. They're linked." The Doctor explains.

Kathy hops out the side of the car, joining Donna and the Doctor.

"Quite so, Doctor!" Agatha agrees. "If I die, then this creature might die with me."

The Vesprifom buzzes forward, and the Doctor steps forward as well. "Don't hurt her! You're not meant to be like this. You've got the wrong template in your mind."

"It's not listening to you." Donna snatches the necklace from Agatha and hurls it into the lake as hard as she can. They duck as the Vesprifom flies over their heads, and it crashes into the lake. The water is bubbling purple.

"How do you kill a wasp?" Donna asks rhetorically. "Drown it, just like his father."

"Donna," the Doctor says in disbelief, "that thing couldn't help itself."

"Lady Eddison beamed stories of cunning people solving crimes and bringing murderers to justice. And yet he chose to be one of the villains instead of the heroes." Kathy argues. She hates that it came to this, but she honestly can't think of another way this part could've been changed.

"It made its choice," Donna agrees, "and I made mine."

Agatha silently stares out into the lake in disbelief. "Death comes at the end, and justice is served."

"Murder at the vicar's rage." The Doctor murmurs.

Kathy and Donna give him a look. "Not your best." The former says. He shrugs.

"Just one mystery left, Doctor and Mrs Raedan." Agatha turns to them. "Who exactly are you both?"

Before the Doctor or Kathy can open their mouths and give any kind of answer, Agatha suddenly doubles over in pain and starts to collapse. Kathy and the Doctor quickly catch the woman before she hits the ground and slowly lowers her onto the grass. Agatha's face screws up in pain and she gasps as if she's been stabbed in the gut.

"She'll be fine. She should be." Kathy reassures. Please don't let her be proven wrong.

And just like that, Agatha glows purple for a few moments before it fades, and she relaxes as she falls unconscious.

"He let her go." The Doctor realises. "Right at the end, the Vespiform chose to save someone's life."

"Is she all right, though?" Donna asks.

"Of course. The amnesia." The Doctor realises. "Wiped her mind of everything that happened. The Vespiform, the murders."

"And us. She'll forget about us."

"Yeah, but we've solved another riddle. The mystery of Agatha Christie." The Doctor says. "And tomorrow morning, her car gets found by the side of a lake. A few days later, she turns up in hotel at Harrogate with no idea of what just happened."

——

Agatha stands at the bottom of the steps of the Harrogate Hotel. She looks back at them, dazed and confused before walking on. Kathy, the Doctor and Donna continue to watch on from next to the TARDIS.

"No one'll ever know."

"Lady Eddison, the Colonel, and all the staff. What about them?" Donna questions.

"Shameful story. They'd never talk of it. Too British." The Doctor replies.

"The Unicorn does a bunk back to London town." Kathy continues. "She can never even say she was there."

"What happens to Agatha?" Donna asks.

"Oh, great life." The Doctor reassures. "Met another man, married again. Saw the world. Wrote and wrote and wrote."

"She never thought her books were any good, though." Donna says sadly. "And she must have spent all those years wondering."

——

"The thing is, I don't think she ever quite forgot." The Doctor says once they're back in the TARDIS. "Great mind like that, some of the details kept bleeding through. All the stuff her imagination could use. Like, Miss Marple."

Donna does a mock irritated sigh. "I should have made her sign a contract."

"And, where is it, where is it, hold on. Here we go." He pulls up a deck plate next to the console and gets out an old wooden chest. "C. That is C for Cybermen, C for Carrionites," Kathy grimaces at the green ball, "and Christie, Agatha. Look at that." A 1957 paperback edition of Death in the Clouds with a wasp on the cover.

"She did remember." Donna beams.

"Somewhere in the back of her mind, it all lingered." Kathy remarks, nudging the companion's shoulder with her own.

"And that's not all. Look at the copyright page." The Doctor says, opening to said page.

"Facsimile edition, published in the year five billion!" Donna cries in shock.

"People never stop reading them. She is the best-selling novelist of all time."

"But she never knew."

"That's the problem. Most people only get appreciated once they're dead." Kathy says. Vincent Van Gough and Mary Seacole are some of them.

"She's right and no one knows how they're going to be remembered." The Doctor says. "All we can do is hope for the best. Maybe that's what kept her writing. Same thing keeps me travelling. Onwards?"

"Erm," Kathy interrupts, "drop me off first before you get any ideas."

The Doctor grins. "Right, a short hop. Then it's till the next time, Kathy."

"Till the next time, Doctor."

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[destinyimage]

3 Steps to A Healthy, Blessed Life

Many of us recognize that we would like to be thinner, have more energy, and live happier, healthier lives.

Although we realize this, it often feels like the distance between where we are and where we want to be is a chasm wider than the Grand Canyon! Lord knows we’ve tried to eat healthier, started ambitious exercise programs, signed up for weight-loss plans, and bought volumes of new cookbooks. Time and again, we lose momentum and then quit within a matter of weeks, if not days. The arduous endeavor of getting from point A—where we are now—to where we would like to be at a very distant point Z—the trim, healthy, flexible, energetic, happy person we believe we should be—is just too great and too difficult to navigate.

If that even remotely describes you, I have good news for you: Change is not as hard as you think.

As Dr. Mark Hyman wrote in his bestselling book, The Blood Sugar Solution 10-Day Detox Diet,

When it comes to weight loss, studies show that social threads have a bigger impact than genetics. When people join together to lose weight and get healthy, not only is it more effective, it’s also more fun! Losing weight is a team sport.

And how does he know? Dr. Hyman was one of the advising-physicians for The Daniel Plan conducted at Pastor Rick Warren’s Saddleback Church in Orange County, California. During the first week, 15,000 participants signed up for the program, and in the first year, those people lost an estimated 250,000 pounds! But that wasn’t the most startling discovery. What was? According to Dr. Hyman, “The research indicated that those who did the plan together lost twice as much weight as those who did it alone.” It’s best to team up if you want to get healthy and stay healthy.

Wake-Up Call

Over the past 20 years, there has been a dramatic increase in obesity of North Americans. More than one-third of U.S. adults (35.7 percent or 78.6 million) and approximately 17 percent (or 12.5 million) of children and adolescents aged 2–19 years are obese.

#1) Identify the Enemy

No matter your reason for picking up this book, I have good news for you. Regardless of your health goals or challenges, the foundation for alleviating, healing, or in many cases preventing health challenges begins with facilitating your body’s natural inborn ability to adapt to and recover from stress.

We all have stress—it’s inescapable. In fact, stress is really what makes life challenging and fulfilling. It is often in overcoming stressful challenges that we find life’s deeper meaning. At the same time, however, stress must be properly managed. or it will become destructive. Giving our bodies what they need to cope with and recover from stress begins with changing our lifestyle choices. These are choices like the way we eat, how much we exercise, how much time we allow for recovery, and how we manage our reactions to life’s adversities. It has to do with adding the right foods and activities first, then slowly eliminating the foods and practices that are detrimental to your overall health.

Myth Vs. Fact

Myth: “I feel healthy, so I am healthy.”

Fact: Imagine, if you will, a battlefield. Both sides have been fighting for weeks with heavy casualties. On the one side, an army serving a totalitarian dictator who seeks world domination. On the other side, a group of freedom fighters—locals who don’t want to see their land taken over by a madman. The commanding officer of the freedom fighters is burdened with the battle. No matter what approach he takes with his men, he is met with resistance at every turn. It’s as if the enemy knows his every move. But how can they? Some days he doesn’t plan his move until the last minute before he engages the enemy. He trusts a few good men, career men who would give their lives for him at a moment’s notice. What he doesn’t know is that one of those men is a traitor. He spies on the freedom fighters and reports to the enemy on a regular basis. As long as the commander doesn’t recognize this fact, and identify him as the enemy, the freedom fighters will continue to lose men until they have to retreat or surrender. The end is already spelled out. The war is already lost. No matter how well they plan, how prepared they are, how hard they fight, or how ferociously they stick to their war plan, until that spy is identified and neutralized, they will continue to lose.

Every day people are diagnosed with dental disease (cavities), heart disease (high blood pressure/cholesterol), and all types of cancer (breast, colon, prostate) and don’t even feel a single pain, lump, sensitivity or symptom. Many suffer heart attacks, cancer, strokes, and other “sudden” illnesses when they feel perfectly healthy— some even immediately after seemingly good checkups with their doctors.

How you feel doesn’t matter as much as what is really happening inside your body. Not only that, but most of us don’t really feel as healthy as we think we do— we have just gotten used to masking fatigue with caffeine, aches with medications, and chalking up symptoms to our age rather than what is really causing them. Until we identify that stress is the enemy in our own camp, then it won’t matter how much we try to eat right, or exercise, or take vitamins. Ultimately we will lose the battle to get healthy and stay healthy because we aren’t fighting the right enemy. We are just shadow boxing.

You want to feel really healthy? Then realize and act on the fact that stress is your biggest enemy in the fight for health! You will be surprised how fit, strong, and healthy you can be even into your 80s and 90s if you just identify and neutralize the stressors on your body, and give it what it needs to begin once again to adapt to and recover from those stressors.

#2) Identify Your Vision

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I use the word vision rather than goals because a vision is much more holistic than a list of individual objectives. As far as goals go, we tend to look for numerical changes such as lowering our blood pressure, LDL cholesterol counts, or losing X number of pounds. A vision, however, includes the motives behind why you set those goals, as well as how they work into your lifestyle. It includes the strategies and character with which you want to achieve those goals, as well as a practical understanding of the challenges you will face along the way and the realistic recognition of the amount of work necessary to see your vision become a reality.

There is a Jewish proverb that says: “Where there is no vision, the people perish.” However, when you look at the original Hebrew for this phrase, it doesn’t really say, “the people perish,” but rather “the people are unrestrained” or “cast off restraint.” Why are people undisciplined in the pursuit of their goals? It’s not because there’s anything wrong with them, and it’s not because there’s anything wrong with their goals. It’s because they don’t have a compelling vision that motivates them to stick to their plan. If we don’t have self-control, the problem isn’t that we are weak-willed—the problem is we lack vision.

People can go to the other extreme as well. They focus in so tightly on their goals that they forget why they are trying to achieve them in the first place. They make unnecessary trade-offs and compromises to achieve the numbers, but they lose on other fronts like relationships or quality of life. So, for instance, people will radically change their lifestyles or starve themselves to get to their ideal weight, but they forget that the real point was to live a healthier and happier lifestyle that they can maintain. Not only do they compromise their health getting to their goals, but after they reach them, they find they can’t maintain the lower weight without continuing to starve and work out at a feverish pace. They got what they wanted, but they lost the “Why?” behind it.

We don’t attain what we casually set out to accomplish—we’re just not designed that way. We obtain what we envision passionately. When we spend time adding to and developing a vision for the life we want, that vision becomes a powerful force, pulling us toward its fulfillment. What we visualize in our mind’s eye changes us. Our habits change. Our thinking changes. Our willpower aligns with our vision, and our expectations become more magnetic. This is why professional athletes use visualization techniques as well as disciplined practice to hone their skills. Our minds don’t differentiate between what we have done in our imaginations and what we practice in reality. When we see ourselves doing things the right way over and over and over again, it affects how we perform.

Myth Vs. Fact

Myth: Having fast-food French fries now and again never hurt anyone.

Truth: High-temperature frying, especially of potatoes, creates the chemical acrylamide. The fats used to fry fast food also stay in the body for many days causing a decrease in nerve transmission, increased hyperactivity, decreased immunity, and an increased risk for diabetes, cancer, and heart disease.

The point of having a vision is to focus on the results rather than on the pain of achieving those results. When we focus on the pain, we tend to give up; when we focus on the rewards, we keep working until we achieve them. It can be as simple as focusing on what you will feel like after you work out rather than how much you don’t want to get out of bed. Realizing how much better you will feel sitting down to a healthy, home-cooked meal with your family rather than driving out to get fast food and eating it in the car. The key is to pull future rewards into your present state of mind and focus on the benefits rather than on the obstacles.

The more we develop and contemplate our vision, the more it becomes part of who we are. It doesn’t take long for what we reflect on in our minds to become the reflection we see in the mirror! An unclear or ambivalent picture of how you want to look won’t be enough to propel you toward achieving your ultimate goals. You need a detailed vision that you nurture, develop, and meditate on every day.

#3) Identify Your Plan

Another crucial component of creating a healthier, happier life is proper planning. Most of us fall into eating at fast-food restaurants and buying convenience foods in the supermarket not because we are weak or don’t have time to do better. Most of the time we drop the ball because we fail to have a better plan. When you make decisions while you are tired or stressed, the default setting is to do what you’ve always done. However, if you have a written plan, the easiest thing to do becomes to follow your plan!

Planning today is easier than it has ever been. There are apps for your smart phone that allow you to synchronize shopping lists between family members. You can set alarm reminders for preparing food ahead of time so you are ready to cook dinner at the same time every night. There are websites galore with health tips, recipes, downloadable meal plans and shopping lists, as well as video exercise programs. There are even YouTube videos that show you everything from how to set up your kitchen to walking you step by step through meal preparation. It has never been easier to learn about how to create a healthier, happier life and then planning and incorporating that plan into your weekly routine.

It’s Not Entirely Your Fault

In the last 40 years, the world has become increasingly more industrialized, and stress is at an all-time high. Our society looks nothing like it did just a generation ago. Over the last two decades, the number of unhealthy, diseased, overweight, and obese North Americans has skyrocketed. People have more chronic health issues than ever before, and are on more medications than ever before. This isn’t because you have bad genes or are just getting older. This isn’t an epidemic that has happened because of a change in climate or because our generation is lazier than any before. If I were going to identify one factor, it wouldn’t be that we watch more TV, play more video games, or surf the Internet more than we ever have before. The real issue is that our bodies are stressed. We have more stress than we have ever had in recorded human history. When we refer to stress at this point, I mean that stress is anything that puts an undue burden on the body. Some stress is good, but chronic stress with no relief is devastating to your health.

One of the many reasons that we are stressed is that our food supply has changed so dramatically. We put certain things into our bodies that should never have been called food. Just because something gives energy (calories) doesn’t mean that it is food. If man created it, or it is filled with preservatives or sits on the shelf forever, it has more than likely been altered in harmful ways. Look at margarine; it’s not a real food. It is a combination of artificial chemicals that give a certain taste. We put it in our mouths, but it is not a naturally occurring substance. Now we can taste strawberries in a syrup that has no strawberries in it. It is just a fabricated chemical designed to taste like a strawberry. Even at times when we think we are making a healthy food choice like vegetables, we learn that the process of industrial farming has stripped those foods of value and they now create more harm than good. America’s topsoil is depleted, and the very DNA of food has been altered for reasons of economic efficiency and convenience. These factors of modern life all put complicated chemical stress on our bodies.

In order for topsoil to stay fertile, it must be cared for with good conservation practices. Unfortunately that is not happening today. In order for plants to thrive, the soil in which they are grown must contain vast amounts of naturally occurring potassium, nitrogen, and phosphorous, as well as hundreds of trace minerals. Soil conservation is a set of strategies that prevent erosion or chemical alteration from overuse, acidification, salinization, or contamination. Strategies like crop rotation and planting cover crops and windbreaks are necessary steps to protect our topsoil and help it to retain its integrity. The current use of glycophosphate (also known as “Roundup”) in standard farming practices has poisoned our food supply. Even those who choose fruits and vegetables over junk food find their bodies assaulted by toxins that cause chronic stress, genetic mutations, and cell death. The company Monsanto, with their push for acceptance of these chemicals and acceptance of genetically modified foods, will someday be responsible for more human deaths than any totalitarian dictator in history!

The standard American diet today is higher in sugars, bad fats, bad carbohydrates, sodium, and other nutritionally bankrupt and downright harmful ingredients than ever before. We are paying the price for not getting enough of the right things in our food and getting too much of the wrong things. We are eating more than ever before, while our bodies think they are starving. Simply put, our food supply lacks the proper nutrition. As a result, we are constantly storing fat because our bodies are tricked into thinking that because nutrients are scarce, food must be scarce. We are coming to a time when being overweight is going to be a greater world issue than poverty and hunger. We are very close to seeing more people on earth dying from the associated diseases and conditions of obesity than from being underweight or starving.

The processed foods that line grocery store shelves today have been carefully engineered to be as addictive as cigarettes or drugs. This is especially true of those that have added sugar, salt, fats, carbohydrates, or some diabolical combination of the four. Many of these processed foods—even ones that advertise themselves as “healthy,” “whole,” “gluten-free,” and “organic”—don’t have nearly the nutritional value that foods grown or raised in the right environment do. We need to recognize that much of what we eat out of habit is not because we lack willpower or self-control, but because those foods have been deliberately designed to be addictive. At the same time, they have so little nutrition in them that they leave us hungrier than we were before we ate them. Then, to feel satisfied we binge—reaching for foods that please the palate, but stress our internal systems because they have so little of what our bodies really need.

Wake-Up Call

Obesity-related conditions like heart disease, stroke, type 2 diabetes, and certain types of cancer are some of the leading causes of preventable death in our country today.

Despite such complications, the answer is relatively simple: As individual families and as a culture, we need to get back to eating real foods. When you eat real foods in the right combinations, something amazing happens—you feel full much sooner, and your appetite remains satisfied much longer. Your body is getting the fiber and nutrients that it needs. Your hunger hormones balance, and your appetite switches off. If your systems have been out of whack for a long time, this balance will take time to correct.

I want to warn you up front that you will be in for a bit of a fight, especially in the first few days. Food addiction is a real thing. When you eat gluten (wheat protein), casein (milk protein), and sugar, your brain is flooded with chemicals that make you feel calm and content. As you begin to remove those substances from your diet, you may feel some anxiety or other physical effects. Hang in there. With each passing day, your body will adjust, and your cravings will diminish. You will find that it takes about seven to ten days to do most of the work of recalibrating your appetite. This will vary depending on what your eating habits were like before beginning.

At the same time, when you begin to take small steps toward a happier and healthier life, you will be surprised at how much your eating habits and appetites will have improved. You’ll know something is different when you look forward to a hardy spinach salad with avocado, roasted pine nuts, wild-caught salmon, and a little feta cheese rather than a super-sized burger, fries, and a shake! And, oh boy, when that starts to happen, things start to get exciting!

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[healthcarespeed]

Addiction Intervention Programs To Treat Drug And Alcohol Abuse

What is Addiction Intervention Programs?

Addiction intervention programs are created to aid families of addicts convince their loved family members of the harm that the addiction is causing. The majority of addicts hold the idea that they'll be able to conquer the addiction by themselves once they decide the time is right.

This is often a false expectation. Addicts continue to use drugs and alcohol, breaking often broken promises to stay sober or to manage their addiction. An opioid addiction intervention services could be required to help save the life of a loved one, is possible.

Getting high is central to the lives of addicts to alcohol and drugs their primary motivation often becomes what it takes to get their high back. Sometimes, a person's lives may be influenced by mental health issues for example, eating disorders or behavioral addictions.

The destructive, obnoxious behavior of compulsive addiction may end up obscuring everything else that is of value to the person, and in these cases it may be critical to seek the assistance of an interventionist prior to the addiction gets worse.

Interventions may stand the best chances of success when carried out under the guidance of an outside professional. Interventionists' assistance could mean the difference between living or dying. However, first, you'll need to know the indicators and signs of addiction to determine whether intervention is needed or not.

How do I know whether someone requires intervention?

Most addicts are not aware of their problem and are reluctant to seek treatment. They fear they'll suffer withdrawal. Some may have shared disturbing tales of their withdrawal or detox experiences.

A person who is suffering from an alcohol or drug addiction may display certain behaviors that friends and family members must be on the lookout for. This could be:

Utilizing anger, avoidance or defensive behaviors.

Retributing negative effects of the use of alcohol or drugs on different circumstances.

Be sure to only attend social events if you have access to substances

Experiencing a personality change when under the influence of.

Experiencing occupational problems.

Too much time spent with friends who drink and/or take drugs.

Incessantly borrowing money or accruing a large amount of charges on credit cards.

Driving while impaired.

Sniffing constantly or struggling with frequent colds.

Many visits to the bathroom within a short period of time.

The addiction to drugs and alcohol is becoming more prevalent than ever before.

If you are able to recognize these signs and symptoms addiction, it is time to plan an meth addiction intervention services intervention, whether it is with your family or an interventionist. Before you organize an intervention, you must remember certain points to be aware of. You shouldn't hold an intervention before you've been fully trained and prepared, because otherwise , it could result in negative consequences and could turn your loved one who is addicted away.

First, you want to make sure that the tone you use is compassionate and compassionate. You should also be non-judgmental. You may want to begin by speaking to the person you are talking to about their addiction to drugs or alcohol abuse in a one-on-one meeting, instead of within the context of a group.

An intervention with a group from the beginning can be stressful for your loved one. Inform the person that you are concerned about their conduct and ask them if they are open to hearing.

Use non-judgmental language, such as "I feel," instead of "you are." Make an effort to talk about the issue of addiction in a cooperative manner. The person who is addicted isn't the person to blame and you're on the same side. It's important to recognize specific instances of substance or alcohol abuse that has hurt you.

If they're interested in listening to what you have to share If they are, you can ask them if they would be interested in looking at an addiction treatment program. If they're positive, you're able to proceed to the next step. If they don't respond, don’t insist on the subject.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Your cool literary takes on James Bond made me want to ask you this. I have to wear a tuxedo for a special occasion, can you give me some advice? I would welcome some style pointers from you as I respect your refined taste. What are your thoughts on men wearing the tuxedo? I think it’s a dying tradition because here in the US, where the tux was invented, it has all but disappeared as the choice of evening wear for any social events. Great blog posts but I only wish you would post more.

Thank you for your kind words about my most recent posts on Ian Fleming’s James Bond and also generally liking what I post. I too wish I could post more but unfortunately my time is taken up with the reality of work and other things even during these tough times of the Covid pandemic. But when I get a moment to myself I do enjoy posting as a way to detox from the pressures of work. I appreciate your continued support.

I got this question before Christmas so the thought had occurred to me that you were asking because you had a decision to make over the festive period. If so, I am sorry for tardy lateness of my response. But I trust what little advice I can give will help you in the future. 

I always remember the maxim by the fashion designer, Tom Ford, who said, “Dressing well is a form of good manners.”

To me, for a man to wear black tie (or tuxedo) is the height of good manners. It used to be the case that every gentleman had one and it was perhaps the first suit to pack into a suitcase. Perhaps one of the few times I was ever envious of my older brothers as men was accompanying them with my father the first time they went to get fitted for a bespoke black tie at Henry Poole & Co - the Savile Row tailors that had been the regular choice of my grandfather and father for their clothing attire. Although both siblings later gravitated to other Savile Row bespoke tailors as they got older, that first Henry Poole black tie lasted them for a long time. The whole ritual around taking measurements took on a hushed sacred tone of a liturgy. Looking back it felt like a rite of passage for them as they passed from boyhood to adulthood.

The choice of wearing a tuxedo epitomises the desire - among people of means and social standing - to be fresh, clean and as attractive as possible when meeting on evening social events and attending high spirits affairs. This tradition was maintained also with the beginning of the use of the automobile, when there was no practical justification.

Before the Second World War, tuxedos and tails were still considered the only appropriate clothing for all the elegant social evenings. However, after the war, the traditional suit, or the work suit, began to be accepted more on informal evening and daytime occasions, and so the use of the tuxedo was limited to just formal evening gatherings only.

The tuxedo was completely remade in disco's image by the 1970s. A young, revolutionary generation looked at the conservative styling of the tuxedo and threw out nearly everything, keeping only the vague silhouette. Huge, floppy bow ties, colourful patterned jackets, shirts with ruffles and lace, and trousers that looked more like bell-bottoms became much more prevalent. The typical tuxedo in the '70s usually had at least two of these elements, if not all of them.

By the 1980s, a return to classic styling had thankfully re-emerged and tuxedos started looking more conservative.

By the late 2000s, as dress codes became diluted and misunderstood, formal-wear took another hit. Business-casual was the predominate dress code of the workplace and shiny black suits with matching ties had nearly supplanted traditional black-tie. Coloured dress shirts also began to trend in this era.  Those who continued to wear traditional black-tie made it as simple as possible to match the casual aesthetic that a new generation preferred.

These days I think more and more young men are adopting the black-tie styles of the '30s and '40s. Midnight blue tuxedos have even made a comeback. I think high quality period dramas like "Mad Men" are at least part of the reason for the shift, with men growing nostalgic for a bygone era of neater, more crisp look.  

People forget, as often as they do, that the original purpose of this elegant clothing was to replace the suit worn all day, allowing men to leave behind the dirt and smell of a day spent on horseback, not to bring it around the dining table.

These days the emphasis on informality has made it easier to make excuses for men (and women) to dress down to a street level of casual indifference (laziness) that I find aesthetically displeasing.

