#if i could look at myself in the mirror without feeling disturbed and alien.

[ghostzzy]

dnt rb this. but like. UGH. listen. i know this is not how health works, i know introducing additional hormones into my incredibly fragile ecosystem of a body would likely destabilize me in ways i cannot even begin to imagine, i know that none of my doctors would recommend me for a major elective surgery anytime in the foreseeable future, i know that i do not have the support system i would need in order to actually Pull This Off without further traumatizing myself

but there is a part of me that reads things like that and wonders if maybe transitioning would fix me. lmao

[rhosyn-du]

Title: A Wonderful Institution Artist: @bidnezz​ Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, various background pairings Word Count: ~53k Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, discrimination against Downworlders, reference to rape, Clave-typical homophobia, implied character death, minor character death Summary: Magnus doesn’t have time for this bullshit. Warlocks are disappearing in New York City—five people in less than three months—and Magnus is determined to find them and protect the rest of his people from whatever took them. He doesn’t have time for politics, and he certainly doesn’t have time for whatever nonsense the Clave is proposing about marrying a Shadowhunter to a Downworlder as part of the new Accords. He doesn’t really have time for a pretty Shadowhunter who’s surprisingly kind to warlock children, either, but, well, he’s always been good at multitasking.

Alec always knew he couldn’t have what he wanted, but he’s spent the nearly four years since the newly-appointed Consul recalled his parents to Idris without explanation making the best of what he can have. When life suddenly offers up almost everything Alec actually wants on a silver platter, he can’t quite bring himself to trust it, especially when it comes with a million caveats and a side of impending disaster. But he knows how to handle disasters, even if the return of the Circle on top of Clave secrets that could destroy the Accords is way beyond the disasters he’s used to fielding. Hope, on the other hand? He doesn’t know what to do with that.

This fic was created for the @malecdiscordserver​​ Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter Four

In the utter silence that descended upon the room, all Alec could hear was his own heartbeat, so loud and so fast he almost thought everyone else in the room should hear it, too. Throughout the entire meeting, he’d felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room for him to breathe, but now it was the opposite, as though his brain were suddenly flooded with too much oxygen, leaving him lightheaded and giddy and vaguely nauseous. When he looked at Magnus, he was surprised to see something like his own shock mirrored back at him.

The silence was broken when the vampire representative muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Dios mio,” at the same time that Maryse demanded, “Is this a joke?”

Alec tore his gaze away from Magnus. “Mother—” he started.

He was interrupted by the werewolf. “We aren't the ones questioning your choice, Shadowhunter. If anyone is treating this like a joke, it's you.”

“No one is treating this like a joke,” Consul Penhallow said, throwing a pointed look at Maryse.

Alec thought his mother might actually argue with the Consul, right here in front of the Downworld representatives, but the Seelie Queen spoke before Maryse could.

“I think it's a lovely match.”

Once again, the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. No one wanted to contradict the Seelie Queen, and seelies couldn't lie, so she meant what she said, but it was more than a little disturbing to have that kind of endorsement. Even Magnus looked uncomfortable, an expression that seemed wholly out of place on his usually self-assured face.

“The Clave will want some time to vet our choice, of course,” the Seelie Queen continued. “As we will to vet yours.”

“Naturally,” Consul Penhallow agreed. “We’ll be in touch by fire message by the end of the week, which should keep us on track to sign the updated Accords at the next new moon, as planned.”

“Indeed,” Magnus said. “We’ll be in touch, as well.” His eyes flickered to Alec for an instant, gaze full of meaning Alec couldn't decipher, then just as quickly back to Consul Penhallow, who met his polite smile with one of her own.

It dawned on Alec that they were talking like this was something that might actually happen, like he might actually marry Magnus. It wouldn't happen, of course. He knew the Clave would never let him marry a man, politics or not. They would find some reason to object to Magnus, and the Downworld would choose someone else—a woman—for him to marry. And even though that was what he'd spent the last several months expecting, what he'd chosen, the idea was suddenly alien and wrong.

Or, he realized, the Downworlders might find some reason to object to him. The brief flicker of hope that thought sparked died instantly when he realized that meant the Clave would choose another Shadowhunter to marry Magnus. That didn’t even bear thinking about.

He was pulled from his racing thoughts by his mother's hand on his arm. He must have missed the closing of the meeting, because the Downworld representatives were filing out of the room. Alec tried to catch Magnus's eye, but he seemed engrossed in a quiet yet intense conversation with the vampire.

“We’ll fix this,” Maryse promised him in a low voice. “I'm sure you understand now why your father and I were so concerned when you volunteered. But I'll talk to Consul Penhallow. I'll talk to the whole Council. No one is going to make you marry that—” her face twisted in disgust “—that warlock.”

“There's nothing to fix,” Alec replied evenly. “The Downworlders chose their representative just like the Clave did, and maybe Magnus isn't who any of us expected, but you don't have to make a scene just because you were expecting a woman.”

Maryse stared at him. “I was expecting a werewolf. Maybe a seelie. I wasn't expecting a warlock. I wasn't expecting Magnus Bane.”

For the first time, it occurred to Alec that his parents must know Magnus, at least in passing. According to the Clave’s file, he’d been High Warlock of Brooklyn the entire time Robert and Maryse had been Heads of the New York Institute, which would have given them ample opportunity to run into each other.

“What do you have against Magnus?” Alec regretted the question as soon as the words left his mouth. 

“Magnus Bane has something of reputation,” Robert said, stepping up to stand beside his wife. It was the first time in the years since they’d been recalled to Alicante that Alec had seen his parents present such a united front. “Even for a warlock, he’s a bit of a lothario. Alec, there is so much you don’t know about him.”

“All of which,” Consul Penhallow interrupted with a tight smile, “the Council will take into consideration during the vetting process.”

Alec’s breath caught in his throat. That almost sounded like…

“You can’t honestly be considering this,” Maryse said, echoing Alec’s thoughts, if not the sentiment behind them.

“There will be plenty of time for you to make your objections in an official capacity when we return to Alicante,” Consul Penhallow told her. “Right now, I need to speak with Alec.”

It was a clear dismissal, and although Maryse looked like she wanted to argue, she turned and stalked from the room, Robert trailing after her.

Alec turned to the Consul and found himself caught in Jia Penhallow’s unwavering gaze. Despite being more than half a foot shorter than he was, she had the uncanny ability to make Alec feel small in a way that few other people could.

“What are your thoughts on this, Mr. Lightwood?” the Consul asked.

It was a good question, and not one he was in any way prepared to answer. Alec chose his words carefully. “My reasons for volunteering for this union remain unchanged, Consul. Who the Downworlders choose to represent their end has never factored into it.” He was starting to think that maybe it should have.

Consul Penhallow’s mouth twitched in what Alec though might have been amusement. “Good answer, but not what I was getting at. The Council needs to vet the Downworld’s choice. Magnus Bane is the High Warlock of Brooklyn. You’ve been running the New York Institute for over three years. Surely, you must have some opinions on the man.”

Alec didn’t know whether he was more surprised that Consul Penhallow truly seemed to think the Council would seriously consider him and Magnus getting married (and, oh, he could not think about that right now), or that she’d referred to him running the Institute. She, along with the rest of the Council, usually at least pretended like his parents still ran things here.

“I, uh.” He faked a cough to give himself a few more seconds to formulate a coherent response. “I only met Mr. Bane recently, but I’ve worked with him a couple times, and I found him to be—” fascinating, beautiful, breathtaking “—very easy to work with.”

Consul Penhallow’s face remained impassive save for her eyebrows, which raised nearly to her hairline. “I’ve heard Magnus Bane described in many ways by many people,” she told him, “but I believe this is the first time I’ve ever heard him described as easy to work with.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Alec said with a shrug.

Consul Penhallow gave him a long look. “It’s not often I find myself agreeing with a Downworlder, but perhaps the Seelie Queen had a point.”

With great effort, Alec managed to force the question he’d been wanting to ask past the cacophony of butterflies in his stomach. “Do you think there’s really a chance the Council might approve Magnus?”

“I don’t know,” Consul Penhallow said. “It’s certainly an unconventional match, and there are plenty of people who will oppose it for that reason alone, but Magnus Bane is surprisingly well-respected among Downworlders, which makes him a particularly good choice symbolically. He’s the High Warlock of Brooklyn and you’re Acting Head of the New York Institute, which has a certain symmetry. And from everything I’ve seen, you’re at least as stubborn as your mother, which makes you less likely than most to be influenced or corrupted by someone like Bane.” She gave him a resigned shrug. “It’s really a shame neither of you is a woman, or I think even a few skeptics of this whole endeavor might be convinced.”

Alec didn’t know how to respond to any of that—wasn’t, in all honesty, sure he remembered how to breathe properly—so he simply nodded.

“Thank you for your input,” Consul Penhallow said. “I’ll be sure to relay it to the rest of the Council. We’ll send you a fire message when we’ve made our decision.”

And with that, Alec was left alone in the empty room. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, trying to pull his thoughts into some kind of coherent order, but the click of approaching heels snapped him out of it.

He looked up, expecting his mother had returned to give him another lecture on what a terrible idea this was, but it was Izzy who stepped into the room, followed by Jace.

“Alec, what happened?” Izzy asked. “Mom came out of that meeting looking like she was about to stab someone.”

“She, uh.” He swallowed down what he was sure was the beginning of a hysterical laugh. If he let it out, he thought he might never stop. “She doesn't approve of who the Downworlders want me to marry.”

“Whoever they chose, she can't be as bad as all that,” Jace said. “Not unless you think they're trying to sabotage the Accords.”

“Do you approve, Alec?” Izzy wanted to know.

“I don't think it's sabotage,” Alec answered, ignoring his sister's question. He wasn't even sure he knew the answer.

He liked Magnus, so of course he didn't disapprove the way his parents did. But he'd volunteered for this marriage assuming whoever the Downworlders choose, she'd be entirely the wrong gender for attraction to even enter into it. Instead, they'd chosen Magnus, a man Alec hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since they met. And he'd let himself think about Magnus, because Magnus could never be anything more to him than a seductive fantasy, not when he was about to get married. Except, now he was maybe marrying Magnus, and he didn't know what to do with that at all.

“Then what is it?” Jace asked, and Alec knew he was as much asking what had Alec in a state of near panic as he was about Maryse's reaction. Alec could only imagine what Jace was probably feeling through their parabatai bond right now.

“Magnus,” Alec said, and he was proud of how steady his voice sounded. “The Downworlders want me to marry Magnus.”

Jace and Izzy exchanged a look, then Izzy asked cautiously, “Do you want to tell us about it?”

“No.” That, at least, Alec had a definitive answer for.

“Cool,” Jace said, pushing himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. “Then you can come spar with me.”

“Oh, Alec gets an invitation to spar, but not me, huh?” Izzy said.

Jace flashed her his signature cocky grin. “I just thought getting knocked on his ass a few times might distract Alec from his problems, but you're welcome to come get knocked on your ass, too.”

And just like that, Alec's world made sense again, at least this tiny part of it.

“Yeah, we'll see if you're still smirking like that when I wipe the floor with you,” Alec said, falling comfortably into the familiar banter as he followed Jace toward the training room.

“Please,” Izzy scoffed. “You know I'm going to kick both your asses.”