Moreover I find it a tad disrespectful to the sense of occasion and also an unkind ingratitude to the efforts made by the host or hostess in organising such an event. For those who think wearing black tie is a sign of social superiority, then respectfully they have not understood its true purpose. In following the dress code, it is in effect a sign of respect towards your fellow guests, as it has been put in place to ensure attendees are on the same level.

The origin of the tuxedo is a controversial subject of conversation in some circles. I know in the US it’s common to assume the tux was invented there but many have pointed out it was in England that its origins lie. Some fashion historians trace it back to the 17th Century as a tailless ‘smoking jacket’. In England during the 17th century, after dinner the gentlemen might put on a smoking jacket and retreat to a den or smoking room. Indeed in the beginning it was believed that the purpose of the ’smoking jacket’ ensured that their evening coat would not be burned by ashes nor absorb the smell of tobacco which the women found distasteful.

However these days there remain two theories about the first ever proper tuxedo that we would recognise today. In the first theory the tuxedo was invented by Pierre Lorillard IV of New York City according to one school of thought. Pierre Lorillard's family were wealthy tobacco magnates who owned country property in Tuxedo Park, just outside of New York City. At a formal ball, held at the Tuxedo Club in October 1886, the young Lorillard wore a new style of formal wear for men that he designed himself. He named his tailless black jacket the tuxedo after Tuxedo Park. The tuxedo caught on and became fashionable as formal wear for men.

The second theory, according to English clothing historian James Laver, has it that the idea of wearing black for evening wear was first introduced by the 19th Century British writer, Edward Bulwer-Lyttonn who wrote in 1828 that "people must be very distinguished to look well in black." It was only until later in the century that a village resident of Tuxedo Park, New York, James Brown Potter vacationed in England in the summer of 1886. Potter and his wife, Cora were introduced to the Prince of Wales {who later became King Edward VII} at a court ball in London. Potter asked the Prince for advice on formal dress. The Prince sent Potter to his own Saville Row tailor, Henry Poole & Co. Potter was fitted with a short black jacket and black tie that was unlike the formal tails with white tie that was worn in the United States for formal occasions.

The new tailless formal wear was said to have been designed by the Prince of Wales. It was Edward VII who in 1865 commissioned to his tailor Henry Poole to create a short blue evening jacket (midnight blue), to be used for informal evenings in his country estate of Sandringham. The Prince and his tailor drew inspiration from the British military uniforms of the time, which used short jackets with black ties.

This is where the two origins meet. James Brown Potter took the design back to the Tuxedo Club, where Pierre Lorillard modified it, named it, and made it popular during the Autumn ball. And so from that blessed bespoke collaboration between the Prince and Henry Poole & Co was born the ancestor of what everyone call today as tuxedos, the English ‘dinner jacket’ and the Americans ‘tuxedo’ - because of its original word spread starting from the homonymous village of Tuxedo Park.

Whatever the exact truth of its origin, black tie remains the evening attire par excellence. I’m flattered that anyone should ask me for style tips, especially regarding grooming and clothing for men.

I like to think that the true purpose of a man wearing black tie was to help the man show the humility to be an unassuming gentleman in effortlessly blending into the background so that his female companion could shine more by his side. A man in black tie was a gentleman who stood steadfastly there with an outstretched arm to make women feel more beautiful, but also to reassure them that all is right in the world.

If you get the opportunity to wear black tie then do please take it. The fact that you desire to wear one is already a great choice that makes you stand out from the loud bling-bling hoi polloi. But please don’t confuse wearing a black tie with snobbery. It isn’t, it’s just good manners. Manners maketh man as they say and so it’s not something one is born with but can only be learned. And don’t confuse fashion for style. The two are very different. Fashion is what you copy from others and style is what you express about yourself. Don’t conform to the passing fancies of the day (the loud, the garish, the attention seeking), or as Coco Chanel put it, ‘elegance is refusal’.

Always remember that style is a way to say who you are without having to speak.  

In theory, the elegance of the tuxedo stems from its simplicity - it’s an ultimate classic, the one outfit one doesn’t mess around with. In practice, many men find the rules governing this suit and its accoutrements to be annoyingly complex and complexly annoying.

My basic rule for men is ‘kiss’ - Keep It Simple, Stupid. 

Rule 1: Buy, don’t rent

It’s better if the black tie that you have is yours, and not rented. For one thing it’s a question of comfortability. You’ll be comfortable in your skin if you’re more comfortable in a suit that actually fits. Secondly, a rental doesn’t mean it’s good quality. The fabric is an important consideration.

In an ideal world you should get a bespoke tailored black tie made - ideally from any of the excellent tailors on Savile Row. But not all tailors are equal. Henry Poole & Co would be the traditional choice. I know for my older brothers they prefer Gieves & Hawkes and Huntsman because they have a more military draped cut, traditional but not stuffy.

In the long run it’s a once in a lifetime worthy investment if you take in consideration the cost of each potential rental along with how many times you would be wearing one throughout the coming years.

But I understand for many that may be an impossible proposition. The next best thing is to get a less expensive ‘made-to-measure’ black tie which is an increasing and welcome avenue for men to still have a suit or black tie made to fit them.

I would hesitate recommending buying off the peg because many high street brands have a rather relaxed attitude to tailoring and quality. If you must buy off the peg or rent then make sure the fabric is wool.

Rule 2: Black or Midnight blue and no other colour

Your black tie should be, to state the obvious, black. Not only is it the correct choice, it is the stylish choice. You can never go wrong with black. But if you’re feeling a tad adventurous go with Midnight blue. Midnight blue, being blacker than black, is not merely an exception to the rule but an exceptional choice for shimmering with distinction under the moonlight.

But what about white dinner jacket so beloved of James Bond or Indiana Jones? Yes, quite.

Traditionally, white was worn in place of a traditional black suit to deflect heat. This made it the perfect alternative for black-tie events that were held in the afternoon, during the Summer or at sea. The white jacket variation of black tie began was adopted in the early 1930s as a way for well-heeled vacationers to dress formally in the tropical heat without having to endure the heavy and dark-coloured fabrics that were standard for evening wear at the time. 

While dinner suits have become much more lightweight since then, the light-coloured jacket has remained a popular warm-weather alternative to its ebony progenitor. However, without a proper understanding of its form and function, the white dinner jacket easily becomes a flashy gimmick.  Subtlety and restraint are the keys to the successful execution of this classic variation.

Avoid other colours like the plague. I do notice from time to time in the shop windows here in Paris (as well as London and elsewhere) that some menswear boutiques display bright coloured dinner jackets.

Usually it’s the Italians (like Canali and Brunello Cucinelli who give in to their worst Italian impulses to show off their peacock flair) and others who really should know better (yes, the wine red velvet dinner jacket is very fetching but it belongs by log side fire, a cigar, and a cognac, so thank you Tom Ford). I even think some of them look nice and charming but it’s not black tie.

Besides a non-traditional black tie will be much more vulnerable to the whims of passing fashion where as traditional unfussy black tie can give peace of mind that it will never go out of style and thus will last longer.

Rule 3: Put yourself in a straight jacket

The first thing to decide is single or double-breasted and number of buttons. A safe and elegant option is one-button single breast which is both timeless and classical. Two buttons are fine, worn with the lower button undone. Double-breasted styles of any button configuration are also appropriate, but keep in mind that double-breasted jackets add some ‘bulk’ to the body. So take a hard look at your body type before you decide which one best flows off your shoulders. The buttons should be fabric-covered.

Hand in hand with the button style goes the lapel. The classic, formal option is peak lapel. Shawl lapel is somewhat less formal, but perfectly suitable. Shawl has become very popular, especially in slim versions. Notch lapels are frequently seen on off-the-rack tuxedos, but this is a more casual style, which should be reserved for suits. My preference would be to go for the peak lapel but make them sufficiently wide and not too slim.

The jacket was traditionally without vents, to keep seams (i.e. details) to a minimum, but double vents are also acceptable, providing comfort and movement. The pockets should be straight piped (slit without flap) and there should be a breast pocket.

Rule 4: Trousers, brace yourself

The trousers are ideally made without pleats or cuffs, with straight pockets following the side seam, in order to make them less visible. Black tie attire should never be worn with belts, so skip the belt loops. Traditionally one would use suspenders (braces) as it straightens the body shape as well as holds up the trousers. Choose black or white braces in fabric, rather than in leather, or in any case they should be matching the colour of the tuxedo. But I should note that side-fasteners are also a convenient option for some flexibility in the waist. The front closure should be clip-only, avoiding the button. Classically, the trousers will have a satin silk stripe covering the outer side seam on each leg, matching the lapel facing. This is a lovely detail, but nowadays sometimes considered old-fashioned. For this reason alone I would insist on it.

Rule 5: Don’t get shirty

The shirt should be plain white cotton, with a few distinct features. It should always have a ‘bib’ running down to front, which provides starchy stiffness (i.e. a higher level of formality). I’ve seen shirts in which vertical pleats in matching fabric are designed. I think they look plain and boring. Similarly if someone suggests to you a fly-front placket panel that covers the buttons and leaves a clean look then walk away immediately. Both these kind of shirts are for the lazy because they both want to avoid having to deal with those troublesome studs where the buttons would be.

I would advise always make sure your shirt has a starch like ‘bib’ that is attached made up of a textured pique fabric (pin dots), usually called Marcella. They look so much more elegant and classy.

Many would say that collar can be a normal Kent variety or a wing collar, which has little points turned down where the collar wings would be, but otherwise exposing the collar band. I personally think a wing collar is subject to whims of fashion and something best left in a 1920s set movie. Some can wear them very well (see Paul Newman in The Sting) but it depends on the girth of your neck. I think the wing collar can portray a man’s neck in an unflattering way.

I think the normal Kent collar is cleaner and classical, and it will never go out of style. The Duke of Windsor made the Kent collar hugely popular in his prime.

The cuffs should be double (French cuff), to accommodate cufflinks.

Many people also forego the buttons on evening shirts, instead leaving holes where you can attach studs (often matched with the cufflinks). If you are going to do that make sure that they’re mother of pearl studs.

Rule 6: Accessories are in the details

The shirt should not be visible at the waist, which calls for a something covering the gap between trousers and jacket, unless you opted for a double-breasted jacket. Traditionally, this is non-negotiable, but these days you often see people wearing no waist covering. My advice is unless you’re wearing a double breasted black tie (for which there is no need to wear a cummerbund) then always wear a cummerbund with a single breasted black tie.

You either use a cummerbund matching the bow tie (a cummerbund folds upwards, for convenient opera ticket storage) or a waistcoat. Please don’t commit the faux pas of making your cummerbund a colour other than black. Often people match their bow ties to their cummerbunds in garish bright colours which just defeats the object of why one wears black tie in the first place.

For the waistcoat, there are a few style options. Often, black tie waistcoats will have a rounded (horseshoe) cut with shawl lapels but a regular cut waistcoat is also acceptable. The key is to go simple and match the jacket fabric, facing and buttons. The back can be wool or lining, where we’d recommend the latter, to make the ensemble cooler. A stylish fob watch with chain would be a nice little detail that one can drop without telegraphing it loudly.

Consider having a white silk pocket square. You can fold it any way you like, but the so-called straight presidential fold is simple and sharp looking.

Socks must be knee length. Make them black. Again, the principle is one of clean lines and elegance. Disruptions below the trouser leg - stripes, shins, whatever - threaten to ruin the whole effect.

Shoes. Your shoes must always shine. This is one detail many men neglect. The shoes should be black patent leather. My preference would be for high quality Oxfords. I know some purists would insist that only opera pumps walk the one true path, but it is obvious on its face that those precious ribboned things, also called court shoes, are not completely in step with modern life. I know too that bit-toe loafers (thank you Tom Ford) are also more of the modern rage but I find them a little effeminate. So while I don’t see it as a style concession I do think Oxfords shined to a high sheen is the modern and best choice I would opt for a gentleman to go for. To me being comfortable in your shoes is also an equal and valid consideration.

Cufflinks and studs should be simple and classic, luxury metals and mother-of-pearl or onyx insets are nice touches. I know some punt for more personalised cuff links - like their regimental or college or some other institutional affiliation - and there is nothing wrong with that but I am on the fence about this. Generally I would leave that for your day time business suits. Showing off defeats the ethos of wearing the black tie in the first place. 

Rule 7: ‘Sprezzatura’ up your bow tie

‘Sprezzatura’ is a gorgeous Italian word - first appearing in Baldassare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier in 1528 - that means a disheveled elegance by way of studied carelessness. This perfectly sums up how one should wear the centre piece of the black tie - the bow tie.

Don’t be taken in by the very modern fad - thank you Hollywood and modern music pop stars - of wearing long neck ties (even if they are in black) as part of your black tie attire. Just don’t. It doesn’t matter how swish you may look you still are a prat for not dressing in real black tie.

Plain black silk and entirely self-tied. That’s a real bow tie.

Anyone and his dog can always identify a pre-tied bow tie by the fact that it's just a little too studied. Perfectly straight, perfectly symmetrical, and perfectly balanced. Just like plastic surgery, clip-on bow ties just look too perfect to be real. It is one of the most obvious signs that you're a style amateur.

Avoid pre-tied bow ties (and its ugly sibling the stick-on bow tie) like the plague....unless you’re a child who is unable to tie his own bow tie. But what if you don’t know how to tie a real bow tie? It’s never too late to learn. It’s the same level of difficulty as tying your shoes. If you don’t know ask someone who does know. If you’re buying a bespoke tailored black tie the tailor would most definitely show you how to do it. Easy peasy.

Remember bow ties are supposed to be imperfect and worn. That’s what makes the wearer authentic.

Perfect symmetry is not a goal worth pursuing here. Being an elegant gentleman is.

And that’s it. Those would be my informal rules for any man wanting to be a gentleman wearing black tie for a special occasion.

Thanks for your question.

[angelsndragons]

Part 2: Apathy is Death

Blanket trigger warning once again: discussions of Caduceus’ past, including depression, self-harm, self-neglect, potential suicide, and drug use.

To start this off, for a long time one particular quote from an old video game has stuck with me regarding Caduceus: 

So you will do nothing? Apathy is death, no, worse than death, because at least a rotting corpse can feed the beasts and insects. -Star Wars, KOTOR: TSL

This statement, I feel, really sums up everything that has gone into Caduceus’ arc and growth thus far. We start with a young man who doesn’t speak up, who is content to just let things happen to him, who neglects his duty, who chooses to not make a decision and doesn’t seem to realize he has made a choice. And that it has consequences. Caduceus is left alone. His siblings leave one by one, his parents and aunt too. And he wilts. Time passes, he does his work at the shrine, and all the while he curls further into himself, sustained only by the notion that someone else, in this case the Wildmother, will a) tell him when to go, and b) tell him if there is something he needs to know regarding his family. Never mind that Caduceus could easily step out of the Grove whenever he wants, never mind that he (at least towards the end of that ten years) has the power and means to contact his family himself. The Wildmother has given him all the tools he needs; he just can’t bring himself to do anything with them. As ever with Caduceus’ arc, he must learn to take ownership and agency regarding his life. And he spends ten stubborn years, after losing what really mattered to him, not doing so. Until the Wildmother stops speaking to him. Losing this last fragile tether finally, finally moves him to action. 

This is really the part I want to emphasize about what he revealed with the lilies: Caduceus was reaching out for the first time in years and looking for help the only way he could. On some level, buried deep under several layers of neglect, apathy, and depression, he realized that he needed to do something or everything would get worse. I know that a lot of people think he was poisoning himself intentionally but I disagree hard on that interpretation. First of all, that requires a level of effort that I don’t think he was capable of at that time. There is a reason that the first several weeks on an anti-depressant are the most dangerous; you finally have energy again but haven’t yet begun to feel better. If you were suicidal before the meds, going on them initially increases your risk of doing it. Secondly, while it seems crass to the audience, Constance’s comment about Caduceus micro-dosing indicates that he was well-known to have done drugs before everyone left and that they were okay with it. Caduceus knows what he is doing with them. We see him in 130 place a petal in his mouth, not actively eat a bunch of flowers. He’s stronger now than he was then, his ties to the Wildmother are nearly unbreakable at this point. But back then? If she had stopped speaking, if he had lost his connection to her like that, nine levels weaker than he is now, yeah, I can see him going overboard trying to reestablish that connection.  

Now, at some point, the line between intentional self-harm and reckless self-neglect blurs quite a bit so if people read Caduceus as intentionally harming himself with the lilies, power to y’all. Personally, his lines about patience curdling to apathy and time stopped meaning anything read as neglect, not harm. Caduceus does not actively harm himself that we can see in the show; for example, in battle, he takes care to stay out of the line of fire and protect himself. However, he does actively neglect himself; again, often in battle when he is wounded, he will focus on a more injured teammate, say he is okay, and move on without healing himself.

That aside, as painful as the lily reveal is, that is the moment that Caduceus first makes an active choice. And Wildmom rewards him for it (I know there is debate whether he was tapping into the Somnovem in that vision but the timing combined with Wildmom personally vouching for the Nein with that breeze, I tend to lean towards her giving him that vision). He feels her presence once more, she readies him to leave, and sends him people with which to travel. He’s half out of it, has no idea what he doing, but now, at last, he is moving forward. It takes a lot of time to shake off that much neglect but we see him slowly wake up until the alarm blares in his ears with that panic attack. Caring for the Nein becomes his way of learning to care for himself again. Making group meals, for example, means he is much more likely to be eating regularly, even if it probably isn’t as much as people would like him to. Listening to their problems gives him focus while he isn’t ready to look at his own, and learning to unconditionally accept this group of fuckups with all their baggage gives him the space to accept his own. Allowing them to care for him in their own imperfect ways allows him to learn to extend that care to himself and the world around him. 

That doesn’t mean he didn’t have his struggles. Right up until about episode 49, we see Caduceus deflect making choices. He is ‘learning to embrace the chaos’. He asks if any of the Nein have a plan and is content to just follow along with Fjord’s visions. He has Opinions on quite a lot of their encounters but keeps quiet and keeps his head down most of the time. While the others make plans, he sits by and watches. He has small successes, too. He buys a broken sword to fix and declares it a gift to Fjord. He seeks out information on Vandran for Fjord completely on his own. He gets to know the crew. He decides to get everything he can out of their little pirate venture, from sampling new food to learning to be okay with being uncomfortable and learning to swim. I would say his biggest early game step forward comes when Nott’s situation (and Caleb by extensions) crops up, a clear cut ‘we can help make this better, we are meant to make it better’ moment if ever there was one. Also, let’s not talk about Caduceus and his sad, almost understanding ‘I am so sorry’ to Nott when he detoxes her in light of 130 right now, okay. I don’t have the space here. This episode, we see Caduceus step up in a big way- keeping Caleb grounded in the basement, taking charge of driving the cart around, planning for Luc, figuring out what to do for Nott and Yeza, communing with the Wildmother for help, etc. 

I want to go back to the title: Apathy is death. One cannot make changes in their life if they don’t care enough on some level to do so. Apathy is self-perpetuating because it requires no effort, it is so easy to slip into, and can feel like it will never end, regardless of actual mental health. Caduceus’ arc has been about breaking out of that mentality, recovering from it, and moving forward. And he is doing so well. This is why I refuse to treat that reveal with only angst and pity. The fact that he has broken through and come so far in less than a year is awe-inspiring. 

Next up, we answer the question: what does manure do for a garden? 

[montystarotchild]

🌕Full Moon in Leo Zodiac Messages🌕

Sun, Moon, Rising

Hello everyone! Welcome to those who are new and thank you for following ☺️. Entering this New Year I realized that I enjoy making master posts like these and will be adjusting the page to reflect that more. I will post at the beginning of each month and then share other spiritual content throughout the month.

I channeled the energy of what the Full Moon in Leo will bring each of the zodiac signs on January 28, 2021. Each reading comes with a photo attached, the oracle cards are definitely worth reading! I hope you enjoy this style of content and can connect through mind, body and soul.

*Because there is a 10 picture limit per post, the Earth signs (Taurus, Virgo and Capricorn) have their own separate post on pt.2. Remember to check your Sun, Moon and Rising signs!

Aries 🌕

I love this energy Aries. I do see that you may be feeling a bit unmotivated or “pooped” I’m hearing lol. Like you’ve been doing a lot and may not feel the energy to do much else. But this full moon is illuminating a lot for you. There may have been times that you have felt guarded towards what others may have had to say. And this is not to say that everyone’s words are helpful in any given moment. But we are allowed to take the information we need out of it and build our own true philosophy around it. You have the card ‘Forge, don’t follow’. Could that message be any louder?

Now of course we cannot open one door until another one closes. This has always been true and the full moon is revealing what door(s) must be closed. The Divine is calling you to release all of those emotions that you’ve been keeping close that don’t need to be there any longer. Is that what’s weighing you down, tiring you out? This is the perfect time for introspection while also being able to hold onto that beautiful vision of yours. You are closer to your goals than you think.

There is something here that you really want to take action on. And being the sign of initiating and taking action, being on “pause” may be very difficult for you. You may have an idea. Something that you can envision fully and basically see your stability at the end of it all. But going from the Knight of Pentacles to the King of Pentacles is going to take growth, a maturation. Your light is ready to expand and grow, it’s just waiting on your heart and mind to open up to all of the possibilities of fulfillment that is available to you.

Just because things aren’t “moving” right now for you doesn’t mean that the Universe doesn’t hear your every wish and prayer. There are things being woven that are unknown to you. Until more can be revealed, it’s time to address your beliefs. What do you believe to be possible? If you answer “anything is possible”, you must unsubscribe from the doubt and fear. You are not lost. You are in between. If you can’t shake these feelings try looking up at the stars and moon tonight if you can. If you can’t get out safely look up ‘Star Bathing meditations’ on yt.

Leo 🌕

This is going to be a very healing time for you Leo. So much rest and contemplation. You have moved out of the energy of dissatisfaction and are finally figuring out what you want. This is going to be a great time for you to do some grounding energy work. Meditation, journaling or even something physical like yoga. Whatever feels most nurturing to you at the moment. This grounding is going to help you complete what ever it is you are set out to do, even if that is just catching a moments rest.

I see that this Full Moon is also brining in focus for you. You may be feeling extremely creative and this will be your best time to create out of pure joy. If you enjoy painting or drawing, this may be an outlet of manifestation for you. This is also a time where you will feel Spirit even more. If you’ve seen the movie Soul then you know what I am talking about lol. There is a certain energy around you when you are creating, this is the love of Spirit. You are loved.

It is so “ironic” that you had 2 cards talking about boundaries right over each other. Actually there are a lot of repeating themes throughout your reading Leo. With all that this Full Moon is revealing to you, you will also clearly see what you have been carrying from others. Being able to recognize what isn’t yours gives you the opportunity to then release it. This will strengthen those boundaries. Remember, the best defense is an offense, focus on protecting your energy and allow others to do as they please. You can only control you and how you respond to things. Again, it is so important to stay as grounded as possible during this full moon because it will help.

There is recognition that you are receiving here. It could be from either the physical or spiritual realm. You are stepping out and sharing your gifts and in return, the spotlight is shining brightly on you. This may be a natural state for you as a Leo and it will introduce deep emotional healing. You started this reading with the 4 of cups and evolved into the Queen of cups. This is not just about feminine energy but emotional maturity. If you also have questions about your physical health, resting could be your answer.

Sagittarius 🌕

Just like Leos, this is going to be a time of nurturing for you as well Sags. You are in need of making a decision. There could be an issue that you are trying to force a resolve in but this must come naturally. As you are waiting for this answer to come, and it will, you are being asked to open yourself up to the tenderness of the Universe. There is information all around but you must first become aware of it.

There is some type of communication or information coming in quickly for you once you make this decision. This is such interesting energy because even though things are moving all around you and towards you, this will still be a very internal journey. With the Hermit card here, you are doing a lot of introspection. There is something here that you are carrying that isn’t yours to bear. It’s time to let it go.

This Hermit time is a detoxification for you. All of the habits that have held you back and limited you thus far need to be re-examined and then released. This is also a time where you are releasing the grip you hold on expectations. A coping mechanism that you may have inherited is the need to control certain outcomes. When you allow God, Spirit or whomever you believe in to enter your heart, things become more natural. You don’t feel the type of pressure you normally feel when you realize there is a higher being at work behind the scenes for all of us.

The Full Moon is bringing you emotional intelligence. You are learning to trust that your aligned heart will lead you to exactly where you need to be in order to thrive. When you are in the throws of creative wonder you may also sense a feeling of deja vu. This is Spirit making you aware that the things that pull to you this lifetime you’ve definitely done before in another. Your creative expression is divine. If it comes naturally to you this Full Moon, fall into it.

Scorpio 🌕

Okay Scorpios! This Full Moon is bringing attention to your mind. You may feel a bit unmotivated or your thoughts may be a bit scattered. With so much going on in your head it may materialize as miscommunication or imbalance within your relationships. You could also be internalizing some not so positive thoughts about yourself or your body. But Spirit wants you to remember that you are a spiritual being having a human experience. All that you think defines you, doesn’t. You are a limitless being.

You are being called to forge your own path Scorpios. You are meant to be the leader that you always looked for in others. You do have a few different cards talking about timing in this reading. Everything is divine Scorpios and it is time to trust that where you are right now is where you are meant to be. The ‘Trust the timing’ card says, “trust the wave you came in on”. And when I think about waves and being out in the middle of the ocean, I think about the vastness of the Universe. Here time does not exist. Time does not limit living beings.

There is a new perspective and level of mental clarity being offered to you. You are going to be able to clearly see to the truth of any situation. There is something else here too. With this new clarity you are walking away from everyone else’s burdens. You know that you are protected and send that energy of protection to the ones you love but you know that this is all you can do. You can’t live other peoples’ lives for them, you can only live yours and expel that beautiful energy of love from within.

This decision may not come easily. Because you may wear many different hats in your life, being everything to everyone may have been the norm in the past. But you know that the choice you make will bring harmony and balance. Making this decision will allow you to release the chaos of others and even your own internal chaos. Any hesitations when it comes to creation or doubt when it comes to going after what you want can be released now. There are miracles waiting on you!

Cancer 🌕

The Full Moon is bringing in a detox for you Cancerians. Spirit is asking you to trust in the timing of your life. This might actually be a concept that you struggle with. You may worry often that there isn’t possibly enough time to fulfill every dream of yours or that the goal you have in mind is just too big for this lifetime. This is far from the truth. It’s time to let go of that mindset. I see that there is a giving and receiving of energy between you and another. It could be that helping others helps you to release the idea of time. This generosity of time or resources will actually in turn bring more abundance to you and even a level of inner peace.

This full moon the Universe is asking you to take a leap of faith on something. No journey towards fulfillment is easy but that is where your soul is being called to. There is so much to clear away from the past that it makes it difficult to focus on the present or the future sometimes. But you are being asked to give it your all. The end goal may seem simple enough but there is commitment needed and each action you take, no matter how small, leads you to your aligned “destination”.

Nostalgia may also come up for you. A lot of memories coming in. Your memories could be connected to your biological family or your chosen one. It’s different for everyone. But calling on your loved ones, even the family that may no longer be in your physical presence but spiritual, can bring you comfort in knowing that you are not alone. You are going to be receiving some news that is going to help. Someone may come along and remind you that all of life is a lesson. There are things to learn at every corner. You can gain something from any interaction.

This is a specific message for someone, if you recently won a disagreement with someone but it didn’t feel like much of a “win”, this is for you. You don’t have to be guarded. You are allowed to have your own beliefs just as everyone else is allowed to as well. You do not have to shift another’s perspective in order for it to fit yours. You can just move into like-minded energy. There needs to be a moment of reflection in order to gain more self-awareness. Who are you and who do you want to share your energy with reciprocally? You belong within a community where you can share your whole self.

Pisces 🌕

Ok Pisces, this Full Moon is addressing the emotional blocks that you still have hidden within. You will be experiencing a deep physical and emotional healing during this time. There may be a period where the relationships around you could experience some disharmony and focusing on your emotions at the same time isn’t an easy task. There may have been a lot building up and now it is time to release. And you are determined to. You know that when planting new seeds, you don’t see a sprout right away. But that won’t hinder your growth.

You are trusting your intuition that says even though things may seem stressful or uncomfortable, you are growing. As you turn your gaze within, and you witness all of your potential, you can easily recognize all of the potential of the things around you. It could be that you realize that your optimism is the key to bringing about more abundance and harmony in your life.

Either way, Spirit is introducing a new financial opportunity to you soon. It could be a new career venture or something that you are newly passionate about that could bring in more finances. This is your opportunity to bring your unconscious dreams and goals to light. This new venture shows you that your life is a canvas. Your future is as bright as you believe it to be. If there is something that you know you are being called to act on and you don’t, that isn’t investing into your future. There is a kind of passiveness when it comes to the Chariot in reverse. Like you are ok with how things turn out with or without direct action. I am telling you that this won’t get you to where you can experience total alignment. Don’t give your power away, take control over your own destiny.

Gemini 🌕

This Full Moon is opening doors for you Gemini. It is completely up to you whether you walk through them or not though. You will be experiencing an explosion of creativity. So many ideas will come up for you and a lot of it will be something new to learn about. With the Empress card next in reverse, there is to be caution of burnout. Sometimes we can be so passionate about a new beginning and we try to do and learn it all at once. If you find your emotions are out of balance because of this, it’s time to asses. What is fueling the rise of your emotions? It’s time to take care of yourself Gemini. Whatever is bothering you is appearing for a reason and if you don’t uncover the “why”, you can’t begin to feel better.

As you look within you can easily recognize your own authority. You have control over your emotions and how you react toward others. There is a new beginning here for you. It is something that you aren’t really use to. For some it could be resting in general. Resting your mind and allowing creativity to flow to you rather than trying to think it about. Stop. Take an hour or the rest of the day to just be and relax.

This really could be a new journey of creation for you. You are deciding not to take it all on yourself but to work with others. I want to point out that it seems like you will be working heavily with the spiritual world when it comes to creation. You have the message of ‘Massage’, ‘Breath of the cosmos’ and 3 of pentacles. All speaking on allowing the Universe to work with and for you. There are so many big things coming for you and only the Universe knows beforehand what is to come. With the 10 of pentacles at the end of this reading, it assures that trusting in the divine will bring you to your ‘happily ever after’. You just have to trust. The Universe truly does want what’s best for you. Do you believe?

Libra 🌕

The Full Moon is bringing you soul growth Libras. You have been planting seeds for the future but there is more to learn from life than just what we want out of it. The Universe is coming to you to tell you to relax. At this current moment all that there is for you to do is to take an intentional hand in your own healing process. There is nothing that you need to do but be. This is a huge lesson for you Libras. Something that no institution could teach you but one that you must naturally experience and study for yourself.

There are some insecurities that may come up for you. Things that you may have been trying to put off as “nothing”. If you have been struggling with addictions or fears and doubts do not worry. Acknowledging these things will bring in a great opportunity for both physical and emotional healing. With the card ‘Rose’ here, your heart is opening and expanding. This expansion is helping you face your fears of moving forward in life.

It is time for you to decide to let go of the limiting thoughts. When you find yourself repeating these narratives in your mind about how something “won’t work”, ask from the perspective of a stranger, “is this true”? If the answer is no then trust that truth. There may be people around you who ask you this constantly when they hear you doubting yourself. They are a part of your soul tribe when they can call you on your bullshit and still hold space for you and your emotions. Spirit wants you to know that you are not alone Libra. If there is any unbalanced energy within your relationships, it is time to re-evaluate your boundaries. Your higher self will be speaking to you directly but can you recognize your own voice? Would you know the voice of your higher self if it screamed out to you to let go?

Aquarius 🌕

This Full Moon you are being called to show the world the real you Aquarius. You may soon come into realization or have sensed this pull that you are here to do/create something. This is the faint memory of our purpose or “mission” that we have been sent here to complete. You have both the King and Queen of Swords here which is definitely your air energy represented. You could be experiencing a lot of communication during this time. You could be receiving a lot of unexplainable memories of the things that you have wanted to do but haven’t and somehow remember doing them in another lifetime.

During this full moon there is discernment needed in order to move through the continuously unknown moments of life. Many people fear the dark because of the inability to see but in the dark is where all seeds of the tallest trees started the process of growth. One area that you may struggle with when it comes to the unknown is your creative process. You may have had many clashing ideas when it came to creativity in the past. “I want to do this but I can’t do that” or “I can’t be a ___ and do ___”. For example, I can’t be a writer and a painter, I must choose only one way of being an artist. The Full Moon is opening your eyes to new possibilities. This will be the time where you feel most free to create anything that comes to mind.

In the past you may have allowed yourself to fall into certain situations either for stability or a sense of security but not for the fulfillment of it. Things may have become lackluster but that is ok because this full moon is bringing in new hues of color to your life. When looking inwardly you will find the things that bring you joy to create and experience and will gravitate towards them naturally. This will be another form of security. It will be security from the heart. Trusting that you can devote your life to a path of both true bliss and happiness and security as well.

This is a new journey for you. A time where you will be learning more and planting new seeds. This is a very important time for you to be gentle with yourself. Spirit is also calling to you to review the relationships in your life and re-evaluate the types of boundaries that are necessary for all. You are rejuvenating your energy and you can’t always allow others to have access to you during this process. Your energy is scared, it is your essence. And to truly get to the depth of your own hopes, dreams and feelings sometimes you must release your codependency of another. You are loved and you are love. All on your own Aquarius.

If you enjoyed this reading please like/reblog! As this is a general reading, please take what resonates + tipping isn’t required but always appreciated. 💖

https://cash.app/$aftonelizabethh

[anotheronechicagobog]

The Crackship Sails To Molly’s-I’m Not A Nurse - Rheese - Connor Rhodes x Sarah Reese

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

A/N: My second Halloween fic, and my first Rheese fic, hope you guys like it!

Warnings: swearing, mention of drugs, mention of how Halloween has been oversexualized, Protective!Ethan, seriously he threatens him and it’s a little intense

Sarah used to love Halloween. Her favourite nanny, Katya, used to be a seamstress and so she would hand make Sarah’s costumes. Sarah had loved it so much that she’d actually gotten the older woman to teach her how to sew, something that came in handy later in life for suturing, and she had been making her own costumes since Katya left to pursue another career. But as she got older new problems arose. Starting at fourteen she was expected to dress in... Revealing costumes. And Sarah did not like that, first of all, it was disgusting to expect women to dress in ‘slutty’ costumes, and second, it was appalling that the expectation was pressured on them so young. So the magic of Halloween she’d loved as a kid shattered, she didn’t even dress up for the holiday anymore unless it was for a costume party where she knew it would be appreciated. That Halloween, she was working in the ED. Even worse, it was the night shift. That meant the usual hell of calling time of death and cranky nurses, while also dealing with drunk morons who use Halloween as an excuse to fuck shit up.

Most of the usual ED staff wasn’t scheduled that night, they were here during the day which had been bad enough, but Sarah, Ethan, Connor, and Ava were all working doubles. Ethan was still avoiding April after their breakup and Noah was helping move her stuff out of their apartment that night before heading to Molly’s, Connor had requested it for some unknown reason, and Ava stayed because she and her girlfriend had gotten into a bad fight but she was using a patient’s touch-and-go condition as an excuse. Sarah downed her sixth coffee before stepping back out into the pits of hell. Connor wasn’t in the ED, probably went back up to the cardiology wing to help with Ava’s patient. Their relationship had improved drastically when Ava figured out she’s gay. It wasn’t something that was accepted in South Africa so she repressed it, even in Chicago, until she met Emily Foster. Ethan was sitting behind a computer with nurses bustling behind him, glaring at his computer screen. Sarah suspected it had less to do with whatever he was reading and more to do with whatever Doris was gossiping about right behind him.

Doris was an excellent nurse. Intelligent, experienced, and sympathetic when necessary. Unfortunately her sympathy did not extend to the other staff at MED whenever they were going through something gossip-worthy, read: deeply personal and often heartbreaking. Sarah had a basic amount of respect for her, but it didn’t expand past more than that since she heard her call Natalie the ‘ice princess’. The woman lost her husband and then found out she was pregnant a month later, had to deal with her mother-in-law constantly, all while continuing her fellowship, and Doris couldn’t say anything nice about her? And while she was right behind her. Another flaw of Doris’, she rarely kept stock of where anyone was in the ED at any given time so she usually ended up supplying MED’s gossip mill right in front of whoever it was about. It was distasteful, really.

“Dr. Reese, incoming, you’re going to treatment three.” 

“What do we have?” Sarah’s eyes began wandering them patient’s body, taking mental notes, as she listened to the debrief from Sylvie Brett and Gianna Mackey. “Male, 24, laceration on the forehead, we stopped the bleeding, but he lost consciousness once at the scene and three times on th way over. He was in a bar fight.”

“Okay, transfer on my count, 1, 2, 3. Good, thanks guys, be careful tonight.”

“You too, Reese.” And with that, the two paramedics left leaving her with a drunk patient and a couple of nurses. Sarah went through her usual checklist of examinations based on the physical exam, questions answered by the patient, and information from the paramedics. “Can you tell me your name?”

“My name’s Brad, am I terr yous anytingting yous wans tas know.”

“Well Brad, my name is Dr. Reese, does anything hurt?”

“Non, non, nona, yous a nurse, ot a-”

“I assure you Brad, I am a doctor, now can you please tell me if you’re feeling any pain and where?”

“Nursh, yous nursh. Where you fish nets? Ans I wants yous boobies.”

“Okay, let’s get him to CT and run a tox screen, his bandage is good for now and the wound is clear, I’ll stitch him up after we run the tests.”

“SOW ME YOUS BOOBIES!”

“... Are there any male nurses available?”

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

The rest of Reese’s night went like that, drunken fools, high morons, and an absolutely swamped ED. Brad shockingly did not have a concussion, and was refusing to let Sarah stitch him up and send him out. She would have just let him sign out AMA, but his tox screen came back with copious amounts of alcohol and ecstasy in his system, so she couldn’t under good conscience let him sign out and leave without the proper treatment in his state. So he was moaning and groaning about... Everything and kept demanding a ‘real’ doctor. “Hey Sarah.” She turned to face him, her shoulder relaxing as she signed in relief at the sound of his voice. A beaming smile graced his features that immediately made Sarah’s day and she really wished that they could just stay like that for the rest of shift. Or eternity, either would do.

“Hi Connor, how are things up in cardiology?”

“Good, good, they don’t really need me up there so I came back down here. Were you scheduled for just the ED tonight or neuro aswell?”

“Just the ED for tonight, I’ve been putting in more hours up there recently so Ms. Goodwin suggested a couple of doubles to catch up.”

“Ah, hey have you seen the movie ‘Knives Out’ yet?” Connor had tensed slightly, and was giving an odd amount of attention to an old coffee mug sitting on the nurse’s station, and a nervous look drained onto his face as he glanced between Sarah and literally anything else. Honestly it bummed Srah out a little, working with Connor was the only silver lining she had while working the graveyard shift, and she’d be lying if she said that her heart didn’t hurt a little everytime Connor looked less than ecstatic. She’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t head over heels in love with him.

“No, I just haven’t had the time! I have to keep running out of the room anytime my housemates talk about the movie so I don’t get any spoilers.”

“I still haven’t seen it either, maybe we could make a day of it, grab some dinner at that Thai place you like and then head over to that theatre by Navy Pier to watch it?”

“You know what Connor, that sounds like a great idea.” And just like that, Connor perked up, his smile was back and so was Sarah’s.

“Really? I mean-”

“Nursh! NURSH! NURSH REESH!” Connor cocked his eyebrow in annoyance un the direction of Brad’s room. Both at the interruption and at the language the man was using.“I keep telling him I’m not a nurse but he just won’t listen to me. And he’s in detox right now so we can’t discharge him yet.”

“Do you want some back up?”

“No, I’m good Connor, but thanks.” So Connor stayed in place as she drifted over to treatment three, his lips pursed together in worry. “Reese’ll be fine, man, she can take care of herself. And did I overhear incorrectly, or did you FINALLY ask Sarah Reese, third year ED and neuro resident, out on a date?”

“... Shut up, Choi.” All the other man could do was let out a boisterous laugh, while Connor didn’t really appreciate that all the attention was on them now, or that he was being mocked for finally addressing his feelings, Connor had to admit, he hadn’t seen Choi laugh in a while, let alone so sincerely. So he cracked an embarrassed smile and chuckled along with him. “I’m happy that I won’t have to see you looking after like a lost puppy, but in all seriousness, Reese is like a little sister to me. I you hurt her I’ll string you up by your toes and make you eat your own kidney.” Choi’s eyes had gone completely devoid of amusement, they were hollow and dead serious, at that moment Choi looked how he did whenever he had to think about his time overseas. A pang of fear fluttered through his chest. “I’ll- ahm- I’ll keep that in mind.” Connor forced himself to break eye contact and Choi nodded definitively. The tension still hadn’t dissipated by the time Sarah got back. “You know, I used to love Halloween. I used to handmake all of y costumes. Now? Hate. It. Women are expected to dress in ‘slutty’ costumes, and everytime I work the day of, before, or after Halloween I get idiots who will ask why I’m not in my ‘proper uniform’, and some more idiots who are far to handsy. I just can’t wait for this shift to be over.” 

“I take it Brad is being a little too friendly, then?”

“Yeah, I just have to keep thinking ‘only one more hour, only one more hour’.”

“And you used to make your own costumes? They must have been great!”

“They were! When I was twelve I was Medusa, fourteen I was one of the Beauxbatons from ‘Harry Potter’, Poison Ivy when I was sixteen, I had a lot of awesom costumes over the years but those were my top three. Oh! I saved pictures to my phone, hold on.”

“Well why don’t you still dress up? You clearly love it, and those costumes are amazing.”

“Other people have certain expectations for Halloween, as I mentioned before, and I started to get a lot of negative attention for it. So unless I’m going to a Halloween party that hasn’t been thrown by horny teenagers masquarading as adults, I just don’t dress up anymore.”

“I’m sorry Sarah. It’s a bit too late for this year, I think you’ve inspired me to throw a Halloween party next year.”

“Connor, you don’t have to do that just for me.”

“I know, which is why I’ll also be doing it for me. I used to like Halloween too, but like you said, it just gets so... Pervy when you grow up. I think it’d be really nice to have a Halloween where I can get excited about costumes again, it used to be my favourite part, too.”

“I’ll right, well I’ll keep my calendar open. For that one day, three hundred and sixty-four days from now.”

“That’s great. I loo forward to it.”

“And as for our ‘Knives Out’ date, would you be free for it tonight?”

“Uh...” Connor was taken aback, he had asked her out, yes, but he wasn’t sure if it actually came across as a date. And he was too nervous to ask himself because he really liked Sarah, she had become one of his best friends and she truly had carbed out her own spot in Connor’s heart, something he welcomed. “Unless... You didn’t aske me out and I just and I just made everything super awkward...” Connor could see Sarah start to internally chastise herself, so he gently grabbed her elbow before she could walk away, hope blooming inside of him. “I did ask you out on a date, and tonight sounds perfect.”

“Really?” Sarah smiled up at him and Connor couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he did to be lucky enough to have her in his life. “Yeah, really.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you later tonight, Connor.”

“Yeah, you will.” And twenty minutes later, after both of their shifts had ended and they were free to go, they left smiling, excited for the future and not despising a mutually memorable holiday as much as they did going in.

[chaninfused]

Today, this mediocre blog turns one year old.

And it’s not much, but it’s something, for sure. I’m happy to be writing this, mainly because I didn’t expect to write it in the first place. Coming here, I had no aspirations for this blog. Write and post, that was my initial intent, but I’m glad to say I have found and created much more. As cliché as it sounds, I’ve learned and improved quite a lot, both as a person and a writer. Never in my life had I imagined myself writing y/n stories, yet here I am, and I’m content.

As much as I complain, I cannot deny that this place made this year bearable so far. Everyone, from my friends to my silent readers, made this experience fun, despite the various disappointments of 2020 (ahem, a ruined senior year). For that, I think it’s time to move to the important parts of this letter; all I have to say to you!

First, I must thank the friends that gave me something to look forward to each day. I am honored to have met you all, whom I have spoken to daily or spontaneously. Thank you for keeping up with my sucky person antics!

@luvhjs, I often wonder if we could’ve ever met if @skzwritersclub didn’t exist, or if you didn’t decide to join our fetus network, and I always conclude that it’s not something I want to think about. Simply because it’s horrifying. I might not express it properly, but our friendship is one I treasure beyond words. Thank you for panicking with me over silly things, listening to my nonsense rambles, and in all sincerity, being the best there is. A hundred ‘I love you’s randomly arriving in your inbox would never be enough, but I hope you know that I love you, and I wish you all the best, all the time ♡

@missinghan, I don’t know where to begin, and honestly, I don’t know where to stop either. I don’t regret screaming into your dms that day, although I’m deeply sorry for terrifying you (oops!). All jokes aside, I truly don’t know what I’ve done to deserve a friend like you. I’m grateful for each conversation we’ve had, even that one about maggot cheese or those depressing texts about our dying dashboards. I solemnly believe that I would’ve lost my mind during spring break had we not spent careless hours on Tumblr talking about anything that could possibly be talked about. I feel like I couldn’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me; for hearing my writing rants to handling my dramatics to just being there when I send a good morning text in all caps. You are incredible, it is not just a silly nickname. I love you, and I know affection is gross but I’m saying it again. I love you! ♡

@meiiyue, hey, remember when you told me you knew me from Wattpad? That was our first proper interaction, and I am so glad I had gotten to know you better after that. We often joke about it, but I love your love for all things murder. Please never let anyone’s opinions get in your way. You honestly have one of the most unique personalities I’ve ever known. I mean, where else would you find koalas and blood-chilling crime in one place? Thank you for being the cutest and most talented. I hope you know that you’re loved, and I love you, and it will always be that way ♡

@meanhly, oh, look, it’s my keyboard smashing partner! I’m glad you decided to panic about On track in my dms instead of my askbox. Thank you for birthing this beautiful friendship! Speaking of which, what friendship level are we at now, Selina? Okay, I’ll stop fooling around. Thank you for never failing to make me laugh, no thanks to your autocorrect for calling me fruit, though. I think one of the reasons I love the Songless Bird so much is, well, you! It was your excitement about the story that pushed me to explore the world more, to write more. I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am for that. I love you, so much, and I cherish our friendship just as much ♡

@smileylino, our ‘02 line is only complete with you, Rain. Thank you for being the best panic partner (hehe) and the cutest Minho stan. Talking to you is always so much fun, even if we’re just discussing memes or soft scenarios. I don’t know how successfully your Minho detox is going, but I miss your random declarations of love for the one and only. I hope you know that you’re really talented, and I’ll always be here to cheer you on whenever. You deserve only the best this world can offer. I know you’ll do amazing, whatever it is you’ll be doing. I love you! ♡

@lixiefe, if anyone were to see our first interactions, they wouldn’t expect us to become good friends. Yet here we are, and I wouldn’t change that for the world! I love talking to you, even if it’s about the strangest of topics. Thank you for making me love my own work. You make it out to be something special, which it isn’t, but I appreciate that so much. Thank you for handling my self-deprecating statements with hilarious poop references, even though I am still adamantly against them (kidding!). You’re special, I hope you’d know that. I love you so much! ♡

@scriptura-delirus​, we might not interact a lot but whenever we do, it’s always so much fun. I truly admire your work and your way of thinking. Thank you for writing the best fantasy to be found in this fandom, and for all the support you’ve shown my mediocre stories. If this were a follow forever, know that your url would be among the first. I love you! ♡

@jeonginks​, can I consider you a friend? I hope I can. The entirety of my first interactions with you consisted of me embarrassing myself, from that useless blurb to all that panicking. Thank you for not blocking me yet... I am very sure that without SWC, I wouldn’t have ever talked to you. And while I might not panic anymore, you are still someone I genuinely look up to when it comes to writing. I wish you’d know that you’re an inspiration, for me and many writers out there. Also, you can send me as many Liam memes as you want, I’ve become immune to them (phew). I presume this is called affection, but I love you! ♡

@scxrlettwxtches​, writing or not, you’re a dear friend of mine. I’m terrible at expressing things, but I’m glad we started talking. Thank you for listening to all the unnecessary writing things I say. I love your work, even though I don’t say it enough. You might not know but your enthusiasm motivates me to write; all the random questions and spoiler requests. I’m sorry for [redacted] in ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’. I hope I’ve been able to make up for that through the blurbs! All in all, I wish you all the best in everything you do, and I love you! ♡

@f3lixlvr​, you are the first person I have properly spoken to in his hellhole. I remember our first conversations and just how much joy they brought me, even though I was hiding behind an anonymous profile. Thank you for being the most amazing and making late 2019 fun and exciting. I love you! ♡

@wingkkun​, we only began directly interacting recently, but we’ve talked before. Your writing is great, beyond that, even. I’ll raid your masterlist one day, just you wait! You seem like a complete sweetheart, and I hope we can talk more in the future. Thank you for all the lovely tags you had left on my stories, I love you! ♡

@ammuqwer​, you are a friend I didn’t expect to make, but one I wouldn’t want to lose for anything. Talking to you brightens my day, and I can only wish I can offer just as much happiness in yours. You’re amazing, really. If you ever have a hard time, please know that you can always find me. I love you! ♡

@p2q3r4​, I often scroll through your blog and I have to say, you’re crazy talented. Your drawings are stunning! Thank you for all the comments you’ve left on my writings, I appreciate every single one of them. You’re also a complete sweetheart, have I ever told you that? And I love your love for languages, it never was annoying. Never stop being amazing, I love you! ♡

🌷 anon, I might not know who you might be, but you’re a friend I cherish so much, Tulip. I love talking to you, and I say that a lot, but hearing from you is always so lovely. Thank you for all the asks you’ve ever sent, those with tmi to those with Splatoon talk. I hope you know that I’ll always be there for you, whenever, wherever. I love you so much! ♡

Caeliman Minho anon, last but definitely not least. I’m afraid this short letter wouldn’t do you justice, but I hope you’d know that you mean a lot to me. Thank you for all the support you’ve shown my work, all the inspiration you’ve given me, and all the thoughts you’ve generously shared. I love hearing what you have to say, and I love you! Thank you for everything ♡

Second, to all my readers, those who always reblog, those who leave a trail of hearts behind, and even those who just pass by, thank you for giving my writings a chance. I am continuously motivated to write more and write better for you. I’m nowhere near that, but I’m slowly making my way up there. Thank you for being the best audience ♡

Finally, to you reading this, thank you for reaching this far. It has only been a year, and I hope I can continue to contribute to this fandom for much longer than that.