Cocktail night that week was moved to Magnus’s loft, nominally because Catarina needed to be somewhere quiet enough she’d hear her phone if whoever was watching Madzie needed to get in touch with her, but Magnus suspected it was really because his friends wanted to lecture him about making questionable life choices, and were just kind enough not to do so in public. He’d already gotten an earful from Raphael after the meeting with the Clave.

“I’m more shocked that everyone went along with it than anything else,” Catarina said after Magnus finished giving her a very abbreviated recap of how, exactly, he’d come to be tentatively engaged to a Shadowhunter.

“I foolishly assumed he had a good reason,” Raphael told her. “In retrospect, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I had a good reason,” Magnus objected.

“‘He has pretty eyes and I had three glasses of whiskey’ is not a good reason.”

Magnus glared at him. “I never said anything about Alexander’s eyes.”

Magnus would, he was sure, have done a better job of defending himself if his wards hadn’t alerted him to the arrival of another person. The only person, in fact, who currently had access to pass through Magnus’s wards without express invitation, precisely because he never, ever showed up unannounced. At least he never had before.

“What,” Ragnor’s voice rang through the loft, “is this absolute nonsense I hear about you marrying a Lightwood?”

Magnus blinked at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s cocktail night,” Ragnor answered, reaching into Magnus’s liquor cabinet to retrieve the bottle of Laphroaig he knew would be there. “And I heard through the grapevine that you could use your friends’ support at the moment. As well as a bit of gentle mockery.”

“I did not say gentle,” Raphael protested.

Glass of scotch in hand, Ragnor settled onto the chair across from Magnus. “I've heard Raphael's version of events. Would you care to give me yours?”

“Don't listen to Raphael,” Magnus said. “It had nothing to do with Alexander's pretty eyes.”

Ragnor glanced at Catarina. “How many drinks has he had?”

“Just the one since I got here.”

“I'm not drunk,” Magnus told them irritably. “I'm just thinking.”

“It's about time you tried that,” Raphael said.

Magnus ignored him. “I sincerely doubt the Clave's prejudices will allow them to even consider a marriage between two men, but if they're serious about this marriage of politics, which they appear to be, then they’re going to want to reject me in the least insulting way possible.”

“Do Shadowhunters even know how to not be insulting when talking to a Downworlder?” Catarina wondered.

“No,” Magnus said. “Which means it will probably take them a few days to come up with something, and that means I have time.”

“Time for what, exactly?” asked Ragnor.

“To convince Alexander that he doesn't want to go through with this marriage.”

There were a couple beats of silence before Raphael said, “I take it back. Stop thinking. You're doing it wrong.”

“What if you're wrong?” Catarina asked. “The Clave is already overlooking their prejudices insisting one of their own marry a Downworlder. What if this is important enough to them that they overlook other prejudices, as well? Then you'll be stuck trying to find a way out of this without jeopardizing the Accords.”

“Even if I'm wrong about the Clave, there's still the Lightwoods to consider. There's no way Maryse Lightwood is letting me marry her son.”

“Just so I'm clear on the plan,” Ragnor said, “you decided on the spur of the moment to volunteer to marry a man with pretty eyes so you would have time to convince him not to get married at all?”

“Well, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” Magnus said. “But in my defense, I was three drinks in when I came up with this plan.” He sighed. “And he looked so sad and so scared underneath it all, and I couldn't just let it happen.”

“Magnus,” Ragnor said softly. It was his serious and concerned voice. Magnus was not prepared for Ragnor to be serious and concerned. “Are you in love with this nephilim?”

Magnus gave him a sharp look. “Don't be ridiculous. I've met him a grand total of three times.” He stared down into the dregs of his old fashioned. “I think maybe I could love him, though.”

Ragnor sighed. “You certainly do know how to make things difficult for yourself, old friend.”

“Have you thought about what you're going to say to him?” Raphael asked, and Magnus didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed that Raphael finally had non-insult-based input.

“I’ve thought of a number of things to say to him, none of them actually helpful.”

“So, you decided to spend your time sitting at home drinking, instead?” Catarina asked.

Magnus glared at her, and she held up a placating hand. “Just trying to understand the plan, here.”

Magnus was saved from having to try to explain the plan that he didn’t actually have by the arrival of a fire message.

“Ah,” he said, “someone must require the assistance of the High Warlock. Since, you know, some people actually appreciate me and don’t spend their time mocking my misery.”

“Their loss,” Raphael muttered.

“There’s no need to be bitter just because some of us…” Magnus trailed off as he read the contents of the message.

Something must have shown on his face, because all three of his friends went from relaxed to alert in less than a heartbeat.

“What is it?” Catarina asked. “Another disappearance?”

Magnus shook his head. “It’s from the Spiral Council,” he answered faintly. “The Clave sent word that they’ve finished their vetting process. They have no objections to me.”

It made Magnus feel only slightly better that his friends all looked as stunned as he felt.

The shocked silence was broken by the loud ringing of electronic wind chimes.

“That’s my babysitter,” Catarina said, reaching for her phone. “I’m sorry, Magnus, but I have to go.”

“Go,” he told her. “Take care of Madzie. I’ll be fine.”

Catarina gave him an apologetic smile and a quick hug before rushing out the door.

“Well,” Ragnor said with forced cheer, “I think this calls for another round of drinks, don’t you?”

“Just hand me the bottle,” Magnus said.

“Before you get too much farther into your drunken binge,” Raphael said, “there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Talk fast,” Magnus told him, taking a swig of bourbon straight from the bottle to emphasize his point.

“The missing warlocks you’ve been looking for,” Raphael said. “I think there might be a few night children missing, too.”

“Might be?” Magnus asked, setting the bottle down.

Raphael shook his head. “You know how Camille is. I asked her about a couple people I haven’t seen around lately, and she told me she’s sure they’re around somewhere.”

“Which could mean she’s actually seen them recently,” Magnus said, “or that she has them off doing something for her.

“Or that they actually are missing, and she just doesn’t care,” Raphael finished the thought.

Magnus glared at the bottle he’d set on the table. He was going to have to talk to Camille about this. He really didn’t want to talk to Camille. He wanted even less to do it sober, but this required his actual attention.

He turned his glare on Raphael. “I was really looking forward to getting exceptionally drunk, you know.”

Raphael put a hand on his shoulder. “I was really looking forward to you pulling your head out of your ass and deciding a pretty-eyed Shadowhunter wasn’t worth all this trouble. I guess we can be disappointed together.”

Alec was not panicking. He was letting a six-year-old teach him how to fold a paper frog (a little awkward, since she was using magic to do it, and he wasn’t) and ignoring the text his mother had sent him (which promised a much, much longer conversation in person) and not thinking at all about the fact that Clave really did want him to marry Magnus (which was almost everything he’d ever wanted except not at all, oh god) and he was. Not. Panicking.

“No, like this,” Madzie said, unfolding and refolding her paper.

Alec tried again. His paper did not look like a frog. Maybe a little like one of those tiny, smush-faced dogs, if he tilted his head, but not a frog. He was not panicking.

They both turned at the sound of a portal opening, and Madzie jumped to her feet to greet Catarina with a hug. It was hard to believe she was the same timid girl Alec had met only a week ago.

“Thanks for coming back early,” Alec said. “I hope I didn’t ruin your night. I just— Something came up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Catarina told him, ruffling Madzie’s hair. “Nurse, remember? I know what it’s like to have something unexpected come up that needs your immediate attention.”

“Right.” Alec turned to Madzie. “I’m sorry I can’t stay and play longer, but I’ll practice my frogs so I can make better ones next time.”

“Okay,” Madzie agreed. “And if you make bad frogs even after you practice, I can share my frogs.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Alec told her, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch.

“You want a portal back to the Institute?” Catarina offered.

Alec shook his head. “Thanks, but I could use the walk.”

Putting off the conversation his mother was sure to expect as soon as he arrived sounded like a fantastic idea. Along with the conversation Izzy was no doubt planning to spring on him. Alec loved his family more than anything, but sometimes they were more than he could handle, and this thing with Magnus… It was confusing enough without his mother and sister in the middle of it.

“Hey,” Alec said, pausing with his jacket halfway on as something occurred to him. “You know Magnus, right? Like, personally?”

Catarina’s expression was carefully neutral when she answered, “Magnus is one of my oldest and dearest friends.”

“Right,” Alec said, finally remembering to pull the jacket over his other arm. “Okay. I don’t know if he mentioned— Or maybe you just heard? But we’re sort of—”

“I was having drinks with Magnus when you texted me,” Catarina interrupted him. “I take it you got a similar message to the one he received this evening?”

“Yes,” Alec said, letting out a relieved breath. He didn’t know why finding the words to talk about this was so difficult, but he was glad he didn’t have to explain the entire situation. “And I was thinking it might be a good idea for me and Magnus to talk. Not through official channels. But it would be rude to just show up at his loft, and a fire message seems a little too impersonal, but I was thinking maybe you could give him my number and tell him he can call if he wants to, you know, talk. About things.”

Alec winced internally. That was a whole lot of rambling, but he thought it got the point across, at least.

Catarina stared at him for a long moment, then held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Alec asked, handing over his phone anyway.

“So I can give you Magnus’s number,” she said, opening his contacts. “I love Magnus dearly, and I like you a whole lot better than I do most Shadowhunters, but I am not going to pass messages for the two of you.” She handed him his phone. 

“Thank you,” he said, pocketing the phone.

As soon as he was outside, Alec texted Jace.

On my way back to the Institute. If you can find an important and time-sensitive mission that needs my attention before I get there, I will owe you a lot.

Jace answered immediately. How much is a lot? Then, seconds later, JK, I’ve got you, buddy. We’ve actually got one of those already. I’ll tell Iz to get ready, and we can head out when you get back.

Thank you, Alec wrote back. You are the best parabatai.

He was putting his phone away when he received a final message from Jace. I know.

The prospect of spending the rest of the night on an actual mission instead of dancing around conversations he wasn’t even ready to think about, let alone actually have cheered Alec considerably, and he made it back to the Institute in much less time than he’d originally planned.

Jace met him at the entrance. “Izzy’s still getting dressed, but if you can get her to hurry, we can get out of here before Maryse gets off her call to Alicante.”

“Do you know what the call is about?” Alec wanted to know.

“No idea, but she closed herself up in the office to take it.”

As curious as he was about what his mother was up to, Alec didn’t want to risk actually having to talk to her right now. Thankfully, Izzy didn’t need much hurrying, as she met him in the hallway halfway between her room and the ops center.

“Really?” Alec couldn’t help asking as he took in the white wig slung over Izzy’s hand.

“Don’t change the subject,” Izzy said. “And anyway, demons dig blondes.”

“That’s white, and you can’t change the subject at the beginning of a conversation.”

“Glad you agree,” Izzy said, twirling the wig around one finger. “Mom told me you heard back from the Clave.”

“She told you,” Alec repeated.

“Okay,” Izzy admitted, “I might have been in the room when she was telling Consul Penhallow exactly what a terrible idea this is, but Alec,” she grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop, “I want to know what you think about it.”

“I think we have a mission,” he said shaking off her hand and striding into the ops center. “Jace, we’re ready.”

“Nice choice, Izzy,” Jace commented, taking in her outfit. “Demons dig blondes.”

“Told you,” Izzy said smugly.

“Am I the only person who knows the difference between blonde and white?” Alec wondered aloud.