Today, a story was meant to be posted. Due to my poor management skills (yikes!), I will instead be posting the world-information edit for ‘Danse Macabre’. Please look forward to it!

That is all. Thank you for making these 365 days on this blog special, and here’s to many more! I love you all! ♡

[therappundit]

Best of the 1st Half: 2020′s Best Rap Projects (*so far*)...

“I’ve had, the halftime of my life...!”

*record scratch*

2020, WHAT THE F**K. 😳

Ohhh what a first half it has been. If 2020 ended today, it would still be one of the most historic years in a century...and NOT in a pleasant way. Years from now 2020 will be studied for the long-term damage caused by the COVID-19 pandemic, the potential breaking point (hopefully??) of this country’s ignorance to systematic racism and the need for a complete overhaul of our police departments, and of course, whatever the hell comes from the November Presidential election....and, not to mention whatever additional ‘tbd’ chaos rings in the second half of ‘20 that we haven’t even heard about yet!? These are trying times, folks.

My whole life, I have tried to use humor and entertainment to help me with processing high levels of stress and anxiety. This year, that process has felt more daunting than usual. I am writing less and less, and often find Twitter to be too dark of a place for me to navigate. It’s anything but a fulfilling “escape”. Still, I am constantly inspired by all of the new music that fills my headspace during life’s precious little moments, and it really keeps me grounded in the day to day. 

At the end of 2019, I wrote the below in one of my posts. It took me back to a special feeling that I had, at a moment when the future seemed more like an opportunity, rather than a worrisome question mark. I’m going to work towards finding that place again, and I wanted to re-share this because it speaks to how the love of any art can be a healthy reminder of what we have to be thankful for in our daily lives:

“Regardless of how you feel about this list, I hope that you visit (or re-visit) any one of these pieces of strong work and find the same level of enjoyment that I did. I loved so much rap music this year and I could not be more excited about what the future holds. On a personal note, in 2019 I found myself even more in love with my wife, feeling luckier than I have in a long time, more satisfied with my hobbies and passions, and above all else, more in awe of my child (and anyone that ever raised a child) than ever before. I became a father for the first time in 2019, so as my baby daughter continues to fill my heart, I am beginning to wonder what she will think of her father’s love for this art form that has brought him so much joy over the years…I suppose time will tell.”

This list is long, because I think the talent that went into these projects is worth your time (and I put a lot of thought into creating this list as well...I do not work in the industry or know anyone that does, and I do not have any real platform - I just do this because I love the music).

If you are an artist on this list, I want to thank you, because you helped me stay positive and focused on a brighter future that I hope will soon come to us all...because everyone has been through something this year, and we deserve better.  So salute to you and many, many others. 🙏🙏🙏

- THE Rap Pundit

The “Rules” for my list of the Best Projects of Q1-Q2 2020:

- the album/mixtape/EP/project/whatever you want to call it had to be released this year, by June 26, 2020

- the project must have at least 6 songs 

- these rankings are a combination of my own personal preference, my take on overall quality of the project (whether it speaks deeply to my sensibilities or not), and how the final product compares to other work from the artists’ peers that occupy the same lane/‘sub-genre’ of rap music

So here we go 👀...

1. The Price of Tea in China by Boldy James and The Alchemist

Sometimes the greatest albums are not the most ambitious or flashy, they are remembered based off the strength of artistic chemistry and execution. Basketball fans know the beauty of a perfectly timed chest pass to a teammate streaking towards the basket can be more impressive than a behind the back pass that’s simply done for the sake of showing everyone that you can do a fancy pass. Staying with that theme, The Price of Tea in China is The Alchemist doing his best John Stockton impression, serving to Boldy James’ Karl Malone, and by album’s end you realize that Boldy scored a quiet 40 points while making this rap shit look like an easy lay-up.

TPOTIC finds Boldy sprinkling every ounce of his Detroit seasoning into Al’s pot to yield one of the most Mobb Deep-esque collaboration albums since Mobb Deep was dropping albums. In turn, this project is not only Boldy’s greatest work, but it serves as a re-introduction of a veteran MC that is suddenly more relevant than ever.  Much like what Freddie Gibbs and Madlib did with 2019′s Bandana, this project is a great lesson on what MC and Producer chemistry can sound like when both parties are 100% on the same page when it comes to message, tone, and aesthetic goals. 

It would make sense that Boldy James would fall into the Griselda fold, because much like Westside Gunn, Conway The Machine and Benny The Butcher, he comes from a city with a rich rap music scene that still struggles to reach the level of exposure that the NYCs, L.A.’s, Chicago's and Atlanta’s have basked in for so long. He writes from a place of “been there, done that”, showing a rich attention to detail that separates his street tales from that of his peers in the same way someone telling a story second or third hand can’t match the level of detail that an eye witness has saved in the memory bank. Boldy has survived both real world and music business challenges to rise from the ashes of “hey whatever happened to so & so, he was about to blow” conversations to reach a new peak in his mid-30′s. He deserved this suite of incredible Alchemist soundscapes (Al is deep in his bag here, delivering some of his most low-key impressive instrumentals in years), and like his super-producer buddy, Boldy is looking down at us from atop an already prolific 2020 at its’ midpoint.  

I’m not sure anyone can match the chemistry that Prodigy and Mobb Deep had with The Alchemist, but in 2020, The Price of Tea in China delivers some of the most brutally subdued, occasionally humorous, stripped down rap records since P was throwing TV’s at us like he had nothing left to lose. If The Price of Tea in China isn’t holding the championship at year’s end, it still deserves to be mentioned as an impressive work by one of the strongest title-worthy unions running the pick and roll in the genre today.

2. Àdá Irin by Navy Blue 

Okay let’s be honest: the “sub-genre” that is often referred to as lo-fi rap music (whether you consider it an actual lane or not, I know you know what I’m talking about...which I suppose proves its’ existence, right?), is beginning to suffer from the same affliction that all other sub-genres tend to suffer from once the word is out that this is “the thing” that the kids find trendy right now. A lot of folks in this lane sound *exactly* the same to the average listener. I’m not even the average listener, and I often feel that way. The irony that comes with being part of the sound that’s supposed to be bucking the mainstream clone machine turning into a mini-clone machine itself, means that the window is in danger of closing to avoid over-saturation of the artists that are already thriving between the gravelly, whisper-welcoming walls of Soundcloud URLs and Bandcamp EPs being slid to their heady fanbase with zero promotion. So with that all being said...why give Navy Blue a chance?

Navy Blue lacks the name recognition of many of his peers (for now), but he has now been thriving in the lo-fi pocket for some time as both a MC and producer, a young artist that’s closely connected to the lane’s most famous figureheads (Earl Sweatshirt, and to some extent, Mach-Hommy), as well as less heralded trailblazers like MIKE and the whole sLUms collective. Sure you can check out Navy’s Soundcloud page to get a taste of his work, but with this Àdá Irin album, we don’t just hear raw snippets of a freshly discovered unsigned talent. With this album we hear Navy as a self-assured solo artist, capable of sharing an inspirational song with the likes of Ka and sounding like every bit of the veteran next to the iconic soft-spoken lyricist. This is a very, very impressive debut full length album that showcases the best that the (sub)genre has to offer: some experimentation, jazzy loops, the diary-like intimacy of words that sit like dust on an old basement book shelf, and the raw emotions that come from working through love, pain and loss in real time. In 2020 there may be nothing completely new under the sun, but it’s the aesthetic choices that Navy Blue makes with every verse and every instrumental that make Àdá Irin feel like a perfect balance of beauty and sadness. If you want to dip a toe in this water but you’re not sure you can get into the mumblecore-ish world of MIKE, MAVI, Medhane or Earl’s work from the past two years, this Navy Blue album might actually be the perfect intro.

3. A Written Testimony by Jay Electronica (featuring JAY-Z)

Not a lot of positive breaking news in 2020...but when Jay Electronica surprised Twitter with a few cryptic Tweets back in February, implying that he was dropping an album (and Jay-Z would likely be involved), the rap game was set ablaze with excitement, skepticism, disbelief, and hope (albeit with some measured caution there as well). 

This is something that fans, and arguably the entire rap world, had been clamoring for for a decade, many long since moving on believing that Jay Elec’s debut album had gone the way of Detox, sharing “1a & 1b” status as the most eagerly anticipated projects none of us seriously expected to hear. 

Then it dropped....and then it went. In a Twitter-run rap world, quality is too often measured by how long a piece of art stays within the “trending” mix, as opposed to...well, whether or not it’s actually good! The truth is, A Written Testimony is not just good, it’s very, very good, and while it’s not the “Illmatic 2″ that some may have been expecting, realistically it’s superior to what I imagined a new project from such a reclusive artist would sound like in 2020. If you at least try to table the expectations laid out when “Exhibit C” came out in 2009...I think you will find a project (it’s up to you whether or not you want to count this a “solo debut” or not, but at this point, it’s new Jay Electronica - can we just leave it at that??) stacked with memorable moments, quotable gems throughout, stellar production (this is one of the best produced projects of 2020 by far, not sure how/why this piece of the puzzle would receive anything less than acclaim), and some moments of questionable preaching made more palatable by a strong overall voice and package.

Jay Electronica raps with conviction throughout, and while the project feels brief, it lasts long enough to be more than a quick feeling, even if many feel that it’s not long enough to feel like a full album. If "Exhibit C" was the teaser then this is the redband trailer, flashing enough skill and details to resonate for far longer than its’ duration. Much has been said about the heavy hand of JAY-Z on most of the project’s 7 tracks, but let’s be clear, this is not Watch The Throne 2 (even though at points, it may feel like something along those lines). Yes, in impressive fashion, Hov comes through riding shotgun to show a deeper shade of one of his more complex dimensions, with many of his rhymes begging for dissection with every bar. However, AWT features a JAY-Z that’s rapping through Jay Electronica’s lens, not by any means where 4:44 or Everything Is Love left off. This is definitely a Jay Electronica album. AWT dives in and out of Jay Electronica’s beliefs in broad strokes that appear and disappear rather quickly, but even when certain verses raise more questions than provide answers, every song still has at least a handful of the gripping words that remind us of what made Jay Elec-Hanukkah sound like the chosen one in the first place (his tussle with writer’s block and hesitation to put out any art make for some of the projects most engaging moments).

If A Written Testimony is the last Jay Electronica album we ever here - which I truly hope it is not the case - it is still a memorable piece of work. So if you were one of the folks that moved on from it after the “surprise” of Jay finally dropping a project subsided, I hope you change that stance and revisit it once again.

4. Descendants of Cain by Ka

“Quiet and frigid disposition, growin' up in the cold /  Surprised I ain't get high from what I was low enough to behold /  Like when Pops shot at the neighbor's shop, put one in his head /  He knew how he grew me, threw me the gun, a hundred, and fled /  Didn't play, 'fore po' arose dispose of exhibit A / I was raised to age a few years in a day /  If not elite, didn't eat if you didn't pray /  As much as I heal, had to deal, all my scars are here to stay /  Our senseis spent days peddling /  Our heroes sold heroin.” - Ka, “Patron Saints”

He makes it seem almost too easy. If the writing wasn't so gripping, you might not even revisit it. Ka’s Descendants of Cain arrived with little fanfare, except for the collective awe of his humble but religiously devoted fan-base. The religious devotion is an important piece here, as Cain adds to Ka’s quietly impressive discography another strong album that leans on classic scribes as inspiration to spin poignant metaphors on Brooklyn street philosophy. 

This time, the classic work is the Christian Bible, and Ka being the brilliant MC/poet that he is, seems to have little trouble working with the medium to preach without sounding preachy, and wax familiar-sounding nostalgia over wax that sounds as dusty as it feels fresh, rich, and urgent. Producing much of the album himself, along with a few trusted collaborators, the album’s strength is in its’ density, as each song feels like it requires a pause to unpack every bar...and to be honest, that’s exactly the type of attention this work deserves. If you missed this one in the first half of 2020′s feverish dump of new releases, you need to remedy that immediately.

5. Pray for Paris by Westside Gunn 

If The Alchemist is the overall rap music MVP for his many contributions to 2020 thus far,  Westside Gunn may deserve at least a few honorable mentions. From becoming the ambassador of Buffalo New York to stepping up as an ambassador of the underground rap resurgence, I don’t think any other rap artist has done more to run with the torch that Roc Marciano has been waving for a damn decade than the Griselda mastermind. If you happened to hear Gunn name-dropping to Peter Rosenberg on Rosenberg’s long-standing Real Late show on Hot 97, you know exactly what I mean. Shouting-out close allies and lesser known peers alike, Gunn’s presence proudly announced the underground movement’s invasion of the highly known New York City radio station. It felt like ECW invading WWE’s Monday Night Raw all over again. Of course Gunn’s voice was met with more ears than usual during that interview, since that appearance came hot off the heels of the release of his much discussed side project turned full-blown album, Pray for Paris.

By now most fervent rap fans know the story behind the album (a project that miraculously arrived to completion while Gunn was suffering from the affects of coronavirus), but for many Pray for Paris is the introduction to the story of Griselda Records and the world that they revel in. If Conway the Machine and Benny the Butcher are responsible for the Griselda team’s grittiest street tales, Westside Gunn’s success leans on his ability to blur the line between all-too-real violence and cartoon violence, splattered with elite luxury references and shout-outs for his fellow wrestling addicts. The song titles are merely scattered trains of thoughts that may or may not have anything directly to do with a song’s actual meaning, it’s like naming your child ‘brunch in Williamsburg’ just because it was the last meal you happened to have that day. An audience brought up on Lil Wayne as the God MC may be completely lost at the appeal, but audiences brought up on Wu, DOOM and Sean Price know exactly what vibe Westisde Gunn is going for.

At times Gunn can come across as more of a talent curator than a stand alone MC, so if this is the album that takes Gunn to the next level as a rap star, it would make him the most unselfish rap star to come along in some time. A rapper doesn’t jump on an Alchemist produced track with the likes of Freddie Gibbs and Roc Marciano and expect to leave with anything but the Bronze medal. The same can be said for his chopped and screwed contribution to “Claiborne Kick”, which clearly belongs to Boldy James. That’s not to say that Gunn’s verse is a weak moment on any of the joints on Paris, but the fact that he consistently surrounds himself with high caliber writers confirms that he is well aware that the quality of the final product will be determined by the team involved, not just the artists’ name on the album cover.

For someone that considers himself more of an artist than a rapper, he continues to paint intriguing collages with every album, featuring him at the center of an ever-expanding portrait of MCs, producers, singers, designers, and dancers. Pray for Paris is a typical Griselda project that also happens to sport the potential of something larger than most of their fanbase ever imagined. Yes we get the dark backdrops, elite underground production, and quotables throughout, but we also get a few additional shades, as Gunn dabbles with a “beauty and the beast” dynamic that cleanly pairs his violent imagery with fashionista pomp and circumstance (which no doubt helped draw the likes of Wale and Tyler, the Creator to this project). But t’s all less of a solo album to push a mainstream solo career forward, and much more of a cannonball through the mainstream wall, just to allow some sunlight to shine on his people...and his city, for that matter - because best believe, Paris may be the inspiration behind the project but Buffalo, New York is still with him every step of the way. 

6. Alfredo by Freddie Gibbs and The Alchemist

A highly enjoyable surprise drop from two-thirds of the potent combination that gave us the fan favorite project that was Fetti (shout-out to Curren$y, though), Alfredo feels like the perfect treat to hold us over during these trying times. It feels rushed, but simultaneously sharp and activated. It has the feeling of a controlled experiment that was slapped together in separate rooms, rather than carefully curated by multiple artists hunched over the same mixer for days on end. Alfredo is more of a display of two power hitters putting on an impressive showing at a Home Run Derby, rather than the collaboration that has been slowly simmering for years...but that’s also part of the fun, because it feels like Al & Fredo (eh?) were just as excited to release it as we all were to hear it.

Neither party is reinventing the wheel here, but if you are going to have a rapper and a producer connect for an album of great rapping over great beats, you would be hard pressed to find a more natural pairing than these two. The Alchemist delivers with samples that channel the speakeasy jazz of an old piano, and Freddie is simply the king of hard-rap soul right now, so he excels on every song. There are moments of darkness, moments of hope, and moments of self reflection (Gibbs is a logical choice to swing haymakers back at cops abusing their power), all delivered by Freddie at a break-neck speed over Al's significantly less urgent production....as if Gibbs frantically spilled his guts to his buddy over the phone while Al was kickin’ back with a joint saying “uh-huh...yup, I hear ya man.” The final result is an effective one, if not a quick teaser of what a lengthier amount of collaboration time between the two might sound like. It should also be said that the guest verses on this album (especially those from Tyler, The Creator and Conway) took this album up a few spots on this ‘best of’ list. Alfredo is easily one of the strongest surprises of 2020.

7. Reasonable Drought by Stove God Cook$ and Roc Marciano

There is a tradition in the rap music biz that newer/younger artists are often shepherded along by more seasoned artists in order to insure that the less experienced artist is blessed with the built-in audience that comes with a co-sign. It doesn’t always work, but typically the initiation comes with a solid musical foundation on a debut project accompanied by a greener MC still finding his/her way. Not the case with Stove God Cook$, he is perhaps the most unexpectedly fresh MC to be cut from classic rap cloth since Griselda & Mach-Hommy began to build cult-like followings.

While Reasonable Drought (and seriously, how bold of a title is that for a debut!?) is blessed by the impressive production and mentorship of underground rap icon Roc Marciano, it truly is the lesser known MC himself that captures the imagination right from the get-go. When I say that in my life time, I cannot recall such a strong debut performance by a MC that I have heard virtually no work from prior to his 2019 emergence, with the help of minimal publicity/ad budget (if any? Cook$ was barely on social media until *after* his album had already been released) on his way to dropping an album with zero features...then you should take my recommendation very seriously. Fresh style, some of the most rewind-worthy quotables in recent memory (an Uncle Buck reference!? Bow down, people), and a new following built exclusively on the word of mouth of equal-minded folks that were blown away by a project many copped on a passing whim... it’s clear that this moment could be the beginning of an amazing, fascinating career. 

Similar to Roc Marciano before him, Cook$ possesses a rare flare with his wordplay and delivery that makes even the ugliest tales of coke dealing and disrespectful criminal activity sound like the colorful exploits of a post-Blaxploitation hero. He delivers every bar with the uber-specific word choice of Roc, but the outgoing swag of a Max B. The man that has people that never touched cocaine in their life singing that they’re “smelling like a brick right now”, is smelling like a winner in 2020 and beyond.

8. Battle Scar Decorated by Monday Night & Henny L.O.

Last call to board the Mutant Academy bandwagon! 

I have been saying that this deep underground collective of MCs & producers has been low key having a banner year all year long, and scrolling through this list you can see exactly what I mean. Henny L.O. is too good to be slotted as just a battle rapper, while Monday Night is far too strong of a presence to be considered a mere associate of the core Mutant team. When you think of Mutant Academy and their respective affiliated acts, think of them as a gathering of solo artists that happen to make dope rap music together, but all parties involved are capable of standing on their own two. I think that’s what consistently impresses me about their projects...hat, and the lack of filler material.

Along with a deep Rolodex of mostly under-the-radar talent, the hunger and confidence of a thriving Richmond, Viriginia rap scene is present on every track of Battle Scar Decorated. Much like many of my favorite albums of 2020, there is no reinventing of the wheel here, the triumph is in the execution. Monday & Henny tag in and out, each with the confidence that they have spit the best verse on the song before they have even finished. It’s that level of ability combined with a shocking amount of production talent that makes Battle Scar Decorated essential listening to anyone that wants to be reminded of a vibe that hasn’t been in abundance in the underground rap scene since L.A. in the late 90′s. It wouldn’t be fair to talk about how much I enjoyed this project without including the great producers involved, so a big s/o to: Sycho Sid, C.R.I.S.T.E.N, James Couch, Savvy, Heather Grey, and Ewonne.

9. Eastern Medicine, Western Illness by Preservation

Accompanied by a who’s who of underground hip-hop’s finest (Roc Marciano, Mach-Hommy, Your Old Droog, Quelle Chris, Nickelus F, Tree, Navy Blue, Billy Woods, Ka *and more* - I mean seriously!?), Preservation has assembled an impressively cohesive compilation album both sonically and thematically. 

Incorporating record samples from his travels in China, Eastern Medicine, Western Illness feels born in simplicity even though it is anything but a casual collection of dope verses over tightly wound production. A quietly gifted producer, Preservation knows how to squeeze the best out of his guests without shouting the results through the speakers, the choices are more subtle but yield a high impact and replay value. Listening to the project feels more like listening to a secret, unreleased project, because it’s hard to believe that this much talent would gift this much high caliber writing to a compilation of songs...although that was not uncommon in the 90′s and early 00′s (ah, I’m showing my old age again). Perhaps that’s a testament to Preservation’s vision, a DJ/producer with a relatively small catalog built on curated quality (see his fantastic 2015 collaboration with Ka on Days With Dr. Yen Lo). Eastern Medicine has enough talent involved that it could have been a worthy listen even if it was just as a hodgepodge of donated loosies, so the fact that the final product is so much more than that makes it an album that warrants a great deal of more attention.

10. The Allegory by Royce Da 5′9″

No accomplished lyricist makes life harder on himself than Royce Da 5′9″. Be it his tendency to cram personal observations and disclosures in and around his punchlines, or experimenting production wise, the Detroit veteran is intent on finding new ways to approach fine wine music, tossing more complex offerings into his catalog over the past few years. Things are no different with The Allegory. 

Not only did Royce once again pen an album that speaks to his ability to cope with his own past and present, he inserts himself in the producer chair as well, addressing the trials and tribulations of the increasingly problematic world around him, over backdrops crafted by only his hand a a few trusted peers. The effect is mostly successful, with the production exceeding the expectations of many (myself included), while the writing is at times both thought-provoking and in need of further exploration on Royce’s part. The guest features range from effective to scene stealing (not because Royce ‘s verse is outshined, but there are moments where it seems as if the guest is better suited over Royce’s own production than he is). If you’re Royce Da 5′9″ and you release an album titled The Allegory, no one should expect a simple quick fix of bars over easily digestible instrumentals. The highs come in abundance, and while the lows come in small trip-ups and the occasional skit that the listener probably could have done without, you get the sense that with some editing and further focus of his lofty goals, his sermons could have been sharpened into a more effective analysis of many of his topics (the music business, being black in America, history, conspiracy theories), resulting in an incredible album instead of a very good one. Nevertheless, it is all worth the ride to hear the latest work from one of rap music’s most gifted MC’s from the past decade. If The Allegory isn’t a home-run, it’s at the very least a strong base hit.