“All right, guys,” Jace began. “For some reason, our demon friends are killing mundanes and draining their blood.”

“Why do they want blood?” Alec asked. “Wait, do you think these could be the same demons who are taking warlocks? Or are we dealing with multiple hordes of hunting demons?”

“If they are the same demons, the MO is totally different,” Jace said, walking to the weapons rack and pulling out seraph blades for each of them. “These demons are leaving drained mundane bodies lying around left and right.”

“There must be something special about the blood,” Izzy guessed, taking one of the blades.

“What could be special about mundane blood?” Alec wondered.

“You get me a sample, and I’ll tell you exactly what they’re looking for,” Izzy promised.

Alec supposed it was as good a place to start as any.

[brightbeautifulthings]

Week 1 | Week 2-3 | Week 4-5 | Week 6-7 | Week 8-9 | Week 10-11 | Week 12-13

Week 14 (p. 470-506)

[tw: death, violence, eye horror, racism]

More of Marathe and Steeply pondering out loud the overall themes of the novel, which are probably some of the most grounding chapters in the book. I'm not sure we'd totally know what to make of it without their commentary, since trying to string together coherent connections in a thousand pages is a kind of mental gymnastics. Some of those connections are stranger than others. What begins as a scene of Gately running errands weirdly (but sort of artfully) segues into a disturbing scene between the A.F.R. and the Antitoi brothers. There are plenty of things grim or uncomfortable or flat out distasteful about this book, but sometimes the graphic violence kind of jumps out and stabs you in the eye, say, with a railroad spike. It ends with an oddly spiritual image that I have spoilery questions about below the cut.

There's a very funny scene of Erdedy at an A.A. meeting that was published in The Review of Contemporary Fiction, and I confused the shit out of myself the first time I read IJ, wondering how the hell this scene in the middle of a thousand page novel I’d never read was familiar to me. It also contains racist depictions of African American characters' speech patterns, and I doubt this particular section would be published now. The humor in the scene doesn't depend at all on harmful stereotypes and would in fact, be a lot more funny if I wasn’t spending so much energy cringing at it. So many of the little racist asides could have easily been edited out of the entire novel to make it less offensive.

Week 15 (p. 507-538)

[tw: mental illness, OCD]

Hal is again acting weird in this section, cataloging all the blue things with an "involuntary grin" (p. 520). It's not clear if it's because he's ingested DMZ and starting to feel its effects or if it's because every character in this novel is Emphatically Weird, and his neuroses look pretty mild next to everyone else's. It's astounding to me that of all the problems these characters face (rampant alcoholism, Tavis's pathological openness, Avril's OCD, Politeness Roulette, and fear of open spaces, disembodied voices, alienating her children, etc.), Himself found that the most pressing one was Hal's inability to emote. Hal is one of the most functional characters on the page at any time, and while he readily admits having difficulty relating to his family, aside from Mario, he and Stice are "at complete ease with one another" (p. 521), which doesn't strike me as a terribly unhealthy absence of connection, communication, or emotion. (In any case, who could blame him for being a little robotic as a defense mechanism against the Incandenzas.)

"'Don, I'm perfect. I'm so beautiful I drive anybody with a nervous system out of their fucking mind. Once they've seen me they can't think of anything else and don't want to look at anything else and stop carrying out normal responsibilities and believe that if they can only have me right there with them at all times everything will be all right'" (p. 538).

Alongside Hal and Orin's, Gately and Joelle's are some of the best conversations in the book. Joelle has an intellectual's habit of commenting on the way things are said (pretty much the embodiment of irony), while Gately may speak in cliches but is much better at getting to the reality of things (embodiment of sincerity), yet they still manage to communicate in a way that's effective, insightful, and often funny. He thinks he's not that smart and worries other people will pick up on it, but he keeps up with her just fine. Gately notes that when Joelle talks about the veil, she doesn't sound like herself (more like she's reciting someone else's ideas from rote, imo), and, interestingly, Gately's voice almost seems to start to match hers by the end of some of the discussions.

Questions & Working Theories

Q: What “sordid liaison” (p. 30) with the M. DuPlessis, who dies in a later chapter, did the Incandenza family have? - Still not clear, but it sounds like J.O.I. either purposely or under duress gave a Master copy (or copyable copy) of the Entertainment to DuPlessis, or had it stolen from him before or after his death, and it was then stolen by accident when Gately robbed and killed DuPlessis. ("Whether or not the A.F.R. ever even recover this alleged Master copy from the DuPlessis burglary..." (p. 489).) What happened to that copy, if it exists?

Q: Is Marathe a double-agent, or is he just pretending to be a double agent? - Marathe has betrayed the A.F.R. and is aiding Steeply and the Americans in finding the Entertainment in order to get medical care for his wife. - Marathe is only pretending to betray the A.F.R. in order to get more information from Steeply. A: Marathe is a double-agent, and is actually betraying the A.F.R. "The A.F.R. believed Marathe functioned as a triple agent, pretending to betray his nation for his wife, memorizing every detail of the meetings with B.S.S. ... M. Fortier did not know Marathe had reached the internal choice that he loved his skull-deprived and heart-defective wife Gertraud Marathe more than he loved the Separatist and anti-O.N.A.N. cause of the nation of Québec..." (p. 529).

Q: Was Pemulis selling DMZ to the Antitoi brothers, or buying it from them? (It sounds like he’s selling it, but why?) - "Bertraund had been starry-eyed enough to agree to barter the person an antique blue lava-lamp and a lavender-tinged apothecary's mirror for eighteen unexceptional-looking and old lozenges the long-haired old person had claimed in a jumble of West-Swiss-accented French were 650 mg. of a trop-formidable harmful pharmaceutical no longer available and guaranteed to make one's most hair-raising psychedelic experience look like a day on the massage-tables of a Basel hot-springs resort..." (p. 482)

Q: What's the significance of Lucien Antitoi's spirit immediately after his death? Does this have an impact on the Wraith's activities? - "...and is free, catapulted home over fans and the Convexity's glass palisades at desperate speeds, soaring north, sounding a bell-clear and nearly maternal alarmed call-to-arms in all the world's well-known tongues" (p. 489).

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 155

Sometime after you’d run dry, you’d drifted into a sleep that was by no means peaceful. Every part of you was pulling to opposite ends. Your consciousness was bombarded by moments in time that now all meant something. It threw into question everything. Everything ever said. Everything ever done. In service of what… to you? To keep all of this from you? Had Tony been working on this since the moment Fury had showed up at the house? That long ago? That’s how long the secrets had been going on? 

There were so many voices. Just ghosts. Whispering all at once. Somewhere outside yourself, you were sure you were tossing and turning in bed. But wherever your brain had gone, something was holding you down- 

No. You were… falling- 

The ground came up to meet you in a painful swell, and you were ejected out of sleep. And also from the bed, apparently, as you groaned from a sore spot on the floor, tangled in blankets. Drenched in sweat. There you waited in the dark for maybe a little too long. Staring blankly up at the ceiling. Unseeing. 

Dvahli’s tiny chirping-purr from the edge of the bed roused you a little bit more. Instinct told you to wait. JARVIS would bring the lights up as he always did- ...but you’d told him to leave you alone. And apparently he was a very good listener. So, eventually, without getting up, you swung your arm over the nightstand, fumbling around until you clicked the small lamp on. Dvahli watched you, little paws hanging off the side, tail swishing in the air. Probably disturbed by you. 

You were also disturbed by you. 

Slowly you picked yourself up off the floor, lifting yourself half up on the bed by your arms, smushing your face into the bed for a long moment. Then you stood the whole way up, caught by a swell of dizziness. Dvahli rubbing against your hand settled you a little. Once it passed you gave a bare glance to the clock on the table. Three AM. Of course it was. 

For a little while longer you stood there, in a daze, just petting Dvahli over a few times more. Then you went on uneasy legs towards the bathroom. Shrugged out of your clothes. Every touch of fabric against skin hurt. That’s when you realized you were burning up. You expected to see a red-faced mess in the mirror but for a split second you thought you saw a monster. Some sort of shapeless, dark void- 

...one that reminded you of- 

Whipping your head to the side, you squeezed your eyes shut as tight as you could. Counting breaths- failing as they escaped you while your heart thudded in your chest- and then finding your composure again in another moment. Something told you to look in the mirror again. Maybe you should have. ...but you didn’t. Instead you kept completely away from it and stepped into a shower that was so hot it threw you off balance the rest of the way. 

Almost like punishment. Maybe you deserved it. The room was shaking on the edges. Steam was filling the room so thick you could barely breathe. You laid your face against the tile, even that was warm and unhelpful. You came undone again in bits and pieces. 

Why couldn’t you remember anything? Why was everything slipping away? Maybe you’d got so settled in this new life you’d abandoned your old one. Made pretend-peace with a past so distressing and terrible that it had just all gone away. Were you a lab experiment? Had your parents even died? Were you sure you remembered that? 

...no. That pain was real, for sure. But between then and… between then and your forceful murder of a college professor? What had happened? No- further back- you remembered high school- middle school. In small doses. Bullies and shadows. When. When had you been snatched off a street and thrown into a room with white padded walls and- and what? Injections of serums? Electrical currents forced through you? Alien tech wired to your nerves? What was it?

When had it all gone wrong? 

Would it even help to know? If you could recall all that, would it fix anything? Maybe it would settle Tony’s theories about you. What would that solve? It would only prove- ...it would only prove that this thing you had inside you wasn’t actually yours. And that it had been forced on you. Was that what you wanted? Was that what he wanted? 

You stood in that heavy, hot stream for far too long. Spiraling. Spiraling… But beyond all the pain and the lies… there was a gentle touch. A loving feeling. Something that eased you back and drew you… home. Some part of your betrayed consciousness wanted to reject it. But every other part of you submitted almost immediately.

Your hands were shaking as you turned the faucets off. Your whole body a trembling mess as you wrapped a towel around yourself and steered clear from the mirror. 

Tony was sitting on the bed hunched over. Hands held together in his lap. Head down. Guilty. In pain. Ashamed. Terrified. And so very, very remorseful.

You were sure you’d have every right to tell him to leave, or to do so yourself. To ignore him. Or maybe to just get into a fight with him. But what would that do? What would that fix? How would it help? You were aching and tired and you didn’t know anything about anything anymore. ...you were scared, too. 

He glanced up at you, his eyes glassy and his gaze broken. He wanted to reach out. To call you to him. To make this better somehow. But you got to make the first move. And he was respecting that. No matter the outcome. It was terribly unfair, how his painful heart threw a lasso around you, and you found yourself moving towards him. 

It wasn’t right. But you couldn’t stop yourself. ...and that’s when you knew, as you sat down beside him, and a real sense of trepidation took heavy hold of him- 

That’s when you knew you’d get past this. Somehow. 

But neither of you spoke. He was waiting for you, and you had no idea what to say. You didn’t want to fight with him, but you also didn’t want to do all the emotional labor for him, or excuse him, either. Almost knowingly, Dvahli got up from her little ball on your pillow and moved to lay out in a sprawl across both your laps. Purring was immediate, and the sound was somewhat comforting, and helped to ground you.