Top 50 (all belong in the Top 10-25, but...there’s only 25 spots in the Top 25, soooo):

11. Cold Water by Medhane

12. Shrines by Armand Hammer

13. Bag Talk by yungmorpheus & Pink Siifu

14. Try Again by ovrkast.

15. RTJ4 by Run The Jewels

16. Noise Kandy 4 by Rome Streetz

17. Innocent Country 2 by Quelle Chris

18. Weight of the World by MIKE

19. Sages by Henny L.O. & Ohbliv

20. Milestones by Skyzoo

21. Carpe Noctem by Big Ghost Ltd

22. Lake Water by SeKwence

23. At the End of the Day. by Fly Anakin

24. Sole Food by Deniro Farrar

25. The Oracle 3 by Grafh

26. The Blue Tape by Tree

27. lo&behold by lojii

28. Infinite Wisdom by Lord Jah-Monte Ogbon

29. FULL CIRCLE by Medhane

30. UNLOCKED by Denzel Curry & Kenny Beats

31. The Throwaways by The Opioid Era

32. Anyways by Young Nudy

33. PTSD (Deluxe) by G Herbo

34. Holly Favored by Monday Night & Foisey

35. THE GOAT by Polo G

36. Demon & Mufasa by Yhung T.O. & DaBoii 

37. The Face of Jason by ANKHLEJOHN

38. My Turn by Lil Baby 

39. No One Mourns the Wicked by Conway & Big Ghost Ltd.

40. Two4one by Jay Worthy 

41. Free Drakeo by Drakeo

42. Alone Time by YL

43. Assata by CV$ a.k.a. Con$piracy & Teller Bank$

44. Thug Tear by Big Kashuna O.G. & Monday Night

45. Ways and Means by Rasheed Chappell & 38 Spesh

46. IMMORTALKOMBAT by Al Divino & Estee Nack

47. Young & Turnt 2 by 42 Dugg

48. Sleeper Effect by Sleep Sinatra

49. Juno by Che Noir & 38 Spesh

50. LULU by Conway & The Alchemist

THE REST OF THE BEST (all belong in the Top 50 releases of 2020, but..what can I say, blame 2020 for being such a stacked year for music/events I guess):

Black Schemata by yungmorpheus,  The Smartest by Tee Grizzley,  Polly by the Powder Keg by Chuck Chan & Pad Scientist,  High Off Life by Future,  Gotham City Album by Plex Diamonds,  Memphis Massacre 2 by Duke Deuce, Poetic Substance by RIM & Vinyl Villain,  Styles David: Ghost Your Enthusiasm by Styles P,  MF Bloo by Bloo & Spanish Ran,  LSD by The Leonard Simpson Duo & Guilty Simpson,  Funeral by Lil Wayne,  RAW UNKNOWN by Spectacular Diagnostics,  Nezzie’s Star by Eddie Kaine,  ShrapKnel (self-titled),  The Bluest Note by Skyzoo & Dumbo Station,  WUNNA by Gunna,  Get Money Teach Babies by Heist Life & Spanish Ran,  Open Casket by Killer Kane,  6 Rings by Yung Mal,  The Beauty of It by Eto,  Meet The Woo 2 by Pop Smoke,  Fresh Air by UFO Fev & Statik Selektah,  Vito by Vince Ash,  GRIMM & EViL by GRiMM Doza,  RUDEBWOY by CJ Fly,  Rocket to Nebula by Killah Priest,  EVERYTHING by Kota the Friend,  NO Blade of Grass by V Don,  Eternal Atake by Lil Uzi Vert,  I’m My Brother’s Keeper by Yella Beezy & Trapboy Freddy,  Carhartt Champions by Tree Mason,  Viral Viral! by Dunbar,  Rowhouse Whispers by Ray West & Zilla Rocca,  Magneto Was Right #4 by Raz Fresco,  DUMP LIFE by Tha God Fahim, Jay NiCE & Left Lane Didon,  Burn One, Tap In, Zone Out by Dot Demo,  FNTG: From Niggaz to Godz by Squeegie O,   PANAGNL4E, Vol. 2 by Los and Nutty,  Death 2 All Haterz 2 by Rigz & Symph,  Thank You For Using GTL by Drakeo & JoogSzn,  Adjust to the Game by Larry June,  Martyr’s Prayer by Elcamino & 38 Spesh,  BETTER by Deante’ Hitchcock,  Attack of the Future Shocked, Flesh Covered, Meatbags of the 85 by $ilkMoney,  No Cosign Just Cocaine 3 by Ty Farris,  Hear No Equal by Chuuwee,  MSYKM by Tsu Surf,  Your Birthday’s Cancelled by Iron Wigs,  Spring Clean by Curren$y & Fuse,  Arctic Plus Degrees (The Sun Don’t Chill Allah) by Planet Asia & DirtyDiggs,  Psychological Cheat Sheet by Vic Spencer, Glass 2.0 by Meyhem Lauren & Harry Fraud,  Trust the Chain by Planet Asia & 38 Spesh, Director’s Cut (Scene Two) by Ransom & Nicholas Craven, and Son Of A Gun by Key Glock.

[thevirgodoll]

I genuinely feel no hope towards love. I used to have so much hope. But I want my life to be more of a happy place rather than hurt after hurt after hurt just for learning experiences like wtf I get it already. It's upsetting and hurtful and I feel like I've built a wall NO ONE can get over now because I'd rather just be alone. I see people on social media saying oh I hate men etc. for jokes but I'm not gonna lie I really feel this way. I hate holding convos with them etc. Idk how to move fwd.

To move forward, you have to go back and heal. You have to revisit what has hurt you. You can’t stuff it down and try for something new when you have all of these painful experiences boiling over waiting to explode on the next person. Building a wall is your defense mechanism, but you’re not fighting with anyone but yourself. You’re making it harder for yourself. The avoidance of the real issue is not hurting anyone but you.

It’s not an easy thing to do by any means. Often times, what makes people bitter and hopeless towards love is feeling invalidated. They weren’t validated by the one that hurt them, and they pretend it’s nothing, move on, but it happens again. You cannot move on without acknowledging why you hurt. Sometimes, you have to accept that the person that hurt you may never admit their wrongdoing. That is their view, and that has nothing to do with you. It only has to do with them. To validate yourself, you have to understand that what happened was real, and you didn’t deserve to be mistreated. You have to grieve what happened. You have to go through the stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance) and allow it to be completed. Do not interrupt your process, because that invalidates it all. It’s unpleasant and it’s uneasy, but it’s your process. It must be done. Be aware of what you’re experiencing, but as you’re experiencing it, let things be. Let go of your need to control everything. Cry it out, scream, journal, exercise, dance, sing, just release it. Treat yourself better, eat better, nourish yourself. Be mindful, pray, take a deep breath. Learn. Be kinder to yourself. Stop lashing out at yourself. Begin to identify and eliminate unhealthy behaviors you’ve developed over time in response to your pain. It’s not your fault. It’ll take time.

Remember why things went the way they did. Accept that reality. It’s okay. Learn how to reflect without shutting down. After you’ve done this, move forward into dating yourself. When you’re broken-hearted, you lose a lot of who you were before the resentment. Get in touch with your wants, your needs, your desires. It’s all about you, not anyone else. You can’t factor someone else into the equation until you’ve properly made yourself a priority. You are number one. You have to remember who you are. You have to know that you are valuable, beautiful, desirable, important, and worthy of love outside of a relationship. Love does not define who you are. It should merely be a compliment. Focus on getting to a point where you are all that matters for a while. Drown out everything else. Delete any reminders. Detox from social media. Clean your space. Get back into your old routine. Remember who you are and fall back in love with YOU. Find new and old interests. Become someone new. Remove your identity from your past lovers. You are your own person.

Love will always be there. It will always, always find you. Genuine love exists and it is out there. First, you have to affirm yourself by giving it to yourself. Take a few months to focus on you. No more bitterness, no more resentment. Just chilling with yourself, a single person, getting to know a new you. No more walls, no more fighting. Set yourself free and watch things change. You write your own life chapters. Change it as you see fit. Toxic love, with yourself or others, has no place in your story anymore.

[kaaras-adaar]

Kaaras and Stenn

// Before Kaaras’ romance during Inquisition, he’s only ever been in one serious relationship. I wanted to talk more about who that was, so--

Meet Stenn (now that I have pics of him!):

Stenn is a Tal’Vashoth warrior, who was a Sten under the Qun. He was a fair few years older than Kaaras, in his 30′s when they met (Kaaras was in his early 20′s).

Having met at a young age, and a troubling time for Kaaras, Stenn became a very solid and stable part of Kaaras’ life. Struggling through depression and alcohol addiction, as well as a lot of self loathing and other issues Kaaras was going through because of having left home and the loss of his father when he was a child, Kaaras was a mess. He’d often drink himself into a stupor and then sleep around. While Kaaras never lost his penetrative virginity (and it’s something he doesn’t lose until his Inquisition LI), he did fool around quite a lot no thanks to his liquid courage.

That stopped when Stenn took a shining to him, and in turn, Kaaras grew feelings for him back. Stenn was a kind, compassionate and almost a fatherly figure in a sense as well for Kaaras. Kaaras does have a thing for older men, and it’s quite a weakness, so I think that worked to Stenn’s advantage, but it was not his intention. Stenn just saw the mess that Kaaras was, and thought this was a person with potential to be much better once he figured himself out and set himself straight. He ultimately wanted to help him.

Things started small, just being able to spend time together during and in between missions. Kaaras looked UP to Stenn a lot, because of how set in stone he was, because of how much he already knew himself, despite having changed his entire life as a Tal’Vashoth. From a younger point of view, Kaaras saw hope in that, because he was a mess with a big hole in his life, and he needed to change that, to make it whole again.

The first step, Kaaras knew he had a drinking problem, and with the help of Stenn and a lot of withdrawing and pain, he was able to get off the alcohol. He still had his slips here and there, but everyone has those. But it was Stenn who got him through that, and he was by his side the entire time he was in withdrawals. Kaaras suffered the whole lot, the night sweats, the physical agony of coming off alcohol, the shaking, the irritation–all of it, and Stenn was there the whole time while he detoxed. He was there to remind him how far he’d come, of what he could achieve.

Not just that, but Stenn helped Kaaras understand himself sexually as well. Due to the PSAS/PGAD (more meta in his tags on his condition), sexual contact could oftentimes be painful. Kaaras hated his body and everything to do with it. His PSAS/PGAD was probably a lot worse as a younger man due to hormones going haywire as well, but he still suffers the condition to this day. Stenn took things slow and encouraged Kaaras to ENJOY sexual stimulation, and remind him that it wasn’t always to be associated with pain. Kaaras is and will remain a shy person. Despite his past, he was drunk during those times, and without the alcohol, it brought on a whole NEW bunch of insecurities and AWARENESS to him. He could no longer drown himself in flesh without the aid of that courage, so going slow for him was a MUST, and something that Stenn was able to do.

While the two of them certainly were able to explore with each other, the time when they were going to have sex was unfortunately interrupted. Kaaras, having worked up so much courage only for it to be shot down again, took a blow. While they were still romantic with one another and in a relationship, it was like working up from the bottom again, and unfortunately, never reached that far before things started to decline for them.

Both of them have ALWAYS been stubborn. Kaaras was beginning to come into his proper manhood and adulthood now, and he was beginning to form his own opinions and morals, particularly because he was now sober. He was his old self again, and yet a new person as well. He’d grown and he’d learned. He was developing emotionally and maturing fast.

Stenn, already in his mid 30′s, was never going to change. And unfortunately they had conflicts of interest as time went on. Kaaras had started to question the leadership of the mercenary company they were a part of (Kaaras had not originally been a part of the company while Stenn had been an original member). Of course, you can see why there would be conflict there. Kaaras has extremely strong morals, and that doesn’t always work to his favour, especially if he is to follow orders he does not personally agree with. Stenn didn’t want to hear it, and knew that their leader was getting work for them and therefore that was good enough. Unlike Kaaras, Stenn’s morals were lower and he didn’t mind breaking the law for coin.

While the two of them tried their best to work through it, unfortunately, it took a turn for the worst when Kaaras’ mentor (who was the reason they’d joined the merc company in the first place) was killed during a questionable contract. Kaaras had had enough. It was the last straw, and he told Stenn that he was leaving, and if he wished to follow then he was welcome to. Unfortunately, Stenn was already set in his ways, and did not want to break away from the company he’d been a part of for years. Even though Stenn did not want to break up, Kaaras made the decision for him, and broke it off with him despite it being so difficult to do.

The split was somewhat mutual and there was no hard feelings between them, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. Kaaras will NEVER forget what his lover had done for him, and he even informed and thanked him for the support he’d given him over the years and the personal growth. In saying that, though, leaving was the best thing Kaaras had ever done for himself. It wasn’t just him who had been questioning orders, but some of the other mercenaries as well, who followed Kaaras when he left and named him the leader of their new company, the Beres-taar. Even though Kaaras was a young mercenary captain, he’d proven himself a good leader over the years and people were willing to follow him.

Having moved to Starkhaven for a more permanent position, Kaaras did struggle with alcohol a little bit after the breakup, but his own personal growth allowed him the strength to keep control of himself (and with the support of his company and sister). This was a massive breakthrough for Kaaras and who he is today. He knows he has the strength and the will. He also now can’t be selfish, as he had responsibilities as a leader. This is also why he fell into the role of Inquisitor with more ease than some. He had the experience of being a captain for the last few years before Inquisition. The responsibility does have it tolls, though. Kaaras began to stress eat, which is why he’s a little softer around the midsection these days compared to his previous figure. He’d always been short and stocky, but he also used to be a fair few kilos lighter.

While he and Stenn attempted to write here and there, the wounds were just a little too raw for Kaaras to always get in contact with him–and his duty as Captain took priority. Only when Kaaras was invited to the peace talks did Kaaras see Stenn again while they moved south and made their way through Kirkwall (where Stenn and the company were based). While Stenn proposed that they could perhaps get back together again, Kaaras had grown too much and the divide between them had simply gone on for too long. Kaaras may always love Stenn in a way that he’d never forget, but he knew that it would not end happily, and he also didn’t respect Stenn as much as he used to, therefore he could not be in a relationship with him. They’d simply grown apart too much, and that was fine.

Unfortunately, during Inquisition, Stenn does die on a mission for his company, and the captain of the Ralshokra writes to the Inquisitor explaining what had happened. Kaaras is devastated and heartbroken to hear that Stenn has died and that he never quite told him that he had loved him when they were together. Kaaras will never forget him, or what he did for him. In a way, he feels that it’s because of Stenn that he was able to be where he is today. That he was able to grow, to sober up, to explore and learn so much about himself, and because of that, he will always love him.

[amazingflyingdick]

all that glitters.

WHO: Dick Grayson (@amazingflyingdick), Jason Todd (@thatsjasonfkntodd), & mentions of Slade Wilson (@terminator-deathstroke) WHERE: Dick’s apartment WHEN: Backdated to October 10th WHAT: Dick opens up a little more about Slade and convinces Jason to play Truth or Dare.

JASON: Jason was not a meddler. He often left people to deal with their own shit, as he wanted to be allowed to do, but there were moments when there was such an obvious window where he could do something that he couldn’t not do it. It wasn’t meddling, then. It was just taking something that he’d learned and using it. And he’d learned about Dick. Otherwise, what had all those fucking conversations been for?

Still, he’d given it a few days. Maybe he had shaken himself out of it, somehow, and bucked the idea that if you did the same thing a hundred times you’d get a different result on the hundred-and-first. The radio silence from Dick that was still going on days later said otherwise, though.

To his credit, he tried the door like a normal person. He knocked, he rang the bell, he heard Sasha bark once on the other side and the excited huffhuff as she sniffed beneath the door. Dick didn’t answer or say anything, even under threat of burglary. Maybe he didn’t believe him, maybe he didn’t hear him, but either way Jason followed through. He’d been breaking into houses and apartments since before he’d hit puberty - that apartment door didn’t stand a chance.

In a minute, he had it open and was nudging Sasha back. “I’m the one who leaves people on ‘Read,’ dude.”

DICK: Dick knew Tim and Jason both had good intentions when they showed up at his apartment to talk to him. It wasn't their fault that he was still trapped in his head, reliving conversations over and over, and struggling to understand what he must have overlooked. 

When he heard someone at the door, he didn’t bother getting up to answer it. That wasn't unusual. He heard a couple knocks throughout the day, but he never responded to whoever was on the other side, even when they tried to talk to him through the door. This time he heard Jason's voice and he frowned, but ultimately decided to stay where he was. He'd gotten a box down from his closet and was going through it on the bed.

Then he heard the door open and, while he wasn't that surprised that Jason made good on his threat to break in, it made him realize he must want to see him regardless of what he would see. Breathing in slowly, Dick got up from the bed and went to the doorway of his bedroom. He'd taken a shower, but he was still wearing clothes someone would sleep in. What was the point of getting dressed if he didn't have plans to go anywhere? "Sorry, my... my phone died. Before that I was just..." He paused, but didn't bother coming up with an excuse. "Just thinking.”

JASON: If anything, Dick looked like more of a mess then than he had when he and Tim had both showed up. Jason had gotten used to hearing from him every day, at least a single dumb message, even if he didn’t respond, so it had been weird to suddenly not only have none sent but to not be answered either. Even if he’d had no idea something else was going on, that probably would’ve got him over to the apartment to make sure he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t, obviously. “Got a billion dollar expense account and can’t buy a charger?” Of course he knew that wasn’t the reason. It hadn’t mattered if the phone was dead if he wasn’t talking to anyone anyway.

Jason was not one to shy away from people at their low points. While he never expected anyone to be there for his (and was generally proved right), what he had always been able to shoulder was the darkest parts for people he cared about. He’d been doing it since he was a kid. It was why he hadn’t hesitated even for a second when Roy relapsed to say he could and would handle it. The reason he often wasn’t there was that he didn’t let himself be close enough to people to know when it was going on in the first place, not because he was unwilling or somehow incapable of dealing with it. He’d had no idea until recently what it even looked like for Dick, much less had a reason to think that there was any call for him to be there during it.

He stepped more fully into the apartment and sat down on the arm of the couch. What he’d done for Roy during the detox didn’t fit here. This was Dick. He knew it had to look different. “You wanna talk?” It was not something he normally offered. If anything, it was anathema to his usual way of operating, but it was the one thing Dick usually did that suddenly he wasn’t doing. He was going so out of his way not to that Jason had little doubt it was the missing thing.

DICK: Dick's phone hadn't died because he didn't have a charger and they both knew it, so he didn't bother clarifying that he did have a charger... somewhere. The lack of a quip or ready made comeback was also uncharacteristic. It almost seemed like he was half-asleep. Sasha, restless, paced between them and finally settled for sitting next to Dick, nosing into his palm and whining.

There were a handful of times when he'd pulled back from the family. It was always when he didn't know how to handle the situation and it was too much for him to regulate. The only thing he could do was isolate himself. He didn't like being around the people he cared about when he was like this, because it wasn't him, it was difficult, and he knew it was disarming to the people who needed him. 

Jason asking if he wanted to talk took him off guard. Dick hesitated, but he came around to the chair. He sat on edge of the seat and leaned forward, his arms folded over his knees. There was something fidgety about his hands and he brought one to his mouth, chewing on the nail. His fingertips had practically been destroyed in a matter of days. "You won't like what I have to say.”

JASON: “I never like anything anyone has to say,” he shrugged. “Kind of my thing.” Supposedly, anyway. It wasn’t really true, but some people were incapable of handling being disagreed with. “So hit me with it. I didn’t come over here just to look at your bed head.” And he didn’t feel like pretending like he’d not shown up to try to help, either. Dick knew very well that Jason wasn’t the one who showed up for a lot of casual visits. He’d stopped being quite so disagreeable when Dick did it, though.

Whatever Dick had to say, Jason didn’t expect to be terribly surprised by. Maybe he’d be wrong. He just normally went into everything expecting the worst, shittiest thing to happen, even if it had nothing to do with him. Once in awhile he was still surprised, and maybe this would be one of those times, but when he’d decided to show up he’d already braced for Dick not to have anything to say or do that he liked. Jason made a motion with his hand like he was coaxing an animal out of hiding. “I didn’t write a speech for you, so you’re the one that’s going to have to do the talking.”

DICK: By now Dick knew what Jason said wasn't true, but he didn't say anything. Sometimes it surprised him how much yet how little Jason had actually changed from the way he'd been as a kid. The reactivity was still there, the tendency to see threats when there weren't any, but he was more internal about it now. That was one of the realizations he'd come to during their talk in the library. Just because Jason didn't reach out or resisted initial attempts at reaching out didn't mean he was unreachable. So he kept trying. It was worth it to him, especially because they never had a chance to solidify the bond they'd just started to form before his death.

A long silence passed as he chewed the side of his nail on his index finger, wincing when he drew blood. Exhaling softly, he forced his hands to fold between his knees, keeping them still for at least half a second before giving up, running one of them through his hair to push it out of his eyes. He had admitted to his past with Slade. With Tim, he'd admitted a little more about the seriousness of it. Both of those things were different. Dick hadn't talked to anyone about how he felt now, or what his thoughts about it were, and there wasn't really anyone he could talk to about it. The weight of that was crushing. "I don't know how to be... done with this. For years I thought I was over it, completely, and then..." His fingers twisted slightly in his hair. "I was wrong."

JASON: Whether he did it on purpose or not, and usually it was six of one and half a dozen of the other, he often engineered obstacles that kept people away from him or at least at arm’s length. At the first sign of pushback, and definitely by the third or fourth, most people backed down and stopped trying. It’s what he expected. The predictability of it, while not a comfort, was at least not a shock either. It had taken Dick over a decade to finally start to do it, but he had kept pushing on long enough for Jason to believe he didn’t mean to just up and quit. So he was there, ready to do much the same thing. Whatever impression he gave, he never actually meant to only take and never give.

Jason watched him worry at his hands and resisted the urge to tell him to stop. Dick, who rarely ever stopped moving let alone boxed himself up in one place for a week, had to put it somewhere. Apparently the “somewhere” was fucked up fingernails and fidgeting. He made himself ignore it; there were worse things. “Why?” There had never been anything or anyone that Jason couldn’t walk away from, and the mere idea of it was foreign to him - stupid, even, but he often said that about a lot of the way Dick worked. “What’s Slade got that you can’t get away from? It’s not like you’ve never split up with somebody.” Important ones, even.

DICK: Even though one of the things Jason said to him in the library was that it was a two way street, Dick hadn't fully known what to expect. It wasn't that he didn't believe him, or thought Jason wouldn't be able to go through with it, but he knew that different people had different ways of expressing things. Dick was there for people in his way, but he was smart enough to understand that not everyone's way looked the same. This was Jason's way of offering support, which he appreciated. Normally, Dick enjoyed being needed and he was willing to give everything he had, but right now he was struggling. He didn't know which way was up and he wasn't useful to anyone.

Why. It was a good question. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've been trying to figure that out, but I don't know if I'll ever understand. It was different, it... and after, I was different. I was guarded. I never really let anyone as close to me again. It's not that I didn't want to, because I tried. I tried so hard, especially with Babs, and..." His mouth felt dry and he could feel a prickling in his throat that he fought back. "It just got all messed up. She knew, by the way. She's the only one I ever told." He thought it would salvage the relationship if she understood everything about him, but it didn't change anything. It didn't change the fact that he'd been altered by the experience.

JASON: He’d never been talented at giving people advice in a way that felt good. If he saw something that made sense (or didn’t make sense), it usually came out exactly however it had been in his head. There was no sugar-coating on the way out, most of the time. Maybe he was less harsh with some people than with others, but it was only small degrees of variation. So, he had no Hallmark worthy words of encouragement and solidarity to offer Dick, but he was hoping that if nothing else he could cut through some of what was in his head. He was obviously not capable of doing that himself. Jason wasn’t always, either, when it was his own problem.

The explanation he got was one that set him a little more on edge than he’d expected. It was just the wording, maybe, so he repeated it the way it had sounded. “So what, Slade snapped something in you and he’s the only one that can touch it now?” He wasn’t sure what to do with the admission about Barbara. Regardless of how much or little Dick had told her, it hadn’t changed their trajectory.

DICK: Hearing Jason say the words made him frown faintly, but he considered the question. It was different to have someone else talk about it in such plain terms, asking for clarification, and it forced him to truly analyze the things he was saying. What he'd been doing on his own for days wasn't working. All it did was create an endless echo chamber that left him emotionally drained and even more hopeless. Even though Jason wasn't doing anything but asking him direct questions that simplified what he'd just rambled on about, it was like shooting a laser beam through fog.

"No," he finally said carefully. "But I was ashamed after it ended, because I felt tricked. I wanted to pretend it never happened. It was a... weird split. From myself, I guess, and..." Hesitating, Dick took a moment to think about it. "It was more a self denial. Didn't want to think what happened had anything to do with me. It was easier to shift the blame or chalk it up to being stupid and young. Because what sane person wants that?"

JASON: “Whether you’re sane depends on why you wanted him.” Jason did know a little bit of it, but it wasn’t like he’d pressed him for a ton of the more personal details. He hadn’t really wanted to hear them, originally, but now their relationship had become so pervasive in other aspects of Dick’s life and the city itself that he couldn’t skip out on the details. If he was going to have any insight at all, he needed something closer to the whole picture. “And why you still do. Leave sane and insane out of it. Leave out the idea of Slade changing, too.”

Jason turned and finally sat down properly on the couch. “The guy has to have something that made you cave as fast as you did. You were already doing it when I was in jail. So what is it? Because if I had to, I could tell you every reason I want Roy. I’m not gonna,” that went without saying, “but I could. And they hold up against a lot.” He’d been aware of them the whole time, clear cut - what he admired about him, why he wanted him, why he let himself - and none of it hinged on what Roy could be or might be, it was all just what he was. There had to be something more to Slade that Dick wanted besides the idea that he could be more than Deathstroke, and Jason wanted to hear it without the veil of morality.

DICK: Dick wasn't fully sure if there could be a logical reason to want Deathstroke. What other people saw wasn't what he saw, and trying to explain how things were for him would be bizarre for anyone hearing it. He hadn't lied when he told Jason and Tim that he thought Slade would change and give up Deathstroke, even hoped for it, but that aspect didn't have much to do with how he felt about him. It was a way to excuse why he would entertain the idea in the first place, because at that point, he wasn't ready to face reality. It took a long time to reach the place where he was now - or where he'd been prior to the NOVA incident.