You had a family with Tony. You’d built a life with Tony. You’d struggled and triumphed and lived with Tony. You loved him. This wouldn’t be the thing that destroyed your bond- because even now you remembered your self-made promises. That you would stick with him, no matter what. And the way you felt, when you were with him- when the both of you blended together… 

There was just a distance now. And you didn’t know how to get over it. But you wanted to. “I don’t know what to say, Tony. I don’t know what to do.” Just honest with him. 

“I’m sorry.” It was only after he said it that you realized at no point in the lab had he once apologized. Only now, after hours, hours of heavy contemplation, he was doing so. And he was deeply genuine. Every part of him rang with regret. “Honey, I am so sorry.” You had to turn your head away as tears started, threat of falling apart again looming. He was already in pieces. “I justified every single second not telling you- I made peace with lying to you by convincing myself I was doing what was right. What was best. But it was selfish, and it was wrong. ...and I’m sorry.” 

 A sniffle escaped you, and you reached up to wipe the back of your hand across your eyes. Though your head started shaking, you let him know, “I believe you.” You did. You knew he was sorry. Not just for getting caught after so long. No… you felt him bleeding. He’d hurt you. And suddenly there was nothing worse imaginable in the world. And for that, Tony was sorry. 

But you didn’t know what to do with that yet. Did you just forgive him? Did you just let this all go away? How could you really? You wanted to, because it was easier in some ways. It would make the hurting stop. But… 

There was a long pause until finally he started again. “I wanted to figure it out for you. I wanted to be able to give you everything. If SHIELD had done something… I wanted everything. So that we could confront them together.” He had reasons. Maybe even good reasons. 

“You should have told me. The second you thought something was off, you should have said something to me.” But he’d been hiding something from you- about you- for too long. No matter why he’d done it, and even with the thought that once he’d finished dotting his I’s and crossing his T’s- and you believed that too- that once he’d finally figured it out he would have sat you down and talked to you about everything.

You really, really did. Because this wasn’t about hiding it from you forever. It was about Tony Stark being faced with a puzzle. It seemed like every year more pieces presented themselves to him. He had wanted to figure it out. Yes, you believed him. But that still didn’t make it right. 

“I know. ...and I’m sorry.” He shifted on the bed, moving his arm up, you saw it out of your peripheral, still looking away from him. It was hard to tell if he was wiping his eyes or running his fingers back through his hair. Maybe both, one after the other. His voice was watery. Unstable. Trembling. “...if you want me to leave- if you want… some time apart-” Every part of his being rejected the idea that this was happening. That that would be the outcome. But he was pushing forward anyway. Because maybe that was fair. He’d hurt you and if you wanted to be away from him, that was fair. 

His personal feelings on the matter no longer belonged in the discussion. 

And it was for that reason that you eased the mutual suffering, shifting just a little closer to him, resting your head against his shoulder. Your stare out across the room was empty. “I don’t know what I want. But I know it’s not that.” You weren’t mad at Tony- you were hurt. And… you wanted him to fix it. 

He’d let you go and given you space when you’d asked. He’d stewed on what he’d done, and come up to apologize to you- and he’d meant it. Without prompting him, he’d explained that he knew why it was wrong, no matter how he had tried to justify it to himself. Tony was sorry for hurting you, and for hurting your trust. For lying. 

There was an apprehensive sort of relief that bounced between the both of you. And it was that soft, very small start of repairing something broken that allowed a different set of whispers to emerge. His guilt was making him backtrack. And a few different moments he was dwelling on- 

Like that day in the lab. One of the moments that had spoken to you so loudly a handful of hours ago. That day when he’d been tracking that anomaly that Thor had been involved in-

I love you. When I crack this thing, I need to-

I need to talk to you. That’s what he’d wanted to say. There were other moments. Long looks- guilt that you misplaced. Fear over missions too closely related to SHIELD- yes, every time he’d retooled the Reactor and then seemed like he’d wanted to say something- 

“I know it doesn’t make it better- ...I wanted to- for a long time. I tried to figure out how to start that conversation. But the moment I decided I was going to look into it without your notice, the deeper the hole got. ...that’s an excuse- but I-” 

He was seeping into you. And it was a little too much to take. “You tried to talk to me. I get it. But you never did.” 

“I should have.” He was utterly defeated. Crushed under the weight of his own actions- what they’d done to you. 

“Yes. You should have.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your voice was barely a whisper as even quieter tears escaped. “I know.” The two of you sat there for a little while longer, in silence. Until finally… “I kind of wished I hadn’t found out.” You knew this to be true. There was something deeply unsettling rumbling about inside of you now. He didn’t say anything yet, but you felt the rain of questioning pour over him. Because you’d both just agreed the way he’d done things was wrong. And it was. And yet… 

“I don’t want to be this.” Said in just another moment. There was no real time to organize your thoughts. “I don’t even know what this is, but I know I don’t want it. What am I supposed to do with this? What is this? What am I? What is any of it supposed to mean? I don’t like the thought that- ...it makes me sick… thinking I was grown in some lab… and that’s the only reason- ...that that’s the reason I’m here.” 

This wasn’t fair. It made you angry. And hurt. And… terribly sick, yes. You no longer held control of your own narrative. Your own past. Everything seemed like it had been formed around a series of nasty events that you had no control over. But that was the reason you’d found Tony. That was the reason he’d hired you. That was why you could do what you could do- it was why you were an Avenger- it was- ...it was everything. 

So where did that leave you? What did that make you? But really, you knew more than anything… “I’m scared, Tony.”

He took his time with absorbing this information, and no doubt everything you were feeling, there was a painful reciprocal squeeze of his heart, a flare of protectiveness- but then surprised you with his wry tone, “As far as expert opinions go, if you’re asking for one… I think I’m the authority on the whole the past does not define you thing. You know. Phoenix and ashes. Whatever I said on stage that night.” 

At the Expo. You remembered. Never has a greater phoenix metaphor been personified in human history. It felt impossible to be smiling so soon. ...but there you were. Because of him. Weak though it was.

“I didn’t write that for you.” He’d been so out of sorts, hiding his dying sickness from you, he hadn’t had time to memorize a speech. Because honestly you’d have never written something like that. 

Finally he reached back, putting his arm around you. And it soothed you right down to your core. “No, but you taught me it.” Though he couldn’t see the roll of your eyes, he had to have felt the shake of your head against his shoulder. “Sure, I put in all the hard work, but. When I said I was moving forward, we moved. And you never questioned my motives, and we never looked back. I used to sell weapons for a living, now I’m trying to keep the peace. “...whatever happened to you- you put in all the work after. You are the reason you’re here.” His witty build up died, and his tone lowered to a bare murmur. “You are the reason I love you. You are the reason I want a future together. This changes none of that.” Where there had been a choking pain of the terrifying unknown in your heart, listening to him eased your fears. “...and because I know you, I know you won’t let SHIELD take credit for anything for you.” 

There was something else- yet another remembrance. The guiding shape of his voice, when you’d trusted him with something else terrible. It’s part of you. Whether or not the verdict is good.

A huff of air escaped you, and you allowed your eyes to close as you turned your head slightly, resting a little closer on his shoulder. “If it even was them. Maybe it wasn’t.” Maybe the girl in those blacked out documents had nothing to do with you. Who knew? Certainly not you. Yesterday you’d had no idea about any of this. 

“Maybe.” The moment of amusement had died again. He moved and you felt his watchful eyes. Waiting for you. And when you could manage to look at him, “I’ve got you. Always. Whatever this is- you don’t have to be scared. I’ve got you.” When he said this you believed him. You knew it was true. Tony would protect you. Always. He would look out for you. Always. And if you wanted him to, he would fix this. Because that’s what he did. “Look… if you wanna keep looking, we will dig until we’re on the other side of the earth, if we have to. And- if you don’t… I’ll stop. I’ll destroy everything.” 

He was giving you a choice. Letting you control something that had been twice over stolen from you. Finally. Your life was in your hands. He’d spent a lot of time trying to protect you, trying to research what made your powers work- and why they worked- years. Years of work. But right now- right now you had the power to tell Tony Stark to stop. 

...that was an awful lot of power. 

“I don’t know.” About the extent of what you did know. Sitting back from him, wiping away a few tears and then you met his gaze as he turned to look at you again. “I need time. I need to process this. Until then… will you put it away?” 

The question stood in silence for a few seconds, then he nodded. “I’ll put it away.” It was instinct that moved his hand, raising close- but then pulling back. He wanted to hold you. To touch you. But now he was unsure of his position. For a strange and painful place in time, he had no idea if he had that right anymore. Only you had that answer- and you gave it to him, putting your hand over his, guiding him to the side of your face. Your eyes closed. Held willingly captive by the feeling of love and peace he’d always bring. The solace he took in this brought a new wave of comfort to the both of you. He waited until you opened your eyes again, and his soft gaze watched yours for a long few moments until he found his voice again. “Do you trust me, when I tell you I’ll stop?” 

But this was really the final part. It was too soon for this to be over considering the length of time it had gone on for. He didn’t just get immediate forgiveness… even if that’s what you wanted. Even if that’s what was easier. He understood this. And he was asking now how deep he had cut you. 

...but you already knew. “I trust you, Tony.” Eyes careful on his as you let him know. “But if you do anything like this ever again- I don’t know where we’ll be.” Do not lie to me. Do not keep secrets from me. 

He nodded, and you felt the words wind tight in his chest. Taking them in. Holding them there. Etching them somewhere deep so he would remember this forever. Remember what it had done to you and what that had felt like. Nothing short of sheer devastation. “Never again.” This was his promise. 

Winding your arms around him, even at the uncomfortable angle still sitting next to him with a cat lying across both your laps, you pressed yourself to him as much as you could. “I love you.” This was for sure. But what you were really saying- I forgive you. 

His own arms lifted to hold you back, squeezing you to him as much as he could. His head moved to lay against your shoulder. “I love you, too.” The both of you sat there for a long time, letting the weight of all of this, or perhaps the lifting of the previous weight, soak you through. For just a small blink, you thought you might be drifting off… But when he eased back you shifted away. He touched his hand over your face again, guiding some loose hair behind your ear. “Uh- hey…” This worried you immediately. “-take it easy on Bruce, alright? He told me more times than necessary that I should have talked to you. He didn’t like hiding this from you.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t either. You still both did it.” You weren’t mad at Tony- and certainly you weren’t mad at Bruce. But it still felt a little sour. 

“Yeah- but he did it because of me. And- don’t tell him I told you so, but he’s kind of a wreck over this. I know he cares a lot about that overtly masculine image of his.” It was still a little unfair that he got to joke around so soon- ...and that it did hit its intended mark, pulling another smile out of you. 

You sighed softly. “I’ll go talk to him if he’s still in the lab.” At this Tony simply nodded. You had a feeling that would be the case. Tony had been talking up a storm before … whatever happened had happened. Something about the scepter- or what was inside of it- “What is it you two are working on?” 

“Ultron, believe it or not.” There was a sudden strange jump. Something about you asking put some sort of manic pulse through him. “You broke the housing on the scepter- but I suspected something else was inside- at least it’s a provable theory now. We got it under control. But what’s going on in there is incredible. We have a shot. At protecting this vulnerable little planet, if you can imagine that.” You remembered, vaguely, the hologram he’d pulled out of there and put on display. Right before things had gotten weird. 

“And you wanna use whatever’s inside for the Ultron program?” This was another one of those things that was probably a little beyond you. As far as you’d understood it, Ultron had been shelved because they hadn’t been able to sculpt it properly, not the way Tony needed it to work. But something in the scepter could? “Wait- hang on-” There was something else that you needed desperate clarification on. “The scepter and the Tesseract- ...and whatever was going on in England with Thor- they’re all connected? Is that the running theory?” 

There had to have been billions if not trillions of other lifeforms out there in who knew how many galaxies, right? Just because some things threw out… whatever it was- similar gamma frequencies? Signatures? ...whatever- just because they were similar, that meant they were related? It seemed… a little presumptuous. 

“I thought we were putting this away.” He said this very carefully. Because suddenly you were backtracking and he needed to know exactly where you were on this position. 

In or out? “We are, as far as I’m concerned- I just…” You deflated a little. “I don’t know. It’s strange, isn’t it? We’re one planet. Attracting all this?” There was so much to think about and not all of it made sense- ...another reason why it was so easy to understand why Tony had done what he’d done. 

He took a deep breath in. “Being similar doesn’t make them the same. Connected might be an overstatement- it might also be an understatement. There’s a lot of variables at play- too many to even begin to evaluate, and right now we only have the scepter under a microscope. And only for a little while longer.” 

Thor was taking it away soon. After Saturday. Which was less than three days away now. And in that time, Tony wanted to work with it to help finalize Ultron. ...yet here he was in the penthouse, trying to make amends with you. He wanted to save the universe from whatever was out there- he had a small window of opportunity to try and realize his vision- 

...but apparently you came first. 

Threat is imminent, and I have to protect the one thing that I can't live without. That's you.

You always came first for him. The last thing you wanted to do was stand in the way of progress. You were terribly small in the grand scheme of the idea of protecting the entire world from oncoming galactic threat. So with that in mind, you gave Dvahli a few long strokes, just enough to give her the idea that it was time to get up. And when she moved, you stood. “Let me talk to Bruce alone, okay?” 

Tony looked up at you, a bare nod. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll make some coffee and meet you down there in ten.” He was quick up on his feet after saying so. It was no surprise that he wanted to get back to work now that this was mostly resolved. But as soon as he was standing, and you looked up at him- ...you couldn’t seem to help yourself. Reaching up, you put your arms around him again, and laid your head against his chest. He was as warm and wonderful as you remembered. The crumble was imminent, his arms moving to hold you tight as he curved a little inward. “I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t have to say this again- but you appreciated it. Really. Truly. There was no doubt about his sincerity. “I know.” Almost immediate out of you was it’s okay- but it hadn’t been. And even if you did know, you couldn’t excuse what had happened like that. But, “I love you. I forgive you.” Letting it out into the world. Because you did. 

And that was that. 

 “I love you.” His hand reached up, cradling the back of your head, holding you to him. His voice was a warm rumble against your chest- speaking from his grateful, loving, and protective heart, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”

 Only he could offer such depth of comfort so soon. Your eyes closed as you rested against him, soothed by the knowledge that he would keep you safe. Always. And for that you were eternally grateful in kind.

                                                             --- 

Just as a matter of simplicity, and because it was so late, you put on the bare minimum of clothes. And comfy ones, too. Yoga pants. A zip up. Flats. That was all you really needed. Tony was in the kitchen by the time you stepped out of the bedroom, and since he’d given you a timeframe (though you knew he’d respect it if you had to speak longer with Bruce than ten minutes), you went straight to the elevator and headed down. 

It was quiet at this hour, and everything save for the lab they’d been working in was dark. You let yourself in quietly, looking at him as he was perched behind a standing console, typing away on a keyboard. “Tony-” Looking over his shoulder you felt his sudden fright upon seeing you and not Tony. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting you to come down there so soon. But as soon as it registered to him that you were there, the sound of your name coming out of him sounded terribly penitent. 

“Look, Bruce-” You didn’t know how to have this conversation. Really, the problem was that you didn’t want to. You were entirely worn down and still rubbed a little raw. 

But he held a hand up to stop you, and then turned away from his computer, giving you his full attention. “Wait a second. Just… let me apologize. ...please.” 

You held your hands together in front of you, a few feet away from him. A bigger distance than usual. This was not a friendly encounter. “Okay.” Allowing him this. Whether it would help either of you was hard to say. 

He swallowed hard and then took his glasses off, fumbling anxiously with them for a second as he turned his head down. Eventually he put them in his pocket and refocused on you. “I am sorry. Incredibly. For hiding this from you. I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t right. But when Tony asked me to work on it, I found it hard to say no.” 

“I understand.” Really, you did. You got why the both of them had done this, why they had done it the way that they had. 

But you saying that seemed to upset him. His brows knit and he shook his head, looking away again. “Tony asked me not to say anything- but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have.” 

“I know. But. You wanted to help him and you’re a good friend-”

“A better one to him, right?” There was an air of bitterness here that you couldn’t make sense of yet. His arm came up in a wave around the room. “We’re doing all this for Ultron and… we’re still keeping secrets. I’m not sure anymore… if there’s a scale measuring decency, I’m pretty sure I’ve hit the low end. I wanna make sure it’s for good reasons but… I just don’t know anymore.” 

This wasn’t how you thought this would go at all. And you weren’t sure what to even say. He had a point. But… Tony’s apology had been much better. Not that you wanted to rank them. “I don’t know what to say to that.” So you just decided to show how tired you were, and be brutally honest. “I understand the secrecy, but please don’t ask me to excuse it for you.” 

This seemed to snap him back into place and he gave you a little bit of a wide-eyed stare before nodding. “No that’s- ...that’s fair. I’m sorry. -again.” But as he withdrew it made you feel terrible. 

You made sure, as the sigh built up and then escaped, to keep it as quiet as possible. “You both… you find yourselves in your native environments, and you bounce off each other. And I get that the idea is never to harm anyone. Not me, and certainly not the world. I guess that makes me a hypocrite. I know about Ultron too, but have never said anything to anyone about it. Because we’re waiting, right?” Giving a mild shrug before crossing your arms. “We’re waiting to see if it’s even worth saying anything about.” 

He was nodding along absently. “Yeah. I guess so.” Once more he looked up at you. “I just know that- I could have said something. He didn’t hold a gun to my head. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” 

“I know.” Crossing the gap, you pushed past his obvious hesitancy as you got a little too close, and reached out to give him a little squeeze. Letting him know, “I forgive you.” 

His mumble back was a little sad if not confused at the same time. “Are you sure?” 

Putting your hands on his shoulders, you stood back and leveled a careful gaze on him. “Yeah. I’m sure. If that’s okay with you?” Lifting your brows with a little lean in, and about as much of a smile as you could manage. 

It tugged one out of him- bare, but there. “Sure. Yeah. That’s okay with me.” 

Letting him go, you turned- not exactly sure if you were leaving. His attention went back to whatever he’d been working on. But while you still had the space to yourselves- Tony would tell him, you were sure, but… you wanted to do it. “Just one thing.” Immediately he turned away from his work again to look at you. “I told Tony- ...right now I don’t want anymore of that. I want to put it away for a while. I don’t want you guys doing more research on this. I don’t know what to do with any of this information and right now is not a good time.” For so many reasons. 

“Totally understandable. You have my word- if that still means anything.” 

The door to the lab opened and you turned your head to see Tony coming in with a tray of coffee- he could have made some in the lab. You imagined he’d just been giving himself something to do so you could have your space. Still. He’d carried in three mugs. Seemed like he was expecting you to stay. Turning back towards Bruce you gave him another brief smile. “Still means a lot. Thank you.” 

Tony put the tray down on the center table in the room, and lifted one mug up- handing it to you first. “Here, honey.” 

Taking hold of it, you leaned up a little on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to the apple of his cheek. “Thank you.” 

From his spot in the room, Bruce exuded a sudden loud amount of shock and disbelief. And just a little bit of striking green envy. Meanwhile Tony was exuding quite a lot of thankfulness. But it didn’t even come close to how much relief he was feeling.

You’d get through this. It helped, knowing that Tony was serious about how sorry he was. Maybe it helped, knowing for sure by having your hand on his heart. You would get through this… you would… you just had to keep saying it, just had to keep working until it was true.

[triple-a-enderdragon]

End of Act 1

But far from over

First | Previous | Next

Something was very wrong, that much was apparent. Without checking his comms, Tango knew, as he had with Cub and Xisuma, that Iskall was dead. That's not what was so troubling, though. The flash of blue and the sudden horribly alien glee rippling through him freaked him out.

Now, more than ever, Tango needed to focus. Never mind that every hermit who came to watch was also dead, but Iskall dying was critical and Tango didn't have time to find out why.

He could hear TFC–or Earth, rather–directing Stress and Grian to stay in position, and for that he was grateful; he could focus on what he needed to do.

Which was–he now realized–to facilitate a little chat.

~~~

He never felt himself hit the ground. One instant he was falling in incredible pain, the next he was standing in front of a massive pillar of fire.

Iskall expected to be afraid, but he wasn't. He was furious; part of him realizing the fury wasn't entirely his own.

As the pillar of flame walked closer to him, a voice rang through the thick air:

How dare you.

The pillar stopped. Again, the voice rang out:

How dare you.

The pillar looked as if it would speak, but it never got the chance; it disappeared in a flash of smoke. Behind the clearing smoke, however–

Was Xisuma.

~

Xisuma's base was a whirling inferno. The only thing keeping the four avatars from burning was Tango's sheer will; a will he directed at the inferno itself.

"Fire! As I am bound to you, so you are bound to me! Answer!"

I need not answer you!

Tango looked at Fire grimly. "You already have." He layed his hand on the altar's southern point, the other avatars mirroring him.

Do you even know what that does?

"I do," said Earth, calm and unfazed. "It calls forth the wronged, and you have just committed a grave mistake without considering the consequences."

Another flash of brilliant blue light and Fire was thrown into the wall, a sparkling diamond figure where he had stood.

How dare you! You thought I wouldn't interfere!?

Wh–I don't understand–

Because you don't think! You never think! Now your avatar has to do it for you!?

~

"X?" Iskall, still in shock, was trying to process everything. "I thought you were dead. Or am I dead?"

"We're both dead. Though, I'm wondering who the diamond-blue person behind you was; he seemed furious," said X, looking past him.

"Diamond? Huh." Maybe that would explain a few things. "What have you been doing this whole time?"

X looked amused. "Saving you and Python from mobs of pigmen for one."

"Ah, that was...quite nice. Thank you."

A pause.

"So now what do we do?"

~

What have you done with him!?

Nothing yet! Why would you even care!?

Why would I care!? WHY WOULD I CARE!? Surely you can't be this blind. Release him!

As if I'd listen to the likes of you.

Don't make me force you.

Oh, you're threatening me? Is this how you want to handle this!?

YOU WRONGED ME.

...

RETURN HIM.

For a moment nothing moved but sparks and embers. The internal conversation that took place must have made an impression; Fire's flames dampened. He seemed almost afraid.

...alright geez. Calm down.

A flash of light.

~

Joe was kind of glad he hadn't gone. When he'd asked Cleo if she wanted to watch the spectacle, she'd reminded him about Cub, and about how he might wake up alone and utterly confused. And even though Joe was ready to go outside and safely die from a creeper-induced heart attack, she was right. He thrived on confusion, but that would be just tacky.

They had been conversing quietly—Cleo was telling him of a weird dream she had earlier—when an explosion went off, in the distance, from the direction of X's base. Joe could think of a few reasons why that would happen, but none of them were good. Evidently, Cleo came to a similar conclusion and started to head outside.

But before they could make it far, a noise could be heard from the Ministry.

Cub was waking up.

~

Whatever panic Python had when Iskall passed out in the tunnel now returned tenfold. As he laid Iskall's body next to X's, he tried his best not to think about his situation. He already disliked the Nether; hours and hours of quartz mining had seen to that. Now, alone with no foreseeable way out, Python knew he would never go back in if he could help it.

But all that dread soon turned to relief as two of his friends, one just recently taken, started to stir.