Sighing, he was silent for a long moment, though the comment about Roy did earn the ghost of a smirk. It made him look a little less blank. He wasn't sure if he could give Jason the type of answer he would understand, but he didn't let himself overthink it. The important thing was authenticity. If this was going to fall apart, at least he would be left with some measure of self-awareness. "It was like I..." Dick's hesitated, his brow furrowing, and Sasha rested her head against his knee. "Like I had something solid under my feet. For the first time since my parents, and... he doesn't expect me to do anything. He doesn't want anything from me. Not a joke, not a smile, not Nightwing. Nothing. What he did to NOVA, he did knowing that it could end everything, and he did it anyway. Because he sincerely believed that it would keep me safe, as fucked up as it was, he was putting me first. And I... I know it makes me a hypocrite to wish he'd do things differently, but it isn't because... because my feelings are conditional on that. I never asked him to give anything up and I wouldn't, I just..." He exhaled softly and shook his head, resting his hand on top of Sasha's head. "I just want it to be easier.”

JASON: He didn’t need to point out that the jobs Deathstroke took, killing people for money who’d done nothing but piss off someone enough to put a contract on their head, was wrong. Dick knew that. Jason didn’t think that Deathstroke was worth any of the energy put into him, but that’s all he had to gauge with - the Deathstroke part. Not any of the rest of it. He was trying to tamp down his own judgement about it - which he’d been doing in varying degrees since the beginning - to try to see it as Dick did. He couldn’t, really, but there was one thing he could do and one thing he did believe that made that not really matter. He’d just have to wait and see if Dick’s answer made it worth anything.

“So if it’s not conditional on whether or not he’s Deathstroke, who are you trying to make it easier for? If you’re not asking him to give up something for you and it doesn’t matter to you if he does or not,” because that sounded like what he was saying, whether Jason believed him or not, “then whose opinion are you counting higher than yours?”

DICK: Dick said nothing, at least not at first, but the soft sigh more than indicated what his answer would be. It was always Bruce. "I know you probably think I'm an idiot for caring about what he thinks. It's hard not to." He reached up to rub the back of his neck, already feeling the tension. "I'm not saying it makes no difference, obviously I don't... want people to die, you know that, and I would try to stop it if I were there. That's my personal choice and it's on my conscience. I'll never believe that killing is the right thing to do, but..." Trailing, he swallowed hard. "That doesn't mean I don't understand the justification for it. It's just harder... with him.”

Gritting his teeth, his gaze lowered. "You were right, you know. That day you found out, when you said I was being hypocritical. I know how it looked. I know why you were pissed off. Maybe you don't need me to explain, maybe it doesn't even matter, but... I don't want you to think I changed because of him. I didn’t. It was before that. After what happened to you, I was... angry. I'd never wanted anyone dead before, except Tony Zucco, and Bruce... didn't have the capacity to handle it. Anyway, I didn't want anything to do with him or his ideologies. I rejected all of it for a while, I started looking at things differently, and everything and everyone got... less black and white." It wasn't that he started killing, or ever considered it, but he started to see situations from different perspectives. Dick felt like he was rambling, but it helped when he worked things out aloud, if he heard his own reasoning, and maybe it was more for himself. "When everything went wrong with... Slade, with the Titans, I... overcompensated. Swung back the other way. Then you came back." Bruce's apparent death happened not long after that, and Dick had been forced to take on the mantle of Batman in his place. "And I started to see things differently again. I had to or I'd have to cut you off, and I couldn't. I wouldn't." He paused. "But it made me realize that, even when I thought my morals were identical to Bruce's, whenever something happened, my first thought was always that I failed him. Not myself, but him. It's something I still can't let go of."

JASON: “Fuck Bruce,” Jason said immediately, more like a snap reaction than one he gave any real consideration to. Not that it would’ve been different even if he sat there and thought about it. “He doesn’t get to keep dictating everything. Your...relationship thing with Slade isn’t gonna impress him no matter what you do. You think he’ll stamp on the Bat seal of approval just because you tried to fit it into a box he’d like more? He won’t.”

But it was hard to linger long on berating Bruce with what Dick said next. It got Jason to furrow his brows, and for a few seconds it was hard even for him to know whether what he felt was irritation or confusion. It might have been both. “Where was that attitude when you were offering to reform me?” If it was an unfair question or should have been water under the bridge, it didn’t stop him from asking. Not that it ever did, really. Him being there and letting Dick talk was about as far into considering his comfort as he could go - measuring what he said was rarely ever on the agenda. “How’re you gonna look at me and say it’d be easier for Slade to be more like me when you couldn’t even let me be like me?” Dick had said he’d been right to call him a hypocrite, but for once the questions weren’t accusatory, despite the wording. Maybe not unfair, either.

Jason raked his teeth over his bottom lip. He knew that things were different right then than they had been when he’d shown back up in Gotham. They were different for him, in a lot of ways, and they were different for Dick, too. They were quite a ways past that - offering help, reform, a nice cell in Arkham to get his head on straight (even if that had ended up more on Bruce than on Dick), blah blah - but it wasn’t like he’d forgot. It wasn’t like they’d talked about it. They were past it, but it was still standing there. He’d shown up to let Dick say what he needed to say, but it wasn’t going to do much good unless Jason actually made himself find a way to listen to it.

“You think I actually let go of what Bruce thinks?” It was almost funny, in a bitter way. “I haven’t. I know when he’s disappointed and how I did it. I just realized that it was going to be like that no matter what. He’s never-“ he stopped and shook his head, trying to put the words together the right way and not just the way they formed on his tongue. “None of us are ever going to be what he wants. Might as well be what we need instead.” That was his big, grand contribution to life. Nobody else would provide, whether it was acceptance or affection or whatever else, so it was better to just let go of it and take care of it on their own. “If you’re getting something from Slade, just...take it, man. Take it if it’s there. Who gives a fuck what it looks like to the rest of us?” Any of them. Not just Bruce.

DICK: "I know. I just..." It was hard to put into words what Dick was trying to do in a way that seemed at all feasible, because he knew what an impossible feat it was to get Bruce to understand anything beyond his own narrow view of the world. Although he had been able to emulate that for the sake of donning the cowl, Dick was always a lot more open-minded. There were occasions when he let his ideals and judgments slip, without really meaning to, but at the end of the day he was far more adaptable and willing to listen to other possibilities. It was why he was so much more effective as a team leader. He knew how to take everyone into consideration and fight for a common goal. It was necessary to have a degree of adaptability in order to be at all successful in that.

Jason's question made him flinch and he sighed, looking down at his hands. "You came back when I was trying my damnedest to prove that what happened with Slade had nothing to do with me. Like I said, I was overcompensating. And it was easier to go back to something I knew I could rely on. The devil you know, right? I needed something and I chose Bruce, because the risk I took and what I lost me made me think he must have a point. Everyone needs something to believe in, especially when they no longer trust themselves to do the right thing. I stopped trusting myself." Dick smiled wryly, although the effect was more of a grimace. "You just had bad timing." He'd never wondered how things would have turned out had Jason not come back, because it wasn't a possibility he wanted to entertain. Suffice to say, they would both be in very different places. There never would have been a reason for him to start entertaining those grey areas again. "I never wanted to be like him, though. When I saw him with you, when I realized what it cost him to maintain those rigid standards, I knew I wasn't like him." Dick knew Jason cared about what Bruce thought, but he also knew better than to admit that he knew, so he said nothing. It was strange to know Jason was right on an intellectual level, yet be unable to do anything about the continuous efforts he made for Bruce's approval. Lowering his head, his fingers dug into his arms and he shook his head. "I know I can't spend make myself unhappy for the sake of pleasing him. It isn't just that, it's... I don't need to be seen as perfect, just... acceptable." He paused. "But I do care about how it impacts you and the others. Jason, I..." He made himself stop. "I knew when I first met you that Bruce would let you down, so I told myself that I would be there for you instead. I knew what it would be like for you, that you would never please him and you could... die trying. I knew it because I lived it. And I wasn’t there. You even called me, and I..." That was a dangerous road to go down. Dick clenched his teeth, barely aware of how his fingernails were cutting into his skin. "It isn't just Bruce. I don't want to mess it all up. I want to be worth it."

JASON: I know, I just... Jason often got stuck in his own loop about Bruce. He was aware of it to know it existed, but not to muster either the ability or desire to break out of it. It just didn’t matter enough. The loop deserved to be there, so he stayed in it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t see Dick’s for what it was and want to snap him into something different, though. He both knew and could see how much of a waste it was, how dumb it was, and that it’d never end. Did Bruce have any fucking clue? It seemed hard to fathom that he wouldn’t, but it was worse if he did, and did nothing to try to change it, or only managed effort in suspended moments here or there. Jason had had a few of those of his own. The isolated things. An apology, an explanation, a justification. It never changed the whole picture for him, and it obviously never changed anything for Dick either, even if it didn’t look the same. It was easier to see from the outside - he’d just never had cause to look at any of the others long enough to notice. Not that Dick would have let him.

“Bad timing. That’s me.” It didn’t really matter, when it was all said and done, because it was done. It had played out. They’d lived it how they lived it. Jason was only barely reaching a point with himself where he was willing to allow people to add some different context into it, to color what he remembered a little differently than he’d done on his own. “What’d it cost him?” he wondered. “Me? You? We’re both still here, like a couple of idiots.” Not always. But what’d Bruce lose permanently? And what’d he do with the things that got returned to him? Not fix them. That was for damn sure. He was quiet for a couple of beats before finally adding, “You’re not like him anyway, even if you did want to be.” And from Jason, it was no insult. More silence followed. His jaw tightened once or twice and he stared forward at the switched-off television at his own blurred reflection. He had called. He’d not really thought about it again, after. With everything else that had gone down, Dick not picking up the phone had been far from the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I called and you didn’t answer, yeah,” he finished for him. “So? I don’t-“ he sighed, faltering finally. “I never cared that I died, man. Even when I was doing it, I didn’t blame anybody for it. Not Batman, not you, not my fucking mom.” And it hadn’t been dying that had turned him into the person he was, either. Surely Dick knew that, by then. The dying didn’t matter.

Restless, suddenly, he ran one hand along the cushion beside him. “I’m sitting here, right? Would I be sitting here if it-“ Jesus Christ. “If you weren’t worth it?” He wouldn’t be. “Because I’ve got like a billion other things I could be doing.”

DICK: Anyone who took up the Robin mantle understood the futility of pleasing Bruce, of earning that hard-won approval, but Tim had gotten close. What Dick hated to accept was what it had taken for Bruce to get where he was now. The disconnect between how he was when Dick and Jason knew him and what Tim, Damian, and even Steph had seen was so vast that sometimes it was like they knew two different people. One of the main reasons why Dick had been around more for Tim was because of what happened with Jason, and that seed of anger caused him to stand up to Bruce several times for Tim's sake, because Tim needed it, and he had to accept that his own childhood was over. It didn't matter if he could logically or objectively step back and see the situation for what it was. It didn't matter that he knew Bruce loved him. He largely suspected that wouldn't matter for Jason, either - or maybe it would, but there would always be that thought of too little, too late. The difference between them was where they channeled the criticism. Dick turned it inward and Jason lashed out, mainly at Bruce, easily making up for what Dick didn't say.

"We're here," he agreed, because it was true enough. Jason would show up when the chips were down. There were times when Dick hadn't been sure if he would, though he'd always reach out, but that was a long time ago. "It cost him a family. A family he could have had, if he'd just... I don't know, gotten therapy, I guess. That's why he took us in. He wanted a family. Yeah, I got the good little soldier speech and made that dumb oath, just like you did, but he didn't have to adopt us." That was something Dick was certain of, because Bruce hadn't adopted him right away, and that had been the main reason why he'd been so desperate to please him, especially in the beginning. He was terrified Bruce would return him, defective, and pick out a newer, shinier kid who did cleaner backflips. It was dumb in retrospect.

He couldn't help a faint smile when Jason said he wasn't like Bruce, laughing under his breath and pushing his hair back from his face. "Good. He's miserable." As Jason continued, his smile faded and he held his breath. Even though he'd said the word not two seconds ago, it was impossible not to wince when it came out of Jason's mouth. He didn't think he would ever not feel that pang. The first time it had been agonizing, he could remember it so well, and the memories and emotions associated it were heavy. "I know you don't. I know that it might have still happened if I'd answered the phone, if I'd stayed, if I played it all over again, and maybe there was no stopping it. It was Joker's doing. I know that. I just don't want to lose the time we have now, or waste it making stupid decisions." It wasn't so much that he was looking back, but the past was a good reference when it came to moving forward. He knew how tragic one misstep could be. "I still wish I'd picked up that stupid phone. I had your voicemail saved for a long time, but then I smashed it after a fight with Bruce. Lost it." That had been more devastating than he wanted to admit, so he forced a faint smirk. "Your little high voice. It was a lot higher than I said in the car, by the way. I was doing you a favor."

No. Jason wouldn't be there unless he wanted to be. Dick knew that because he knew him. It had taken several good-intentioned but misinformed efforts to reach this point, too. That was why he didn't want to mess it up. "You sure there's anything more fun than watching me wax on and feel sorry for myself?" Rubbing his nose, he laughed softly. "We could play rooftop truth or dare. Trampoline rooftop truth or dare. It's more fun with two people." He paused, then continued quickly. "And I have wine."

JASON: There had been other points, earlier on, when the person in the family he’d have said he was least like was Dick. It had been more like armor than anything. He couldn’t be him, despite all the trying, so the only solution was to wear the opposite like a badge of honor, or at least a badge of defiance. He’d done that for a long time. He might have kept doing it, even, had they not finally managed to yell about something that ended up mattering. He still couldn’t ever be Dick, didn’t even want to be anymore, but what had felt like a gulf that separated them had narrowed into something small enough to see over. Bruce had failed both of them in ways that the others couldn’t understand. Tim had said as much. He couldn’t be insulted by being likened to Bruce, because the Bruce he knew wasn’t the same. And good for him, just like Jason had said. Good for him, but that wasn’t what he got. It wasn’t what Dick got, either.

“Yeah. Cost him a family. Cost us...” he shook his head, “I guess the same thing.” He let the words hang, listening to them as he said them. “For awhile.” And that part, he was still getting used to. Dick had tried for something with Tim and Damian and he’d got it, at least halfway, but Jason had never expected to. He’d given up on it, at least in any meaningful way, and was still easing into the idea that he’d been wrong. He wasn’t ever going to have the father in Bruce that he’d wanted, but he could salvage...something. Somebody. Not just because some words got said - he’d had enough damn words. Everybody had words. Even Bruce had words. Dick was the one finally doing something to prove it, even if the only thing it looked like right then was letting Jason see him be something besides the unattainable thing he’d conjured up for so long. That was fine. It was all he’d wanted, really. Actual truth with something to back it up. “Look up miserable in the dictionary and you’ll see a cowl with stupid ears.” He didn’t want to be like that, either, but at times it seemed inevitable. All those months, years, when it felt like the only thing he had left was just disappointment and fucking anger...had he been much different from Bruce then? Not really. Not on that level, anyway. “Doesn’t really matter anymore if you could’ve made a difference. I’m not asking you to make up for it, don’t need you to pay some kind of pittance for missing a phone call. Just don’t use me as some kind of reason not to do something you want to do.” He didn’t want to be an excuse, much less a burden - something holding him back from himself or from somebody. Even if the somebody was freakin’ Slade.

The remark about his voice finally got him to move. He threw one of the pillows nearby straight toward Dick’s head, aiming to knock him over. “Keep talking and you’ll sound like that by the time I leave.” He stared at him like he was daring him to continue. “What are we, sixteen?” But there were worse things, he figured, than just getting drunk. “Fine. Hope it’s a lot of wine.”

DICK: It might be the singular thing that prevented their schism from being too great. Dick understood what Jason went through with Bruce, the impossible standards, although Jason had an actual person he felt he had to live up to while Dick's own fears of failure were largely internalized. All of that resulted into the tendency to be what the people around him needed. He had the ability to read a room and innately understand how to mold himself to the group. The lack of authenticity ate at him, but the idea of exposing what he thought was fundamentally flawed and broken about himself was horrifying, even though being understood was something he would always crave. It was another thing that drew him to Slade. As it turned out, being accepted and understood was addictive. It made him less reticent to be direct and honest with Jason. The idea that they could share those experiences made the burden much lighter, even if they didn't talk about it, and even if they handled it differently. It came from the same place.

"For a while," he agreed. "For the world's greatest detective, he doesn't seem to grasp long term effects." Abnormal psychology was one thing, but anticipating others' reactions to a sequence of events, especially their reactions, was one of Bruce's shortcomings. Pressuring Dick to let the others believing he was dead for their well being played perfectly into Dick's desire to protect his family, sure, but there had been consequences. He knew there would be consequences. Like Bruce, he thought it was worth what he had to do. It was a burden he wanted to take on for their sake, even though it still troubled him that Bruce had strategically used that angle against him. "Underneath all of it, we all want the same thing, right? Maybe that's just a side effect of being an orphan." That made him laugh, even though he felt more sorry for Bruce than anything. "I used to get so mad when people compared me to Bruce. They did it all the time when I was with the Titans, said I was just like the Bat, and... I hated it." There was no denying he could be a serious and harsh leader, but he'd had to be. There were lives in his hands. If he were going to take on that role, then he would devote himself to keeping everyone under his care safe. It put him under a lot of pressure and there were plenty of occasions when he'd exploded. The position brought out his perfectionist, organizational side - something he'd never relished in, because it wasn't him. Sometimes he wondered if anyone other than Wally, Roy, and Donna knew him at all. Kory, maybe, but even with Kory he'd been largely buying into an idealized version of himself.

"It's not really pittance. It's just knowing how easy it is to make a choice you regret even years later. And what I want... I mean, what's most important to me, is family. It's always been family." That was what made it so hard to risk choosing Slade and possibly alienating them.  Dick caught the pillow, but the motion made him fall back against the couch. This time when he laughed it was richer, although the redness of his eyes betrayed other emotions that rose to the surface with it. Tossing the pillow back at Jason, he got to his feet and gestured for him to follow. "It's a lot," he confirmed. "Everyone seems to think wine is the go-to gift when you move into a new apartment, even if it's months after the fact." He had at least a dozen bottles shoved in various places around the kitchen. "Uh..." He dug around in the silverware drawer. "...But I don't have a cork opener. Do you have a pocketknife or something?"

JASON: Though he'd never know for sure, maybe the weight he'd carried around would have been there with or without Dick. If it hadn't been the standards set around him, would it have been something else? He'd wondered, more than once, if he was even capable of the kinds of things that other people were, or if it was truly a situation where he was damned no matter what. If he just was...how he was, and his issues with Bruce, what happened with Joker, all of it just happened to be the circumstances and the situations he'd ended up with. There was no way to tell. He couldn't live a different life to find out. All he knew was that he didn't want that to be true, and if it wasn't inherently true, that meant it was the result of something. Someone. Maybe that was what Dick was saying, too, about what he'd tried to do after things went south with Slade the first time. It just looked wildly different for both of them, as usual. He didn't know how to ask, or if he wanted to, but the thought took hold as he sat there.

"Apparently being a good detective doesn't do much good with this." But it wasn't like they were neat puzzles to be solved. Jason often wished it were that simple himself - that people made enough sense to just put them in the places he wanted them to fit, but he had the presence of mind (sometimes, anyway) to realize it wasn't going to work. He ran his hand along the back of his neck. That was what they had in common, right? All of them? Something in or about the world had spit them out and they'd ended up together. "Yeah, well...wanting is the easy part." Jason had said that plenty himself, that Dick was just the Baby Bat, but that had been the point of what he was doing. He'd projected that himself, whether he wanted to or not. Jason had just had no way of knowing that he should be seeing through it. He had never spent much time talking to Roy about Dick. There was no reason for him to. It was, if anything, one of the things he'd wanted to discuss with him the least. Their understanding of him probably split somewhere, but he'd never wanted to drag that into their relationship. Whatever they were, he'd wanted it to be them. Not something that involved Dick.

He chewed at the inside of his lip. He didn't fidget the way that Dick did, but he too was finding it hard to just keep sitting there, still, doing nothing but talking. One of the things that had always been and would always been difficult, if not flat out impossible for him to accept was that he was a priority in someone's life. Anyone's, really. To be told flat out that Dick wanted a relationship with the family, with him, over whatever he had with Slade that he struggled to distance himself from...it was a struggle to believe it. That was what he was trying so fucking hard to change, at least a little. It left him quiet.

It also made the wine even more appealing. If there was a ton of it, all the better. Jason didn't often get drunk. He didn't like the loss of control that came with it. Mostly, it was something he did in moments of desperation, low times, or just when he was too fucking angry to even know what else to do with it. It hadn't happened in awhile. Right then, if he was going to stay there and they were going to keep doing whatever it was they were doing, he wanted the wine. "Did you just ask me if I have a pocketknife? Have we ever met before? Hello, stranger," he rolled his eyes as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out something much more sizeable than a pocket knife. "Give me some of those bottles."

DICK: Dick struggled to separate and understand the difference between what Bruce knew, but didn't know how to change, and what he was truly ignorant of. He was always surprised by the truth. At this point, he'd spent years trying to understand how Bruce's mind worked and why he was the way he was. It was something he grasped in theory, but the simplest thing could capsize the whole theory. At this point, he had to reconcile with the fact that there might not ever be a way to fully understand Bruce. What's more, it was no longer his job. Robin had to know how to work alongside Batman, anticipate the moves he made, and to mimic his behavior for top efficiency.

"Hard part's over, I think." That was what he hoped. They'd bridged the gap between them despite all hurdles. Jason being here now proved that the fight was never one-sided. At some point they'd turned the corner and were now on their way to building something different. Sometimes Dick tried looking back so he could pinpoint when that happened, even though he knew it didn't really matter. Where they'd been was inconsequential. He wanted to focus on where they were now. Maybe that was why Jason didn't like to talk about the past, there wasn't much to be gained from it, because the rules were different now.

Hard conversations weren't typically ones Dick avoided, but he knew better than to let Jason's silence simmer. When he was quiet it indicated that he didn't know what to say or had nothing good to say. Sometimes it was best to let things sink in, especially when they'd covered so many touchy topics in a short timeframe. Moving on to something lighter and less emotional was the only way he knew how to redirect the evening that wouldn't result in Jason taking off. He hesitated, but then handed over the bottle in his hand. It was Pinot Grigio. "Wait, I mean one of those like... swiss army knives. You know, with all the little pieces that pop out. They usually come with a corkscrew." It was hard imagining Jason with some boy scout knife, but he supposed it wasn't impossible. "You can't just, like, cut the top off."

JASON: Even though he’d had a family in the legal sense from the day that Bruce adopted him onward, he’d spent so much of the time after the Pit hell bent on staying away from them. He’d still shown up if they needed him, really needed him, and reached out to say so, but otherwise...otherwise he’d just tried to fill in the missing things in other ways. By himself, mostly, but it was what the Outlaws had been for awhile, too. Somebody to have his back and give a damn for awhile, and with whom he could do the same in kind. He’d figured it would just stay that way, with him piecing together scraps of something. Maybe it was still going to be true - the world was still spinning in the same direction and all. They weren’t suddenly going to be one big happy family sitting down to Sunday dinner and going to baseball games together on the weekend. But some things were changing. Had changed. If they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have go to Dick’s place, certainly not tried it twice, just to be there for him.

Still, he couldn’t suddenly just be a different person. Maybe he should’ve thanked him or told him he believed him or anything at all, really, but he couldn’t do it. Later, maybe. Dick was in the middle of a whole fucking ordeal, he didn’t actually know what his priorities were going to be, right? He wasn’t going to hang on the answer. He’d meant what he told him, that he should go for what he wanted and damn the rest. They’d spend too much time doing anything but that. To Jason, it was difficult to fathom the final decision being what Dick claimed it was.

“Who said I can’t cut the top off? I’ll do it over the sink. Wine still tastes the same.” Jason had the oddly shaped Kris dagger that he often carried. “Don’t worry. It’s clean.” It had been buried in many a shoulder and stomach, but it was perfectly fine for getting a damn cork out. Jason took the bottle from him and stabbed the point of the bottle down into the cork before shimmying it back and forth to try to coax it free. Instead, he got a few pieces of chipped cork for his trouble. Rinse, repeat, until he had most of it dug out. “Voila. One bottle down.” But he next time, he was just cutting off the damn top. Nobody had time to play ‘pick out the cork.’ He motioned for a second bottle, not willing to share, and handed the open one to Dick. “We going up or what?”

Practically as soon as they had, there was the sound of shattering glass and the small amount of wine that had been at the very top of the neck spilled over the sides. The cork, still wrapped in glass, skidded across the roof and Jason nudged it away with his foot. As long as he didn’t let the top of the bottle actually touch his mouth, it’d be fine.