~~~

Several days had passed since Cub found himself in the Ministry and X, Iskall, and Python walked out of the Nether. Outwardly, things returned to a normal rhythm. But know everyone knew they weren't alone. Besides the Four Cardinal Directions–as they were now known–no other avatars were revealed. Some hermits, however, had their suspicions.

X had been in his base for the past day or so, sifting through world data. He had suspicions on a few counts, and both had finally borne fruit.

First, he'd confirmed his (suspicions) about the shadowy being who approached him years ago. They had been an Element from the End, yet his encounter with them left him scarred and definitely not an avatar. He hadn't yet found why.

His second findings were on the diamond-blue person and his connection–if any–to Iskall. And hoo boy, was there a connection. There was the same connection between the two of them as there was between Tango and Fire, or Stress and Water. Iskall was Diamond's avatar.

Curious, X had searched the other hermits for a similar connection, and found two. Doc and Ren. Doc had been fairly easy to figure out; his scary ability to mold redstone to his liking, his eerily accurate diagnostics on whatever was wrong with a circuit, his strange cybernetics. Doc was Redstone's avatar.

But Ren. Ren was a mystery. The only reason X had figured out Iskall and Doc's Elements was because he already had had an idea of who it could be; but with Ren, he had no such idea.

All X could do now was wait.

~~~

"I don't know why I wasn't killed by the magic blast, Tango. I was kind of hoping you would know."

"But you were killed when you hit the wall..."

"Are you trying to figure out why?"

Tango looked at Zed, amused. "And you don't want to know?"

Zed laughed, saying, "I just thought it was my wonderful personality."

"To save you from a incredibly powerful magic blast?" Joking as they were, Tango was deep in thought. And in a situation like this, there was only one thing to do, experiment!

~~~

As he approached the entrance to the Stock Exchange station, Mumbo was pleasantly surprised to not hear angry yelling. Entering the station proper, he couldn't immediately see Doc, but he knew he was here.

Sure enough, Doc was working on the departure/arrival area of track, fine-tuning the minecart dispensing and re-uptake system.

"Doc? You here, mate?"

A head poked up from behind the platform. "Yeah, man. What's up? Checking in on me?"

Mumbo looked a little sheepish. "Yeah, kind of. You all right? Redstone no longer going haywire?"

Doc climbed out of the rail pit and looked at the vending machine. "No, it's weird. After this whole 'Element' dealio, everything's gone back to normal. I'm not sure how to explain it, but I don't really want to know, either."

"Yep, I can understand that. don't want to mess with anything."

"Yes, that."

They both stood in companionable silence for a few moments before Mumbo asked, "So, you want any help with this one?"

Doc looked at him, amused. "If you're up for it, then I won't turn you down."

As they worked, Mumbo was constantly amazed by how intimately Doc knew his redstone circuits, able to pinpoint exactly where a change needed to take place without needing visual contact with it. Between the two of them, redstone powerhouses in their own ways, the minecart circulation system was one of the most beautifully constructed machines either of them had seen.

~~~

"They really aren't leaving you alone, are they?"

"I feel like they think I've been away too long."

Stress laughed as one of the huskies tugged on Iskall's sleeve as he tried to leave the lab. "And what makes you think that?"

"Hercules! Honestly! I'm not going very far! Sit!" Hercules obediently, if a bit reluctantly, let go of Iskall's sleeve and sat. "I'll be twenty minutes, and I'll be back, ok?" Iskall scratched Hercules' ears and said, "Good boy. I'll be back soon, I promise." Hercules whined, but stayed put.

Finally able to take off, Iskall went after Stress, who was already in the air, waiting for him. When she'd contacted him about the ice farm (of doom), he welcomed something fresh to do.

"From how he acts, you'd think it's been weeks since he last saw you," said Stress as they flew side by side.

"Well, he's always been more attached to me that Venus is. Besides, I think he could feel what I went through. You ever had that feeling? That your dogs know what you go through?"

"That hadn't really occurred to me, but now that you mention it, I could believe a few of them do." Stress paused for a moment, before continuing, "The rest, I'm not to sure about."

The rest of the way to the ice farm, they chatted; mostly about their animal companions and future plans for the lab.

~~~

It was dark. The sun was far overhead, but under the dense jungle canopy, it was dark. A shape edged through the shadows, careful to not disturb whatever might be lurking beyond them. A parrot, intrigued by this movement, perched nearby and started chattering.

"Where did—? Shush! Not now, dude!" Ren was desperately trying to quiet his stubborn new friend, who was quite happy to argue back.

"Of course I can handle myself, I'd just rather not tangle with anything if I can help it! Don't you have someone else you can bother?" Ren listened to the bird. "Fine. Come along if you must, but please. Be quiet!" The bird settled herself on his shoulder, quite pleased.

Now thoroughly distracted, Ren had to get back on track. He was looking for an ocelot, though why he wasn't quite sure. Even if he did find one, he wasn't sure he could get very close. He wasn't stealthy like Python, or fast like Grian; and ocelots were notoriously difficult to negotiate with. Negotiating was still his best bet.

It took the better part of an hour for him to glimpse a flash of yellow in the dense foliage. Crouching down, he once more impressed the importance of silence to his parrot passenger; he didn't want to spend more time than he had to out here. She ruffled her feathers and stayed quiet.

When he moved closer, Ren heard a small mew. Tentative, inquisitive.

"No, I'm not going to hurt you." He listened to the ocelot meowing, answering, "No, nothing like that. I just want to talk."

As the ocelot slowly crept from it's hiding place, Ren became aware of a gentle green glow from behind him. Turning around, a figure seemed to emerge from the trunk of the nearest tree. If that wasn't enough to make him faint, she spoke.

Welcome. The forest has accepted you, you are finally ready. Come, walk with me.

Utterly shocked, Ren fainted dead away. Maybe it was a bit to much.

[hellofromthe-otter-slide]

Only Time Will Tell - Chapter 6: Time’s Convert

So, I didn’t die, and this fic didn’t die, so isn’t that exciting?

This chapter delves deeper into how Lena’s machine could’ve messed up so badly, and we get some nice interaction from the entire group.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3.

~

Lena truly thought being in the same room as everyone would send her into an even deeper panic, but she was surprisingly calm as everyone clambered in. Her gaze stuck on an obviously older Kara devoid of winkles and grey hairs but confident in a way that Lena's Kara wasn't. Unlike the obvious split that Lena saw between her Kara and Supergirl, this Kara was like Supergirl and her finally melded into one complete self.

Lena couldn’t help but think it suited her.

Maggie pointed between the two Lenas, a look of disbelief on her face, “Oh my god. You weren’t kidding, kid. There’s actually two of them."

“I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” Liv said, and even though it sounded accusatory, Lena noticed that there wasn't actually any bite to Liv's words.

“It’s not my fault, I swear,” Jules argued, taking a seat at the bar, “Mom brought up that she saw me at the DEO, and then Mama asked why I was even at the DEO and then everything just," Jules sighed and slumped in her chair, "spiraled."

“She’s making it sound like it took a while to get it out of her,” Maggie said, the same cocky smirk Lena recognized from Game Night pulled across her lips, “Three questions in and she squealed.”

“Because Jules can’t keep secrets,” Alex tacked on, smiling fondly at her daughter.

“Hey, I played it off really well in the DEO earlier,” Jules argued halfheartedly. Then she turned on Liv and said, “Also, you spilled too, seeing as Aunt Lena was sitting across from Lena when we came in.”

“I didn’t spill,” Liv shot back, “My mother is a certified genius, so she found out.”

Older Lena snorted, and when everyone turned to look at her, she said, “I came over with Chinese food and found a younger version of myself hidden here.”

“Can we all just agree that our kids suck at keeping secrets from us and discuss the elephant in the room?” Alex asked, gesturing to Lena.

“I am right here, you know,” Lena said, finally feeling at least a bit like herself again, enough that she was tired of everyone talking around her instead of to her, “And I don’t think I really appreciate being referred to as an elephant.”

“You know, Luthor,” Maggie said, coming to take the seat beside the older Lena and wrapping a lazy arm around her shoulders, “I don’t think your personality has changed much.”

“Firstly, Sawyer,” older Lena brushed off Maggie’s arm, nudging her away playfully, “It’s Danvers now, and secondly, she has a point.”

Lena smiled at the familiarity of the banter between the two. She could practically see herself on Kara’s couch, Monopoly or some other board game on the coffee table in front of them, and Maggie slinging an arm over her shoulder to give some playful smack talk even though Lena generally won in the end.

It seemed like her pseudo-sisterhood with Maggie only got stronger as they got older, Maggie seemingly more comfortable with poking fun at Lena and Lena handling it with an eye roll and a quick retort.

“You’ll always be Luthor,” Maggie explained as if it were something serious, “We’ve already got Little Danvers, and then there’s Baby Danvers,” she gestured to Liv, who sighed in defeat, and Lena wondered how many times Liv fought that nickname growing up, “Referring to you as some other form of Danvers would make too many, so I’ll stick with Luthor.”

Older Lena looked like she wanted to retort, but Kara finally moved herself into the group, her blue eyes stuck on the younger version of her wife like she couldn’t believe that Lena was really there, sitting at the table alongside them.

To be fair, Lena was also still grasping with the fact that she was really there, in 2048, surrounded by older versions of the small family she built since moving to National City.

“Do you know how you got here?” Kara asked tentatively, like she didn't know how to talk to Lena or if she should talk to her any different than how she talked to her wife.

“We were just discussing that actually,” Lena said, “And we have some idea, though it isn’t certain.”

“What’s your best guess?” Alex asked, leaning against the bar by Jules.

“That it might possibly be my fault,” older Lena took over, “I’ve been working on a sort of time machine as my personal project recently. You put a date in, give it a DNA sample, and it projects the events of that day onto a screen for you to watch.”

“We think that something must have gone wrong, obviously,” Lena continued, “The date I was pulled from was the same date she used to test the machine today.”

“What went wrong?” Jules asked, “It has to be something major for the machine to mess up this badly.”

“I don’t know,” older Lena said, and Lena could see her older self growing frustrated, “I checked and rechecked the wiring a hundred times. I wouldn’t have tested it if I thought there was a chance at it malfunctioning.”

“Could you have made a mistake?” Maggie asked, and she didn’t even flinch at the glare Lena shot her.

“I don’t make mistakes.”

Everyone took a second, and it was Liv who spoke next. “Is there anyone who would have access to tamper with the device?” she asked, and Lena thought that she looked like Alex in an interrogation, her mind focused on finding the answer and asking the right questions to get there.

“No,” older Lena pinched the bridge of her nose, and Lena knew it was because of the small snnoyance of being asked a question that seemingly had an obvious answer. She did the same thing when questioned about her or L-Corp's participation in any crime that had any trace of Lex. Older Lena let out a sigh before saying, “It’s in my personal lab, so the only people who have access to that room are Jules, Jess, Eve, and myself. All of the locks are biometric, and if anyone else tried getting in, I would be notified immediately.”

“That may not stop certain species of aliens, though,” Kara said, “I mean, J’onn’s shapeshifting is down to the molecular level, and there are plenty of other species that have that capability. They would be able to shift into anyone, including you, in order to make it past the biometrics.”

“Not to mention aliens who can phase through objects,” Liv provided, “With that capability, they would be able to come in from the floor below without being noticed, and there wouldn’t be any data proving a break in.”

“Alright,” Alex said, her demeanor switching to Director Danvers, “We need the list of people who used the biometrics to get into your personal lab,” she said to the older Lena, “We'll also need the security footage and the machine too. If we can figure out what went wrong with the test, we can hopefully figure out how to fix this.” Then, Alex turned to Maggie and Liv, “I need a list of aliens apprehended by the NCPD that would have any capabilities that would allow them to get through Lena’s biometrics.”

“I think I would be better asking around if anyone knows anything,” Liv said, “After all, I know an alien language or two, and it might be a hired job.”

Alex looked like she wanted to argue, but there was something deeper, the knowledge that Liv wasn’t a member of the DEO that she could order around, and she just sighed and nodded. “Be careful, though. And take Kara with you.”

Kara and Liv smiled at one another, the thrum of excitement passing between them like the chance to work together only happens every now and then. Based on the conversation Lena heard earlier, about how Liv didn’t work with the DEO to keep herself from Supergirl’s shadow, she figured that was probably true.

“Jules, you’re with me,” Alex continued giving orders, “I’ll need you helping Brainy out with studying the disturbance and seeing what else we can’t find out about it. And Lena,” Alex sighed, “Younger Lena, you’re with me too. Once Lena,” Alex sighed again, and Maggie laughed softly, mumbling something like, We might need to give you two nicknames, under her breath, “Older Lena, gets back to the DEO with the time machine, it wouldn’t hurt to have two genius Lena Luthors workings on it to fix it.”

Older Lena smirked at her younger self, “To make it easier, I could be Lena and you could be Luthor.”

Lena smirked too, no longer feeling as uncomfortable sitting across from herself, “But then how would Maggie tell us apart?”

“My vote is on Luthor and Little Luthor,” Maggie added in.

“I’ve already got this handled,” Liv said, and she pointed at older Lena, “This one is Mom,” then at younger Lena, “This one is Lena.”

“She’s not our mom, Baby Danvers,” Maggie said.

“How about Before and After?” Jules suggested.

“Before and after what?” Liv asked.

“Marrying Aunt Kara,” Jules said like it was obvious, “Duh.”

“I’m actually apparently from hours before we even started dating,” Lena said, finding comfort in the banter that was so similar to the banter between them in her time.

“We could just call them Workaholic and Slightly-Less-of-a-Workaholic,” Kara supplied, and both Lenas gave her mock-offended looks, older Lena hitting her wife's shoulder with a quick, "Hey!" Kara smiled, first at Lena and then at her wife, her nose doing that adorable scrunch it always did, and Lena felt a weird sort of homesickness wash over her, wishing to see the same smile on her Kara.

“Excuse me,” Alex cut in, looking annoyed at how the conversation derailed, “You know, we have things to do. I gave you all assignments.”

“Sorry, Director Danvers,” Jules said, standing and saluting her mother jokingly. Lena had to hide a smile behind her hand, and she noticed Liv doing the same thing beside her. “Now, everyone,” Jules turned to the rest of the room, mimicking Alex’s body language and looking stern, “No more joking around. Any questions?”

“No, Director Danvers-Sawyer,” Liv said, biting her lip against the smile threatening to break through.

“Good,” Jules put her fists on her hips, mirroring Alex's usual stance, “Let’s move out.”

“Why are you two like this?” Alex asked rhetorically, casting an annoyed look between her daughter and her niece.

“Well, I was raised by Maggie Sawyer,” Jules answered with a shrug.

“And I’m pretty sure I get this from both of my moms,” Liv tacked on.

“Everyone just loves poking fun at you, babe,” Maggie said, getting up from her seat to kiss Alex on the cheek. It seemed to take away a bit of Alex’s annoyance, and she smiled softly at her wife for a quick second before addressing the room again.

“Does anyone actually have any questions?”

Nobody said anything.

“Great. Let’s move out.”

Maggie kissed Alex’s cheek again, saying something softly before leaving the apartment.

Kara turned to Liv, “Civilian clothes or suits?”

“Civilian,” Liv pushed herself up from the table, “There are a few places where they already know me, and I don’t think anyone would willingly say anything to Supergirl or Falcon.”

Kara nodded before smiling, “It would still be faster if we fly there.”

Liv was already running to the room down the hall where Lena noticed a balcony with a shout of, “Bet I can beat you there!” thrown over her shoulder. Kara ran after her, far quicker than any human could move.

Older Lena already had her phone out as she pushed herself up from the table. “Hey, Jess, I know it’s late,” she said, sounding apologetic, “Do you think you could email me the security footage from my office and personal lab?” Lena could hear less and less of the conversation as her older self gathered her things and left the apartment too.

“Come on,” Alex said, motioning to Lena and Jules, “Let’s get to the DEO. The sooner we figure this out, the better.”

[mikosdreams]

HEAR ME

CHAPTER FIVE: HOMESICK

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

Kim Namjoon starring as Choi Woojun

McDoine Nancy starring as Rey Yukina

Green Viridiana starring as Irina

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

Yukina watches Irina, her tiger eyes staring off at nothing in particular. "Stop beating yourself up, Minho wouldn't like that if he found out." The mother speaks up making the Ulit look up in shock, "He is home now, the doctor says he is going to be fine." She reaches over and grabs Irina's hands. "But it took several months before he could come home." Irina's voice barely rises above a whisper as she talks, "He was homesick and crying, I did this." Her shoulders slump as she looks at her lap but jumps when Yukina slaps her thigh. "Stop it, he is okay. He even said it isn't your fault. Stop beating yourself up." Yukina watches the alien as she collects herself, "How are you so calm?" Irina asks as she allows Yukina to pull her into a loving embrace. "After watching him fight for his life, I learn to have hope and faith in him. I believe he will always come back to him." She kisses the bright red hair as she answers, "He been fighting since he was born and he isn't going to stop fighting." Her sad smile rests on her lips as she looks out the window of the living room.

"You see, Irina. When I gave birth to Minho, there was a problem. He was small and lightweight, far too much that he was supposed to be and that was my fault." Yukina speaks up after some time passed, "I was unable to take care of myself, let alone a baby. He was unhealthy and the nurse immediately took him away to help. I was afraid I was never going to see him again." Tears build up in her eyes as Irina twists and turn her body to look at the woman better. "I was unable to see him for a week but when I was for the first time, he was in a NICU machine-" Yukina's voice shakes, she takes a deep breath and close her eyes to prevent tears from falling. "I wasn't able to take my baby home, he had to stay roughly three more weeks" Yukina looks up at Irina, seeing tears building up in hers also. "It was the roughest moment in my life up to that point, I had to leave him and wait at home for him. That is when I learn you can be homesick for someone, I learn that my baby is my home and not someplace you pay rent for." She whispers as tears start to fall over her eyelids, "I think you understand that. Minho has that affect the people around him."

A knock pulls them out of their crying, "Why are you crying?" A soft voice asks as he watches them with concern. "Are you still upset about what happened?" He asks as a frown tugs on his lips as he waddles over to them and Yukina helps him onto the couch, "See, I am fine and everyone else is too! Even Crackers is okay!" He shouts as Crackers runs in when he noticed Minho gone from his bed. Irina smiles as she combs through his hair, "I see but I can't help feeling sad." She says as she watches Minho thinks about it. "If I remembered, if I was closer-" Irina begins back was cut off by Minho, "No, no, no, no! Stop!" He cries out as he looks at them in frustration. "I got hit, I understand this but you must also understand that this could happen to anyone even with all things done." He speaks up as he looks over at Irina, "It isn't your fault, stop what-if-ing and understand that all you can do is move forward. If you keep dwelling on the past, you will never move forward due to fear." He was getting upset with the people around him. "You can't stay in the past because it is safer, it is just idiotic!" He shouts as he gets off the couch as Yukina gasps, "Minho!" She calls after him making him turn around with his face contoured in an angry expression.

"Just stop! It is true! I watch the news and see the papers, everyone is looking for someone to blame but no one stops to think that those people also blame their selves!" He shouts as he throws his arms up in frustration at the world, "They said it's the driver's fault for not looking but do they ever stop to think he is already beating himself up? He doesn't need the whole world to do it for him, that man is probably sitting at home crying because he can't forget!" Angry tears run down the child's face. "They say blame the alien! It is her fault because she doesn't understand humans and was unable to stop anything but do they stop and think that maybe it is impossible to stop something already in motion! She doesn't need people breathing down her back to remind her that she can never be human! That maybe she is already crying herself asleep every night, her head not stopping at every possible moment that she could have prevented it!" His breathing shakes his small form as he watches his mothers silently watch him, allowing him to get everything off his chest. "Blame the child, the paper says, he knows better. I did, I do. I knew I shouldn't have run so far from mommy, I knew not to run across the street without looking. I did anyway and it was too late. I don't need anyone telling me what is right and wrong, my momma taught me." His shoulders fall as he looks down at the floor, "I don't blame anyone, there is no reason to blame for an accident. I don't blame the man that hit me, I want to hug him and tell him it is okay. I don't blame you, mommy, you couldn't prevent what you can't stop and I am sorry for all those sleepless nights. Please, stop this self-abuse." He looks up, pain and broken down soul shows through his teary eyes.

Irina pushes herself off the couch and kneels down in front of the boy, pulling him into her arms. His sobs fill the room as he whispers broken 'sorry's and 'I forgive you's. His little body didn't have any room for hatred and sadness, his heart too big for it and his soul too kind for the mean. Irina holds him close as she stands up, Yukina walks over and rubs her hand on his back. They allow the boy to cry it all out before tugging themselves out of the Rey house and towards Choi's house, Woojun opens the door when he sees them pull themselves up to his steps. Woojun takes the small boy into his arms as he helps them all into his living room and cleans up Minho, "What is going on?" He finally asks as he wipes all of Minho's snot away. "We need to find the man that hit Minho, Minho wants to talk to him." Yukina speaks up as Irina plays with the boy's hair, "Are you sure about it?" Woojun asks as he looks between the two women and sighs when they nod. "Okay, let's get Crackers and I will take you there." He rubs the back of his neck as Yukina quickly leaves to retrieve the crying duck.

Minho sits with Crackers in his lap as he watches the houses pass by as he looks for the driver's house, it wasn't long when he saw news vans and people outside the man's house. Guilt tugs on his heart as the car was parked, the people were disturbing the man and making his life worse. Minho gets out with his mother's help and Woojun leads them over to the house, helping Minho up the steps. Minho rings the doorbell until the door was finally open, "Hello!" He smiles up at the middle-aged man that gapped down at the child. "You are the kid I hit." He whispers as he watches in worry, "Why are you here?" He asks as his whole body shows he felt defeated in life. "My name is Minho and I want to say, I don't blame you." Minho says as he smiles up at the man, watching the man kneel down in front of him. "What happened was an accident, accidents are unpreventable. I am sorry for what this has caused you but I hope we can both forgive each other and share a hug!" He says cheerfully even if his eyes start to become teary, the man gives a shaky breath as Minho hugs him. The older man returns the hug as he cries, "I am still so sorry." He whispers into the boy's hair as Irina and Yukina walks up beside them.