DICK: There was a time when Dick didn't think it was possible to bring Jason back into the family. That didn't mean he didn't want to. He'd never stopped wanting to help, even when he didn't know how to help, and he never thought that Bruce's way of handling the situation was appropriate under the circumstances. He understood why he'd done it. Jason had needed help, there was no doubt of that, but he needed more than what he'd been handed. Arkham Asylum wasn't exactly the ideal place to convalesce and find peace of mind. Dick hated the idea of Jason in there, it was discomfort he shared with Bruce more than once, and he'd been encouraged to let the system handle it from that point forward. That was never something he'd ever been able to do completely, even in the more typical situations. More happened once the person was put in jail. It didn't fix anything but the current situation. Everything that followed after that was strained. When he had seen Jason in the years between his release and before Star City, it wasn't for long and they didn't talk about anything of substance. Jason was still adverse to doing it now, for the most part, but he still would. They had. The fact that Jason was here to talk about something Dick knew he hadn't enjoyed talking about demonstrated that he was trying. Both of them were. It wasn't easy for Dick to fully stop and listen to someone else, even when he thought he believed he knew what they were saying. He'd been wrong about Jason before. There was no doubt he'd be wrong again. That didn't mean he wouldn't keep trying to be present in whatever way he could, when he could, and he knew he couldn't just keep himself shut up in his apartment like this.

"But the glass -" There was no time for Dick to protest before Jason was stabbing the knife into the cork. He shook his head, but for the first time that evening he was smiling. "There's probably a million pieces of cork floating in there now." Accepting the now corkless bottle, he handed the second one to Jason even though he expected it to get the same treatment.

Nodding, he led the way to the large glass doors that took them out to the roof. The garden was getting a little wild, especially compared to when Jason had been there last time. Motioning to the trampoline, he was about to say something when he heard the sound of glass shattering. "Are you - did you seriously just...?" His alarmed gaze shot to the cork rolling across the roof and he stepped out of its path, blinking. "How are you going to drink that? Just pour it into your mouth? Wait..." Already he was heading back inside to get Jason something, even if it was a coffee cup.

JASON: Sometimes things had to get down to the wire for Jason to step in. It had to hit do or die levels, and even then there were times when he thought he’d pick the second one or leave someone else to it, at least metaphorically. He didn’t like listening to people circle around themselves and reach for things that didn’t make any sense. He did it too, but he didn’t have to watch that from the outside. If he had, he probably would’ve wanted to kick his own ass more than once. But the difference in where he was right then and where he’d been for so many years was that he’d shown up to try to head things off before it got that bad, and he’d not done it for himself. He  hadn’t gone to the apartment twice because it actually involved him. It didn’t. He was there for Dick. That was all. That was all, and that was...still new. For the two of them, anyway. Jason was wading in the shallow end of the pool with it, dipping in his feet and making himself acclimate.

“So spit them out. Pour it through a sieve. Or maybe don’t keep ten bottles of wine without buying a corkscrew,” he shrugged. It was still wine and it’d still get them drunk. If he was going to keep lingering, and it didn’t feel like they were done so he would, that was very high on the priority list. He was fighting his own instinct to recuse himself even though the only reason he was even there was because he’d decided all on his own to go. He wanted to be there, or at least felt as if he needed to be. Again, a novelty. How often had any of them generated that feeling? That he was needed?

“How’s that any different from what you’re doing? You’re just pouring it in your mouth.” With less chance of stitches, but he wasn’t torn up about it. As Dick disappeared, Jason could’ve sworn he heard him clicking his tongue. He took his mangled bottle and carefully hoisted himself up onto the trampoline to sit in the middle of it, and once Dick returned with some kind of cup he poured it as full of wine as it could go. “I never even asked why you have this thing.” He’d always just chalked it up to Dick being Dick, but it was bizarre even for him. “Why the fuck is there a trampoline at your apartment?” He’d not even asked when he lived there. Might as well.

DICK: Dick hated living alone. When he'd moved out of the manor in Gotham, he floated between the Titans until he had his own apartment, but most of his time was spent at the tower. He needed to be around them and around people. It was easy for him to feel lonely. Isolating himself wasn't in his nature and went against every one of his instincts. It was one thing to achieve independence with his own identity, but he always ended up being drawn back into a group. That wasn't something he minded, not really, even though leading always felt more like a burden. He'd frequently channel Bruce during those times. Being responsible for others and their lives had brought out a perfectionist part of him. He always felt tightly wound. When things were bad, he'd been known to snap at the smallest mistake.

"I don't keep them," he called back from the kitchen, fishing through the cabinets for a cup. "And I could give you at least seventeen differences."

Eventually he settled on a SCPD tumbler with a swirly straw. It was the only cup he had with a top on it, and much better than Jason taking his chances with jagged glass. He picked out a Halloween mug for himself with "Halloween puns are so corny!" written across the front and peppered with images of candy corn. Returning to the roof, he handed Jason the SCPD cup and joined him on the trampoline.

The question made him look up in surprise. "I never said?" Dick filled his cup up halfway, hesitated, then sighed and filled it to the brim. Even in the low light he could see the tiny pieces of cork, but it seemed so small next to everything else that he couldn't muster much energy to care about them. "I guess I didn't." He'd talked to Jason before proposing to Tanya. He knew he'd get his unfiltered, honest opinion, and that was something he wanted. "I actually have two trampolines at my apartment. One is just inside." Smirking faintly, he shrugged and took a long drink of the wine. "This one used to be in the gym. I had it moved out here. It was supposed to be just temporary, maybe a night or two, but..." The wine left a bitter taste in his mouth and he took another drink. "I proposed to Tanya on the roof, had a whole dinner set up and everything. All romantic. Our first date was at a trampoline park."

JASON: Jason was not the least bit at odds with the idea of living alone. It made a lot of things easier. But even knowing that, it was not really, honestly his preference. He needed space, the ability to go behind a door and shut it if he wanted, but not always necessarily for there to be no one on the other side when he opened it again. He wasn’t bothered a great deal during the times it didn’t work out that way, but that wasn’t true of many other people. Dick willfully choosing to be by himself and shut away as long as he had been was wildly out of the norm and the brightest red flag he could have waved.

“If they’re in your house on a regular basis, you’re keeping them.” Even if it was the same bottles. It was alcohol, not a damn decoration. They would’ve been drank eventually and he’d not been prepared. So he got cork chips and broken glass. That was how it worked.

He scoffed as soon as he brought back that tumbler, but tipped the ruined bottle above it enough to pour it full. He didn’t bother with either the lid or straw and just tipped it back to take a long first drink. A second one followed as Dick launched into an engagement story, because of course he did. “Guess you picked truth.” Were they still doing that? “What is it with you and needing that ring and piece of paper anyway?”

DICK: In the beginning, Tim was spending the evenings with him, keeping him company, and Dick enjoyed his presence even when they were in separate rooms. It helped to know that someone else was in the apartment. The small movements were a strange sense of comfort. He hadn't told Tim about seeing Slade, not yet, but the conversation was still turning over in his head. There were new things to consider about it now, things that were somewhat... troubling, and took another long drink. This time the alcohol burned the back of his throat.

Dick scrunched his nose. "Was gonna give them to Alfred, but I kept forgetting." Bruce didn't drink. He knew Alfred indulged from time to time, he could hardly blame him for that, or he could at least use them for food preparation. Or something. Instead they sat in his cabinet and collected dust.

Plucking the straw from the trampoline, he stuck it into his bottle. He was sucking on it when Jason reminded him about the game. Immediately he shook his head, rolling his eyes. "That didn't count." Then again, that also meant it was Jason's turn. "Guess that means you're up, though. Truth or dare?"

JASON: “But you didn’t give them to Alfred. Buy a corkscrew.” They weren’t making it through ten bottles of wine that night. Jason might have a slight leg up on ordinary people thanks to the Pit, but he wasn’t some metahuman with metabolism too out of control to let him get drunk. Dick would have plenty of wine still sitting by the end.

Dick didn’t give him an answer to his other question, but he let him dodge it. Many months earlier when he’d told him he was proposing to Tanya in the first place, he’d given him part of an answer. He wasn’t sure he’d ever understand it, at least not from the perspective of someone who actually felt that way. Marriage seemed...nearly useless to him, a government stamp on something that either already had meaning or didn’t.

“Dare.” No contest. He’d given Dick some truths already that night and was going to need a lot more to drink to offer up more, even in a game. He’d get to it, maybe. He brought the tumbler up to his lips and took two long swallows. “Give it your best shot.”

DICK: "What, and drink by myself? Isn't that frowned upon?" Maybe he had isolated himself over the past week or so, however long it'd been, but Dick wasn't about to use alcohol to cope. He knew better. Even right now, there was a certain shame in drinking. It was maybe the third or fourth time he had more than a single glass. And even that single glass was a rare occasion.

Jason's question wasn't one could answer just off the cuff, but it was something he'd thought about before. He thought about it right now too, and turned the question over in his mind as he acted preoccupied with thinking up a good dare. He played this so often with Wally and Roy that he had about half a dozen ideas in a matter of seconds.

But none of those ideas seemed quite right. They wouldn't be challenging for Jason, anyway - and wasn't that the whole point of playing? "I'll have you picking truth by the end of the night." He smirked and dug his phone out of his pocket. "Dare you to take a selfie with me."

JASON: “Depends on who you’re asking. Sometimes it’s the only thing that cuts through.” Jason certainly didn’t shy away from it, but he wasn’t exactly reaching for a bottle at the drop of a hat, either. Especially not recently. He’d drank in front of Roy before while he was sober, but with the relapse being so fresh and the hidden bottles he and Dick had found and emptied had removed any desire to do it. Once in awhile he dipped into a bar, and he wasn’t thinking twice about the wine. “You don’t have to lay around feeling shit all the time.” Not that he figured Dick would really get on that train.

Immediately, he regretted how little thought he’d put into his choice. A selfie wasn’t the worst thing ever, but it immediately showed him where Dick’s mind went and it wasn’t what he’d been counting on. He’d expected something physical, probably stupid, but of course that was too easy. He groaned, but shifted himself until he was a little ways behind Dick and off to one side. It put him at an angle to be in the picture, and he tipped the tumbler up to take a drink right as Dick snapped it.

“There. Your turn.” Jason didn’t sit around coming up with lists of crap he wanted to know about people. His questions tended to just come out like a demand to know something whenever the answer was suddenly important. He could figure it out, though, if truth was up to bat again.

DICK: Dick had seen Roy at low points before, but his involvement had been more transitionary. When Roy first admitted his addiction, he didn’t even find out about it until much later. And the second time, after Jason left and Roy showed up in Gotham, Dick worked hard to convince him to go West. The treatment center wasn’t part of the plan until he’d seen how bad off Roy was. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken much convincing. “But the feelings are still there after it wears off. Sometimes even stronger than before.” Alcohol was a temporary solution. At some point he’d have to face everything again. It was something he’d push himself through rather than push it aside or cover it up. That never ended well. Not for him, at least. “But I could use a break.” A couple hours of peace, free from constant ruminating, wouldn’t exactly be the worst thing. It was starting to get to him.

Jason would do the selfie because it was a dare. That part didn’t surprise him - neither of them were the type to back down once they’d committed to something. It was committing to people that seemed to be their shared problem, but Dick knew his own history was much more convoluted. After snapping the picture, he quickly saved it and slipped his phone back in his pocket. It happened so fast that his own pose had been a nothing but a cheesy grin. He still intended fo put it on Twitter later, once Jason couldn’t dare him to take it down.

“Um...” Maybe Jason would have preferred to give him a dare, but Dick liked having an excuse to tell him things that wouldn’t come up under normal circumstances. Maybe it wouldn’t lead to an exchange, but it gave Dick the opportunity to show his willingness to be honest and open. “Truth.”

JASON: Sometimes even stronger than before. Jason didn't even try to keep from rolling his eyes, though he at least had his head partly turned away when he did it. "Yeah dude, they're there either way. Doesn't mean you have to just sit and do nothing but think about it. Not like you've been making it any better your way." Clearly. Dick wasn't snapping himself out of it, and even if he'd managed to they both knew that it wasn't exactly in a good way either. All he was doing was swallowing it. What was the real difference between that and swallowing some wine for a couple of hours instead? Not much.

Compared to regular people, of which they'd never really been part of, it was likely strange how few pictures actually existed of their family together. Normally it was something formal, some stiff thing to go on the wall back in Wayne Manor, and Jason hadn't even shown up for half of those. More than half, probably. So he let him have the selfie and didn't complain about it outright. For the time being, anyway.

"Answer my question then. What is it with you and the piece of paper and the ring?" He'd avoided it pointedly and Jason wasn't going to let him, even if he already had part of the answer. "You need the government to validate that it's real or what?"

DICK: In the past, Dick might have gotten defensive over Jason's reaction or read too far into it. It had taken time and a lot of trial and error for him to understand that Jason's dry comments and eyerolls weren't meant as insults. Now he used that back and forth as a way to connect. He was comfortable teasing him in return, even as he was sure to never take it too far. There were always subjects that were off limits. Then again, maybe that was true for both of them. This, however, wasn't one of those subjects, and the question just made him laugh a little. "Exactly. I'm just turning over the same thoughts on the chance that the light might be different the next time around." With no one but himself to bounce ideas off of, it had made everything feel stagnant and hopeless - but now, even after Jason left, he would have new things to ponder.

He sighed and dropped his head, his teeth tugging on his lower lip. "I was still thinking about it." Maybe he didn't have a complete picture, but he could answer the question as best he could. His chest tightened and he took another drink, even though he was only starting to feel the effects. "You know when I said I was overcompensating? Kind of like that, but... I guess with..." Sighing heavily, he reached up to push his hair back. "I loved Babs, Kory, and Tanya. This doesn't have anything to do with them. It's just... it's why I pushed things in that direction." Dick's mouth felt dry, but didn't let himself take another drink. Not yet. He didn't want Jason to think he was trying to put off an answer. "So after... everything with Slade, I knew there had to be something really, really wrong with me. It wasn't just what he'd done or what he was capable of. It was that after it was all said and done, I completely believed everything was just some game for him - you know what Bruce thinks he's about - because he was so convincing. He turned Rose against the Titans, sent her to kill me, even, not to mention all the times I fought him as Deathstroke after that. The way he looked... it was like..." Setting his jaw, he sighed. "Like he was looking right through me. Like I wasn't even there. And still, I..." He had to stop again. This time it was with a soft, forced laugh. "So I really thought something about me was so twisted that I might never want something normal. Something good. And when I found it, all I wanted to do was nail it down. Maybe it was way to prove to myself that I could still have something that average people could have, people who haven't been through what we have, you know? It was like there was this darkness that I was trying to outrun, and the harder I tried, the more I could beat it back."

JASON: “Spoiler alert,” Jason took another drink, halfway through the full tumbler by then, “they’re not going to look any different the sixty-eighth time that you think about them.” There wasn’t going to be some sudden and previously unseen thing that slotted into place if the only thing he’d done was sit with the exact same information, in the same place, alone. Jason knew what that cycle felt like, knew perfectly well that there was no end to it if left alone. Dick didn’t take it to the same places that he did, or at least he didn’t think so, but that didn’t make it less endless.

He filled the tumblr again to the top from his busted wine bottle as he finally got the answer to that question. It was surprisingly less dumb than he’d been counting on. He kept drinking, keeping up no pretense that his goal was not to be well and truly trashed in as short a time as possible, and pushed one hand back through his hair. “Never gonna be like other people, Dickie. No marriage license is going to change that. Normal people don’t even know what to do with it half the time, anyway.” Marriage didn’t solve shit. It didn’t chase away darkness or give some kind of North Star. It didn’t right a wrong. Someone either did those things, relationships either did those things, or they didn’t. “I don’t know Deathstroke as anything but Deathstroke, so I couldn’t guess at what the hell was going on in his head during all that, but it’s got more to do with him than it does with you either way.”

DICK: "Yeah, trust me, I know." This wasn't the first time Dick had chosen to close himself off from his family, but he wasn't about to discuss those past incidences with Jason. Two were related to him. They were on good terms now, but there were still things he didn't think were necessary to bring up. Things that wouldn't do Jason any good to know about. "You gave me stuff to think about," he added in a quieter voice. "Maybe it'll tide me over."

His brow furrowed as Jason spoke and he sighed, his thumb tracing the mouth of the bottle. "Yeah. It's not that... I want to be, not completely." It was impossible for him to regret being Robin or any of those years with Bruce, despite everything. The early years were still some of the best memories he had. That was also something he chose not to disclose to Jason.

At first he was quiet. When Jason first showed up, Dick didn't plan on talking about the conversation he'd had with Slade. It was still fresh on his mind, though. It was impossible not to give into the temptation now that his head was swimming and some of his inhibitions were lowered. "He thought he'd put me in danger. You know, because being Robin and Bruce Wayne's kid didn't put me directly in the line of fire anyway." Maybe it was different with Deathstroke, who made enemies just the same as Bruce, if not more, and he understood the reasoning behind it. Still, it made him sigh and take another drink. "I talked to him, you know. Slade. I was walking Sasha and saw his bike in the alley next to Rose and Joey's place. I stopped and waited for him."

JASON: He raised a brow at that. Had he? Was Dick actually going to accept any of what he’d said or at least consider it? It seemed like most of the time Jason just threw words into a damn void, no matter who he was talking to, and nothing stuck. Maybe it was unfair of him to keep thinking that way all the time, but it was hard to shake. He wasn’t exactly the guy anyone went to for advice, and did he have much right to blame them for that? Maybe not. “Guess it wasn’t a total bust then.” Him showing up, that was.

Normal was never something that he’d tried to strive for. Jason wasn’t even sure the word had real meaning, anyway. “Good, because you’re never going to get it, and if you did you’d be bored as hell.” Stability, in some sense, was a far more understandable concept. That was all he wanted, and it’d never be granted by a judge or a stamp anyway. Usually it couldn’t be wrung out of another person at all. Dick was out for something else entirely. If he’d only wanted someone at his back, he’d had that more than once and walked away.

It was dumb on the surface to think of anyone claiming to do something for protection, at least where Dick (or any of them) were concerned, but at the same time...Jason did hesitate to think of was some grand offense, either. Unnecessary. Maybe a little insulting. But bad? “The nerve of him to not want to throw you in front of a different bus,” he finally said, purely sarcastic, and took another drink. But he forgot about it when Dick said he’d already seen him. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood, huh?” Dick was still lost in his head, so whatever conversation he’d had with Slade obviously hadn’t turned the world rightside up again, but that wasn’t a surprise. “And? That do any good?”

DICK: "It wasn't. I'm glad you're here, I know I'm not exactly the best company right now." Dick tried to smile, but the result was a half-hearted smirk. Too much weighed on his mind for him to manage anything light-hearted. He knew this wasn't easy for Jason, it wasn't something he was used to doing at all, and he appreciated anything he offered under those circumstances. Because it was so rare, there was no way he wouldn't listen or take what he had to say seriously. Their cross-country trip had loosened any lingering awkwardness that remained after the incident in the Batcave. At this point, it was difficult to believe it had ever been there in the first place.

That made him laugh, but he couldn't hide the wince even with another long drink of wine. "Yeah, I think that was the problem. Once I had it, something always kept me from following through. I always let something get in the way." He'd never put up a real fight, either. With Babs and Kory it'd been mostly mutual, but he knew his own lack of consistency leading up to it largely contributed. He knew they thought it was because he had commitment issues, but that wasn't it at all. Committing had never been the problem. It was a lack of self-awareness that was, in part, a form of denial. Rolling his eyes, he shook the bottle in his hand to see how much was left. "It wasn't all selfless, you know. He didn't want me getting in the way of Deathstroke. That was his priority back then. He thought I would change him, mess up his life, and then die. Even if that did happen, it's not really me dealing with the consequences. He'd be left to face whatever guilt he'd have for it, no matter how misplaced."

Now that he'd brought it up, he knew he couldn't skirt giving Jason the answers. If he did, he knew they'd just come up in the next round of Truth. "They're close to the park. It's where I usually take her." Not that the route explained why he'd stopped or waited. Frowning, he rubbed his forehead and then laid back, bending one of his legs so his foot was flat against the trampoline. "Yeah. No. Kind of. It was weird. He’d been drinking. I could tell." Not that he was one to talk.

JASON: "You're never the best company," he said without missing a beat, but though his tone didn't convey it (purposefully) it was only a joke. Granted, he could only tolerate Dick or practically anyone in limited amounts, but he could tolerate him. Willingly, recently. He sought him out on purpose and not just because life or their family shoved them together and made them figure their shit out for a few hours or a couple of days. "So nothing new there."

On paper, Jason wasn't sure that Dick was ever going to find anyone better than Babs or Kory, but 'on paper' didn't really mean anything. Nothing worked like that. Technically the game only 'gave' him one question and he'd already asked more than that, so he elected to sit on the one that had just cropped up. He'd wait a minute. "Of course it wasn't selfless. Nothing's selfless. I don't even think it's possible." Altruism didn't exist. There were people who tipped the balance away from them when they did something for another person, but there was always something to be gained, even if it was just satisfaction or comfort.

He scoffed and took another swallow, finally feeling the wine move through him in earnest. It always started in his muscles, like warmth or electricity, and spread from there. "Probably at least means he gives a shit." If something was bothering Deathstroke enough to bother getting drunk over it. Then again, maybe he did it all the time. It wasn't like Jason knew. People that maintained that much control and hyper vigilance just usually didn't. "Could be worse."

DICK: Snorting softly, Dick folded his arm under his head. "Don liked me." Don was the conductor at the ghost town. He'd talked their ears off the whole way to the station. By the time it was over, he had Don's entire life story and all the names of his grandchildren. Dick had a way of connecting with people that he wasn't fully aware of. It was how he'd been as a kid, too. He engaged with the people around him like a performer would with an audience, but also didn't ask for anything in return.

"Maybe not." That wasn't what Dick wanted to think, but underneath his optimism and positivity, he was a rational person. He didn't make decisions based off of his emotions in the areas of his life relating to vigilantism. That was what he strove for, anyway. It wasn't always successful, especially when he worked independently and he didn't have anyone else's life in his hands. That gave him a certain amount of freedom.

He sighed. "I guess." It wasn't the way he wanted Slade to demonstrate that he cared, but he didn't bother voicing that thought. "I told him he shouldn't drive. Dumb." Rolling his eyes, he sat up enough to finish off the rest of his bottle, and was shocked by how blurry the world got in the meantime. He was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. Leaning over the side of the trampoline, he set the bottle carefully on the roof before stretching out on his stomach instead. "Okay, truth or dare?"

JASON: “Don was two hundred years old and hadn’t seen a living person in a week. Anybody would like you then.” Slight exaggerations on all counts, maybe. “How’s Jimmy doing, anyway? Still hanging out in your backseat? Tell him I said hey.” He’d kept that rouse up for the whole trip - their backseat ghost who’d hitched a ride.

To Jason, there was no “maybe.” There was no true selflessness. They all got something out of helping people, whether it was just the knowledge that they’d saved a life or not. So no, Deathstroke wanting Dick out of the way wasn’t selfless, probably not even a little, but it was better than the alternative, too. It wasn’t his damn relationship either way, but the things Dick kept honing in on were easy to spot from the outside, just like the things he was missing were nearly as obvious.

“Yeah, because driving drunk is the most dangerous thing he’s ever done.” Again, he just offered a derisive noise. He’d ask more, though, after he got past his own turn. He took another drink and stared up at the sky. “Truth. So you don’t dare me to text somebody I love them or something worse.” He’d had enough to drink to answer something, probably.

DICK: "First of all, that town had a population of six." Dick enjoyed the experience so much that he'd taken a million pictures. It was the first ghost town he'd ever been to, but it made him want to look into others that might be nearby. The mine tour was a little creepy, but other than that. Rolling his eyes, he kicked Jason's leg with the edge of his shoe. "Dropped him off with you, actually." That dumb ghost. Dick knew Jason was trying to get under his skin, but he was unnerved by the various stories the tour guide had.

He was still working through the conversation. It left him confused, which wasn't much better than the frozen state they were currently in. Maybe he didn't know what he was going to do about it yet, or what it would look like when he decided, talking to Jason helped clarify some things.

Triumphant, he sat up on his elbows and bit his lower lip. "Hmm." There were at least three dozen things he wanted to know about Jason, but he knew he wouldn't get this chance again. Who knew how many more opportunities he'd have just tonight. It was a rare opportunity and he wasn't going to let it pass him by. "What was your favorite part of the drive? And why?" he added quickly, just in case Jason gave him something monosyllabic.

JASON: “Really? You saw six? I could’ve sworn it was four.” Jason said it completely deadpan, leaving Dick to guess entirely whether or not he was serious. “I guess that’d explain why my mugs keep ending up in different cabinets.” Again, his expression was completely unreadable on its own.

The question was easier than he’d expected, for sure, and thus much easier to dodge. “The 7-11 in Nebraska. I got that blue raspberry Slurpee. Tasted good.” He took another drink and watched Dick over the top of the tumbler, just to see how offended he got by that non-answer. “Your turn. Truth or dare?” He might give him something better than the Slurpee but wasn’t yet convinced.(edited)

DICK: "Six," Dick corrected without hesitation, holding up four fingers. When he realized what he did he laughed. "Maybe I shouldn't have had the whole bottle. And don't joke about that, you don't really know if things like that are real or not." Considering they dealt with gods and goddesses all day long, it wasn't exactly far-fetched.

Rolling his eyes, he shot him a look. "Seriously? It's truth or dare, Jay. You can't lie your way through it. That defeats the purpose." The 7-11. Dick wasn't even going to pretend to believe something that off-hand.

JASON: “Yeah I do.” And he didn’t think he needed to explain again why or how he knew. Not that he had any qualms about doing it. Jason had never and would never shy away from bringing up his death, regardless of company. It had happened and it was his to talk about if he wanted to, even if it was just to debunk some damn ghosts. They weren’t really. There was nothing trapped between life and death, because there was nothing between life and death that he’d seen. It was just one minute on earth and the next, nothing. Less than nothing. There wasn’t awareness to even know the nothing. Whole bottle or not, Dick hadn’t drank enough wine to listen to that, so he didn’t bother. “Maybe I’ve just had some idiot burglar with a gimmick. Organization Man. Marie Kondo gone rogue or something.”

He drained the last of the tumbler, and thus the last of his own bottle, and laid on his back on the trampoline to look up at the sky. It was ridiculous to have the thing on the roof, but since it was there already...it wasn’t exactly hard to find some appeal. At least it was comfortable. “Fine. It was just the actual circus. I’d only ever been that one time.” The one that he’d told Dick about that started the whole idea rolling in the first place, because of course he’d remembered Jason saying it even with the hole in his head. “It was...” he pressed his lips together and mulled it over for a second, “a good follow up.”

DICK: Whenever Jason mentioned his death, joking or not, it made his chest tighten instinctively. He exhaled and tried to look annoyed, but the effort fell flat. It made him reconsider what his response to it should be. Maybe instead of getting upset, he could threaten him with a hug instead. Jason was definitely much more responsive to acts of love than anything resembling an argument. It would definitely be a tactic he hadn't tried before. "Pretty sure it wouldn't be a burglar if you weren't... burgled. You were just organized." Organization Man. "I've heard worse."

Dick didn't expect to get an answer from Jason, even though he'd asked for one. His mind had already searched for the answer on its own, and he'd come up with a few, so he was taken aback by what it actually was. The night he was shot was still confusing when he tried to remember specifics. Some of it he remembered, but there were times when he wondered how much of it were real or just odd dreams patchworked in. "Yeah, it's... it's always weird being back, but they're doing a good job with it." Haly's still had the same appeal. There was a distinctly old-fashioned bent to their advertising and gimmick that made it even more appealing. "Their trapeze act, too. Grade A."

JASON: If he’d been looking at him, he might have seen Dick’s expression change, but that wouldn’t have been anything new. He’d seen the look plenty of times before and it never acted as much of a deterrent. Still, for the moment there was no reason to push it. He’d not even been doing it for a joke. “Maybe he stole a mug. Roy has left some dumb ones over there.” He didn’t even know why. Things just appeared and he had to figure out something to do with them, usually putting them out of sight.

Jason sat the empty tumbler aside and ran his hands down his face. “It looked smaller this time than I remembered, but I guess that’s true about everything.” For Jason, his world as a kid had been incredibly small, usually. It was always day to day, worrying or focusing on what was in front of him because that was what was necessary. Anything outside of that had seemed almost surreal. “Truth or dare? And I need another bottle.”

DICK: "Is that how you explain where his mugs disappear to? Ghosts?" Dick couldn't help a faint shiver even though he was joking - for the most part, at least. "Does he still have the whale whale one? I got that one for him." That was one of his favorites. "For a while it's all we got each other for Christmas." It definitely explained why their cabinets were both full of dumb mugs with puns on them.

Pushing himself up, Dick winced when he felt everything spin. Instead of going himself he made a gesture to the door. "Cabinet. There's two more, I think. Go ahead and bring them both if you want." Not that he would be doing much more of the drinking. Dick didn't have Jason's enhanced tolerance he likely got from the Lazarus Pit. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back against the trampoline. "Wish I got to meet you. The first time you went, I mean. Sometimes I'd take kids my age into the ring with me... depended on the night, though..." He was rambling and the words ran together. "Truth."

JASON: “No, I just put them all in a bag and taken them back over there a the end of the month, so if a ghost wants to save me the trouble they can help themselves.” He wasn’t sure how it was still funny, or why it ever even had been. “Whale, whale, what have we here,” Jason said, shaking his head. Obviously he still had the mug. “Dumb.”

Jason was nearly off the trampoline when Dick said that. He stopped shy of pushing over the metal springs and looked back over his shoulder. Once he’d sat up, he’d been able to tell just how drunk he already was, too. No need for both bottles if he wanted to make it off the roof again. “I’m glad you didn’t. It would have been even harder to leave.” He really didn’t know how much Dick remembered about what he’d said. That night for him at the circus with Willis Todd had been bittersweet. If he’d had even a taste of what it had seemed to him like Dick and his family felt when they performed...leaving it to go back to Crime Alley would’ve been even harder than it had been anyway.

He got off the trampoline and asked his question only when his feet were on the ground and the roof stopped swaying. “You ever think of going back to it again? You’re not a cop anymore. You’ve got time.” He couldn’t travel. Couldn’t actually run off with the circus again. He was curious, though.

DICK: Jason's rendition of the phrase on the mug made Dick laugh richly and for much longer than he normally would have, if he hadn't been drinking. "I got that at Gotham City Aquarium! Back in our Titans days. And by dumb, I think you mean genius."

That was an interesting way to think about it and he hesitated. Maybe that was true. Maybe it was selfish to wish he'd been able to do more in that moment, especially if it led to making things worse for Jason in the future. That possibility defeated the purpose, anyway. "Ever wonder how many times our paths cross without us even knowing it? It's like... I had no idea you were there. If you didn't know about me... if we hadn't been called The Flying Graysons... I'd have just been some kid you saw once. Never would have connected the dots." He pointed at the sky, as if the stars somehow illustrated the point he was making.

"Nah, not really. I mean... circuses travel, you know? I don't really want to leave Star City, even with NOVA gone, I just..." Trailing, he shrugged. "This is where you are. Where our family is. I can't just... pack up and go."

JASON: “No, I meant dumb.” But it probably wasn’t even the worst one that Roy had or the worst one that had ended up in the safehouse. Maybe this would finally prompt him to ask Roy what the fuck all of it was about, anyway.

Jason wasn’t prone to dwelling on a lot of hypotheticals, or at least not wildly useless ones like that. Even if somehow they’d all met a dozen times before, if they didn’t know it, how did it matter? Even if they did know, why did it matter? The fact that he’d ended up with that boy at the circus for an older brother years later was coincidence. It wasn’t as if it changed anything. It was just some weird twist of the universe, a story that had been a little strange to recount. He wasn’t drunk enough to be wistful. “No. But I guess we would’ve went somewhere else on the road trip,” was all he ended up saying. He’d given Dick a lot of sentimentality that night, and maybe he’d have some more to offer, but not for that.

“S’not what I meant. And they don’t all travel.” The one Dick had grown up in did, sure, but there were plenty of places that just had standing buildings. He’d seen them here and there. “You could just make it up. A circus.” With that perhaps odd thought, Jason finally walked back into the apartment proper to get another bottle of wine,  which he did not need, and managed to actually dig the cork out in only a couple of pieces by the time he returned with it.

DICK: Dick enjoyed speculating about things that didn't happen but could have happened, or wondering how everything would have been different if the pieces fell together another way, but he knew Jason wasn't like that. Even in their conversations, it was always apparent that Jason preferred to live in the here and now. He might be angry about things that happened or were still happening, but it wasn't as if those things weren't relevant. It made sense. It was better than torturing yourself with negative possibilities - or positive ones, even, especially if it created some kind of resentment.

While Jason got the wine, he pondered the idea. It was more difficult to make sense of after drinking, and also seemed like a much better idea than it might be later, but he had a few ideas by the time Jason returned with the bottle. "What about like... a circus school? For kids. Like they have programs at universities and stuff, but I mean... little kids." He made a motion to the bottle and held out his cup. "Don't forget to share." That was a lot of wine, but he knew pointing that out would only encourage Jason to drink the whole bottle himself.

JASON: By the time Jason got back, the walk had assured him that he was well and truly drunk after all. Getting back onto the trampoline took a little more concentration than it probably should have, even. Once he’d settled, he poured Dick’s cup and then his own full again. “I’m sleeping here tonight,” he said without preamble, knowing there was no way in hell he was going to sober up fast enough to drive.

The return to what he’d said earlier had him humming as he thought it over. The unnecessary noise-making was a plain sign that he was inebriated, though Dick might not have realized it, and Jason didn’t notice. “Is that a thing? Circus school? Sounds fake.” He took another drink and bowed his head forward. “You should do it. Why not? What else are you doing besides Nightwing and finding reasons not to let yourself have the shit you want? Teach some kids to do flips.”

DICK: Dick couldn't hold back a laugh as Jason struggled back onto the trampoline, even though it also made him dizzy. "On the trampoline? It's pretty comfortable, actually. I've done it." Flinging an arm over his eyes, he took a deep breath and tilted his head up just enough to take another drink of wine. "Might need to get some blankets though," he mumbled. "S'a lot colder lately."

Snorting softly, he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips felt tingly. "It is a thing," he insisted. "Some universities have it. What about the younger kids, though? I'm telling you... circus performance is a dying art." It was an interesting thought, and one that Dick pondered further as he rolled over on his stomach and balanced his cup precariously on the padded ledge. Resting his head in his arms, he spoke up after a long pause, his voice muffled, "Truth or dare?"

JASON: “Meant your apartment, but I don’t know if I’m getting back off of this thing. Sleeping outside isn’t that bad.” Certainly not in California. Jason raised up enough to take a long drink and sat the wine aside. If it spilled, he wouldn’t be mourning it, really. He’d had more than enough, and when he looked up at the sky the little dots of stars wouldn’t stay still anymore.

“So teach kids some flips. If you want it done and nobody else is doing it, what’s the reason not to?” Or the excuse. Jason was a big believer in action. If it needed done and wasn’t getting done, anything less than making moves toward it was just whining, really. “You got money and time and knowledge. About this, anyway.” He laughed at his own dig much easier and maybe even louder than he normally would have. In the moment, it was hilarious. “Truth.” He was too far gone to do anything but lay there and speak.

DICK: "Have you ever been camping? In the woods?" Dick's voice was still muffled and his words slurred together. "Always wanted to try it. Like with a tent. S'mores. Alfred let me camp in the backyard once, but it's not really the same." He knew that wasn't what Jason was referring to when he talked about sleeping outside. Just thinking about it made his heart sink.

He nodded, which was more difficult than usual with the heavy weight of his arm over his eyes. "I think I know just the space for it, too." It would take some time, but what else did they have going on? Not a whole lot.

Dick was quiet for almost a full minute before deciding on the question he wanted to ask. "Why Red Hood?"

JASON: “Nope.” Easy answer. “Never left Gotham until I met Bruce and you know he didn’t do it.” Take him camping. “Probably doesn’t even...know how,” he trailed in the middle and closed his eyes, feeling his head swim a little. “The man can design a utility belt with 70 working parts but probably can’t pitch a tent.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it’s not like he’d been given reason to think otherwise. Besides, he’d spent enough time living outside, doing it for fun as a kid hadn’t really been something he’d considered even wanting.

Jason decided to wait and see if Dick was really considering it, the circus school, before he mentioned it again. If it died as a drunken conversation, he wouldn’t push. It wasn’t a bad idea, though. It was energy going toward something rather than just sitting idle.

That question got him to open his eyes again and he looked over. “You don’t know?”

DICK: "Can't even imagine Bruce camping." It was an amusing thought. "I always thought I'd want to camp in Alaska, but it was a lot colder than I expected." Not that the ice caves were warm, but the stove they'd been allowed made it warm enough. It had definitely been a unique experience. "You'd like it. Or have you already been?"

The idea would come to him again the next day, the first day that waking up wouldn't be met with the intense desire to go back to sleep.

What did he know? Dick knew where the alias originated, but that wasn't his question. Not really. "Not what it means to you, no. I mean..." Trailing, he cracked his eyes open and groaned as the sky spun out of control. "Don't look up, Little Wing. Clouds. Look funny."

JASON: “To Alaska?” he shook his head. “Not had a reason to yet. Seems like the place to go when I don’t want to see anybody anymore.” If he managed to live long enough to retire (unlikely) maybe it’d be somewhere like that. Remote. Unbothered. When Jason imagined the incredibly hypothetical and ridiculously unlikely scenario where he ever stepped back and away from the life, he still saw himself alone when he did it.  That wasn’t reflective of his situation right then, but he still struggled to visualize that sticking in a permanent way. It was too dangerous to let himself. Nobody needed to know that, exactly. It was just the image in his head.

He didn’t know if he was too drunk or not drunk enough for that conversation, but it wasn’t like he’d taken on the moniker for no reason. There was an answer, though. An easy one. “It was Joker’s,” that part Dick knew. “And after what he did, I decided to make it mine. Not like I’m a product of nothing. Red Hood is what Gotham, Batman, and the Joker spit out.” He scoffed at the warning and looked up just because he’d mentioned it. They did look funny, and he’d soon closed his eyes again against it. “So here I am.”

DICK: "I mean... there are other reasons to go," Dick pointed out, rolling his eyes and then immediately regretting it as another wave of dizziness washed over him. He'd sent the video of the ice hotel to Jason and Tim, fascinated by the artistry of it, and taken dozens of pictures. "Days are so short, though. You have to get up early." That was the only part he'd had difficulty adjusting to. He was a night owl in all senses of the word, not just because his work as Nightwing made him nocturnal. "I dunno if I'd actually camp though." The cold and the wilderness didn't exactly make it tempting.

That was the explanation he'd expected, more or less, but it didn't make him feel any better to hear it confirmed. "Never considered it might have worn out its welcome?" Dick's eyes cracked open and he glanced over at Jason, studying what he could see of his face. It made sense why he'd adopted it at first, there was a certain dramatic flair in the statement, but a lot had changed since then. It'd been years. "I don't know. M'just saying that... you're not really the same as you were back then."

JASON: “Never been a big fan of early.” But he wouldn’t mind missing out on most of the day, either. Anything he needed to do could be done at night, couldn’t it? He usually slept through most of the sun, anyway. But he wasn’t quite ready to hole himself away in Alaska yet, regardless. Something to keep in mind, though, should the desire ever come knocking. Jason’s attachment to and anchor in the world might not last forever - something he always kept in the back of his mind, almost like a talisman to hold onto. The control. I could leave. He wouldn’t, but he could. He had that power, still.

His face felt hot, despite the cool air that came after dark, and if he had one more drink of wine he was positive he’d be sick on that fucking trampoline. “Maybe not to you,” he muttered, because that much was true. Things were different with the two of them. Otherwise, though? He was still Jason Todd. Still Red Hood. He was still exactly that person, as far as he was concerned, maybe just a fraction less loud about it. Very abruptly, maybe to demonstrate it, he flung the wine bottle to the side and let it smash against the roof top. The sound of breaking glass was brief but distinct. “I’m out.”

DICK: "Works in our favor, right?" Dick meant to shrug, but his body felt too heavy for him to manage it with any success. The alcohol made him feel as if he were filled with sand. He considered going and getting some water, but the kitchen seemed ridiculously far and he was pretty sure he wouldn't make it to the door. "Imagine if Bruce were Roosterman." Not that Dick had been taken in because Bruce wanted a sidekick. He wasn't wholly convinced of Bruce's reasoning, if it were for his image or because he felt sorry for him. Maybe it was a mix of both. One thing was for certain, though: he hadn't exactly been father of the year. Jason's beginnings were much different, of course, and possibly even more complicated.

The sound of breaking glass made him jump. "Jay! You're going to step on that in the middle of the night." He should get up, get a broom, but even shifting position made him groan. "Don't step foot off this trampoline."

JASON: “Long as we’re not trying to pretend to be normal, sure.” It wasn’t like they needed a 9 to 5 job, even though Dick had so stupidly kept trying to do that. Jason had never done that. The closest he’d gone to “legitimate” was when he and Roy had landed those few gigs with the government, but that still wasn’t exactly an above the ground kind of thing. He had no particular desire to just live like the masses - he’d never done it, no matter which side of the coin he landed on, and didn’t feel like he was missing out.

“M’wearing boots,” he pointed out, though the words were all sort of slurred together. He wasn’t getting up. Instead, he moved enough to get his jacket off and throw it over him more like a blanket. Fuck it. The trampoline was kind of comfortable. He mumbled something beneath the collar of the jacket that might have been “night,” though it was difficult to tell. He wasn’t going anywhere, either way.

[johnnydeppfuckyeah]

Abuse a Man Unjustly, and You Will Make Friends for Him

“Tell the world Johnny, tell them, I Johnny Depp, a man, I’m a victim too of domestic violence… And see how many people believe or side with you.”

A survivor of hellacious abuse, who was falsely accused of being the abuser, has gone above and beyond to prove his innocence. Despite the profuse amount of evidence in his favor he still is not being believed in the court of public opinion. He did everything and more that one would expect from an abused party. Detailed notes in the form of gruesome photographs, video footage, medical records, audio confessions from his abuser, fleeing the area when violence would erupt, sinking into the bowels of depression as those around watched and could do almost nothing to help or stop it.

This man begged for there to be no more violence. He pleaded with his abuser, “there can be no physical violence..” in the audio tape. “Don’t tell me what it feels like to be punched”, as she tried to redefine his words and experience for him. “I lost a finger man..” He reminds her as she chastises him wildly for insinuating he is a victim of anything at all. The first tape is the result of couples therapy according to the accompanying documentation. We also know he was seeking professional help for his addiction issues. He was trying to change and do better for her. Little did he know at the time it would never be enough. There is nothing he could have done that would ever satisfy her lust for violence, nothing that would have made her stop abusing him. In fact he’s lucky to have gotten out when he did because in all likelihood it would have only continued to get worse for him. Amber Heard is a sick individual who lacks self control and thrives on brutality and combativeness. She is only truly living when she is sucking the life out of someone.

She managed to insert her tortuous ways into his opioid detox by withholding medication from him that would send him into spasms. This is an act that easily could have killed him by triggering him to go into cardiac arrest, not that she likely would have cared much if it had. She sought vengeance on him at all times. Her jealousy and envy of him and everything that he’s accomplished, everything that he has, and everything that he is are unmatched. Certainly by anything I’ve ever encountered anyhow. She didn’t just want what he had but I believe she truly want to be him. Right down to the cheekbones. She dressed like him, she mimicked him, she pretended to be interested in his interests. She tried to turn herself into a female version of him and lured him into her villainous talons. A literal siren.

Johnny Depp has several very impactful witness statements but the one that stands out most to me is from Tara Roberts in the Bahamas. She is his property manager there and has known him and his family for over a decade. She talks about watching a man that she knew as jovial, active, and family oriented suddenly resort to sleeping all day and becoming more reclusive. She goes on to describe several events which took place with Amber on the island, one of which sees Johnny fleeing his home on his ATV just to get away from her monstrous behavior. It proves futile as she catches up with him anyhow, continuing to attack and berate him at length. This man was fleeing his own homes to escape her on a regular basis. His security guards attest to this, having to pick him up from the Eastern Building on multiple occasions after a Heard rampage and taking him back to his West Hollywood home. Heard wanted him to stay and take her abuse because it only made her more angry for him to leave. She became enraged because he refused to stay and be her personal punching bag. It’s vomitous that anyone holds this woman up as a pillar of justice for women when in truth she is the voice of abusers everywhere.

She and her supporters try to say his witnesses are unimportant because they’re his employees. Taking into account that there are over forty of them are we really to believe that all these people agreed to be bought off with not a single soul showing conscience? Beyond that not a single soul ratting the others out and turning on them all? To the contrary several of Amber Heard’s friends have pivoted on her. Her interior decorator and friend Laura Divenere submitted a declaration that Amber had never spoken of domestic violence nor did she ever appear injured in Laura’s presence. We have recntly learned that her own personal assistant will be testifying against her in The Sun trial as well. Not one person from Johnny Depp’s camp has flipped sides. Out of all the people he has spent significant time with in his life not one person has stepped up behind Amber’s claims to echo any sentiment of violence. I don’t mean the inaneness that will inevitibly be brought up if I don’t mention — The Mark Hotel incident, the paparazzi incident with Vanessa Paradis, the crew member on City of Lies who was already proven to be a liar multiple times. I’m talking about claims of true personal violence against someone he was romantically involved with. The time was more than ripe after Amber accused him and not one other woman came forward, in fact they all defended him. I find that astonishing in a marvelous way. Character profiles are extremely important here as abusers usually have a pattern over many years. There is one person in this relationship with a pattern of abuse and abusive behavior. Hint: it’s not Johnny Depp. There is also one person here on whom you can easily find distasteful comments about meeting, interacting, and working with. Hint again: it’s not Johnny Depp.

There’s so much here already and I know we, the public, have not even seen a drop in the ocean compared to what Johnny Depp has in his possession and evidence. People aren’t thinking about that though. They see everything that comes out as some kind of diabolical “leak” from his side, designed only to slander Heard in the media. They don’t realize where these leaks come from. In the United States we have the Freedom of Information Act. All of this documentation is available to the public for anyone who cares to go and look. In the UK I understand the laws are a bit different but a member of the press can go and request the records be released to them. Why would he deny it? He has everything to lose by not being 100% open during both of these proceedings. The antithesis to this is anything coming from Heard’s camp. Anything she (or her lawyers) releases is seen as the smoking gun and people seem to forget there are two recordings out where she professes her lunacy to him let alone two trials looming with an exorbitant amount of evidence yet to be revealed. To be clear, what’s come from her side has been feeble attampts at character assassination and pathetic bids to make him a sniveling, mustache twirling, villain more than anything of real value to her case -which she only states she’ll prove, “if necessary.”

Amber Heard has now requested in both the defamation lawsuit in Virginia and The Sun suit in the UK that her evidence be kept private. In the US that request has already been denied along with two attempts to have the case dismissed flat out. She has a third dismissal attempt still pending as of this writing. That just doesn’t sound like someone who wants to prove their claims beyond a reasonable doubt. It sounds like someone who wants to shut the whole thing down by any means necessary because they cannot substantiate what they say. The courts even agreed in 2016, she can never refile these domestic abuse claims against Johnny Depp and she had hired a criminal defense attorney at that time. Does that not sound suspect to anyone else? She’s been subpoenaing irrelevant people, productions, and companies left and right. She also avoided sitting for a deposition like it was the coronavirus. After multiple excuses and delays they finally got her into the room where she threw a nine hour temper tantrum and refused to be questioned under oath. It was ultimately completed and what has come out of it doesn’t look good for her either.

She has contradicted her own stories so many times I don’t even know where to begin. For starters she seems to not remember when she got married or when her honeymoon was. She stated she only ever hit Johnny one time in defense of her “baby sister” whom she suggests he was about to push down the stairs. We now know, thanks to her deposition and audio confessionals, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. She wholly admitted to multiple violent attacks against him along with the throwing of pots, pans, cans, and vases. She admitted to kicking a door into his head while he was hiding from her in a bathroom and proceeding to punch him in the jaw directly after. Other’s have declared they’ve seen her violently assault him, spit on him, throw purses, and heavy TV remotes to name a few. The list is frankly and sadly endless, and when all is said and done I can’t imagine that Amber Heard comes out smelling like anything less than a thousand year old egg. Johnny may never be fully redeemed by all, just look at the reaction to the absurd necromancer text, some genuinely believe a man must be without any fault to be a victim. He will have his day(s) in court and he will prove himself.

Please feel free to look up any of her declarations and filings to verify the information stated here. I don’t often use a ton of citations but that’s because I assume the base of my readers to be people who are intimately familiar with the case already.

Johnny Depp is a very powerful man, just not in the way the media wants you to believe. Although it may not always seem like it, Depp has made friends around the world throughout this ordeal. People who are victims of abuse have flocked to his side after seeing what, to them, seemed like extremely obvious proof that he was the victim. Men have begun speaking up for themselves about violence they have suffered at the hands of their significant others. They no longer feel ashamed or put down because a woman laid hands on them and inflicted injury, sometimes very seriously. If nothing else Johnny should be extremely proud of himself for speaking up. It may well have been the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life and people should take him seriously. He should take pride that he influenced a large number of people to speak out about their own experiences and find catharsis with him in finally letting it out. He should be proud for giving people hope and he should be proud that he survived and continues to thrive and fight for what’s right. I hope that even in his darkest moments, and when he might be feeling most alone, he can find that one little synapse in his mind that reminds him that we are all here for him, and that he has been there for us. Johnny Depp is innocent. Johnny Depp is a survivor. Johnny Depp will have justice and Johnny Depp has already begun to rise from the ashes of this hideous ordeal. May the film offers pour in and the musical fulfilment be never ending. The best is yet to come.