"I am sorry too but let's not have this control our lives!" He says as he pulls away and smiles as the man stands up, Minho gasps and starts to wave behind the man. "Lilo!" He calls as he grins, the man steps aside to see his daughter and wife entering the foyer in confusion but the daughter quickly reacts. The small girl hugs Minho, "Hello again, friend!" she says as she pulls away and takes her father's hand. "Why are you here?" She asks as she watches the vans starting to leave and as well as the people. "I was telling your dad that everything is okay now." He smiles as he takes his mother's hand, "I have to go now but I will see you at school, right?" He asks as Irina and Crackers head back to the car. "Yeah! See you tomorrow!" She says as she runs inside and Yukina takes him to the car.

"You know that would be a funny joke at dinner parties." Woojun speaks up as he waits at the red light, a grin on his face. "What would be?" Yukina asks as Minho looks up in confusion, "How did you both get married? Well, you see, her father ran me over." Woojun laughs after he says it, seeing it play out in his head. Irina slaps his arm as she smiles and shakes her head, Yukina laughs as Minho makes a protesting noise. "Noooo!" He cries out as he shakes his head, "I am not marrying Lilo, I am going to marry Irina! Don't you remember this?" He asks as he looks at Woojun in the rearview mirror, "You are getting old, Woojun." He says making the girls erupt in laughter. "What?" Woojun cries out as he pulls up to the house and Minho gets out of the car laughing with Crackers.

--- END ---

@queenqk (SEE HAPPIER END 🤭)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Apex Predator Untamed

AN: I’m sixteen years late to the Silent Hill 3 party, but it’s okay. This is a SH3/Life is Strange fic inspired by @magpieartem’s comic that I’m super excited to see more of! This is also on Archive, where it might be multi-chaptered. Who knows. Just know that Heather has PTSD and trust issues and will literally fight everyone

———

Everything hurt.

Well, everything always hurt, but it hurts more than usual at this very moment. Heather can barely force her eyelids open; it’s like they’re glued together. She thinks she’s standing up, but it feels like she’s falling down. And, holy mother of the now-dead God, did her head throb.

She thinks shock has finally worn off. She can feel every stab of pain, every pinprick is agony that needles her body. The bite mark on her left leg from a particularly quick Double Head looks to be festering. Her knees are darker than a ripe eggplant in the fall and she thinks the burn on her shoulder is peeling again. Her collarbone is definitely fracture, three of her ribs have to be cracked, and blood had been dribbling out in persistent streams from her nose a little while ago- she can’t remember why. At least the gash on her side has stopped bleeding, but now it’s just drooling out copious amounts of slimy discharge, which isn’t much better.

But it was fine. Everything was fine. She managed to survive in Silent Hill with all of these wounds. If open injuries were going to get badly infected anywhere, it would be there. But she was okay.

That front lasted for half an hour and then she saw the sigil on the bathroom mirror. Why did she even think to go in there? She should have just left with Douglas immediately. Now she’s...well, she can’t quite remember. Her head hurts too much.

Geez, though, who turned on the lights? She’s barely opening her eyes and she already feels like she’s being blinded. Burning white light stabs into her retinas; was it this bright in the bathroom?

And what was that sound? Was someone brushing their teeth or something? Better yet: when did someone else walk in here with her? She would have noticed. And it’s not like there was anyone else around, beside Douglas, but he wouldn’t waltz right into the girl’s restroom and start brushing his teeth or something.

Wait, what the hell? This mirror is cleaner compared to the one in that gritty little amusement park bathroom. And were those showers in the reflection? And who in the ever loving hell is that girl brushing her teeth next to her?

Heather does a double take. She inhales a sharp breath and slowly cranes her head around to look at the stranger. Her face drains of all color as the blonde girl’s toothbrush fell from her mouth, clattering into the sink bowl. They both stare at each other for a long time before Heather bolts towards the door. She stumbles into an unfamiliar hallway with even more unfamiliar people. They seem to recognize her as an unknown alien to this place and turned to stare. It didn’t help that she was breathing heavily and looked like she was in serious need of a hospital.

She took two steps back, only to get herself into a wall. She narrowly dodges someone coming at her and- where the hell is her shotgun? It’s not on her. Of course she left it somewhere that wasn’t here. At least she had her pipe and pistol; they were lighter, anyway.

Heather swerved away from the teenager walking towards her and sprints into a storage closet, pressing up against the door to keep it shut once she’s inside. She slumps to the ground, trying to catch her breath and process what exactly was happening.

She could hear talking out in the hallway. It was muffled through the wall, but it would only take a little common sense to realize they were talking about her. Because of course they were.

“...I don’t know. I just blinked and there she was!”

“...That’s so weird. I’ve never seen her here before. Maybe she’s a new student?”

“...We would have known by now.”

“...True.”

Heather holds her breath and prays in the god she has recently killed that they’ll go away. They don’t. This is why she isn’t religious.

There’s a knock on the door that sends Heather hauling into the opposite wall. She collides with cleaning supplies and she feels her burned shoulder and fractured collarbone ache in disagreement. She grits her teeth and waits for the pain to subside, which causes her to miss what’s being said to her for the first few seconds.

“..Hello? Hello? Are you okay in there?” Asked a first voice.

“Umm, are you on any kind of drugs?” Piped up a second.

It takes a moment for Heather register that words are being spoken to her. Words of concern; not ones that are screaming religious sacraments or going on about how she was going to birth a demon. These people sounded genuinely worried about her. That didn’t stop her from putting up a protective front, though.

“What? No I’m not on drugs!” She snapped and her voice came out shakier than she would have liked. “I just- Where the hell am I?”

“Blackwell Academy in Arcadia Bay.” The second voice answers without missing a beat, then added softly to their friend, “...See, I told you she wasn’t from here.”

Arcadia Bay? The good news was that at least she was still in Oregon. The bad news is literally everything else about the situation she’s got herself into.

Heather swears softly to herself. She wants to scream and pull her hair out, but that hasn’t done any good before. Besides, she doesn’t want to add anymore pain to her already throbbing head.

“Do you mind coming out here? So we can talk face-to-face? Maybe we can help you?” Requested the first voice.

Heather was this close to just saying “That’s it! I’m killing myself!” and then shooting herself in the mouth with her pistol, but she stamps down that urge. She stands up very slowly, half because of her hesitancy and half because of her wounded leg. She puts her hand on her pipe and opens the door begrudgingly.

Two completely normal looking people stared in at her, trying to seem as less threatening as possible, which she kind of appreciated.

Both of them were taller than her, most people were, and appeared to be slightly older. They seemed friendly enough. The brunette reminded Heather of a doe, while the girl that had been brushing her teeth looked like a barn owl. Heather made a mental note to stop comparing people to animals.

“Hi,” Doe-girl said with a small smile, “I’m Max Caulfield. This is Kate Marsh. What’s your name?”

Ah, so she wasn’t “doe-girl”. Good to know. Weird that they’re just giving out their real names to a complete stranger like it’s no big whoop, though. Heather sifted through the many aliases she had used before, until she finally settled on just using her most recent one. She considered coming up with a new one entirely, but getting used to another title wasn’t something she wanted to memorize right now. And it wasn’t like she was ready to use Cheryl yet, either.

“Heather,” She said, “Heather Mason.”

Max and Kate exchange looks, and for a moment Heather worried that she’ll have to kill them if they know about her. Then, they smile in a friendly way that eases her up a little. Not enough to pry her hand loose from her steel pipe, though.

“It’s nice to meet you, Heather.” Max says, “So I take it that you’re not from around here, huh? I mean, I’ve never seen you around school before.”

Heather is only partially listening. She’s gone temporarily deaf in one ear and the other is constantly ringing, so she can’t hear much. She wonders if that blood trail is still dried down her ear, or maybe she scratched it off.

“Yeah, no. I’m not a student.” She answered.

“Do you have any idea how you got here?” Kate asked.

Heather shakes her head. Really, that’s the truth. Being transported to another city entirely has never happened before.

“That’s okay,” Max said, “We’re not strangers to weird and unexplainable occurrences.”

Heather is actually curious about that and really wants to question this deer-looking girl, but her mouth is way too dry to waste speech on something as unimportant as that. She can’t remember the last time she drank anything. Or ate. All she can taste in her mouth is blood and sour traces of bile from when she threw up that disgusting fetus thing. Mainly blood, though.

“Oh...I bet.” She said, trying to humor them. “Listen, I’m, uhh, sorry for this disturbance. If you can just point me to the nearest bus or train station then that would be just-“

She attempted to walk, but it didn’t go so well. Her wounded leg and bruised knees finally turn against her and completely stop working. The ground rushes up to meet her and the last thing she heard was those two girls screaming. Maybe her name. She can’t be precise, though, because the roaring in her functioning ear gets louder and it’s not long before she’s unconscious, staring at the grotesque figure of God that now flits behind her eyelids.

———

Claw away the darkness.

Heather tries. She really does. She’s weaker. It’s harder to fight.

Fighting is all she can do now. Silent Hill, the Otherworld, has changed her. It morphed her into a slayer that she never wanted to be. Not that she had a choice, though. When you’re shoved into a situation like hers, fighting is the only thing you can do. Running only buys you a little time, but not enough to get to safety.

Animal instincts. That’s what Heather has developed. She has climbed her way to the top of the pyramid and was crowned as the apex predator. Killing is all she learned and it’s going to stick with her for the rest of her life. Never trust anyone.

But when all of that is stripped away, when all of it is taken and you’re left completely helpless, it’s fucking terrifying. Heather feels naked without all the power she struggled to obtain. She needed to be strong or she’ll die in this new environment.

Her claws chip and darkness overtakes her.

Heather is pulled back into a freezing black ocean. Waves batter against her. Salt water stings in her several open wounds. Red bubbles explode from her lips and, in return, bloody mouthfuls of sea foam rush down her esophagus.

“...Ho-ly shit. You weren’t lying. She looks terrible.”

Over Poseidon’s wrath, she thinks she hears a voice. It’s unfamiliar, but it’s the only thing she’s got. She tries to cling to it.

“...What I want to know is why nobody called 911.”

“...Common sense, Rachel. Something is different about this girl and we can’t let her go without finding out what that is. It’s been too long since we had a good mystery on our hands.”

“...It’s been a solid two months, Max, but okay.”

Too many voices. Too many people she definitely doesn’t know. Heather is scrambling for a hold, for air, but she’s shoved down to the sand once again.

“...Hey, guys!”

“...Hi, Warren!”

“...Why are you climbing in through Max’s window?”

“...You mean the Chloe door?”

She thrashes. She kicks and paddles in sheer desperation before she’s able to grab onto something. It becomes her anchor and it’s the only thing she has. She hauls herself upwards and breaches the surface.

Heather bolts upright, nearly smashing her head into someone else’s skull. Multiple yelps of shock fill wherever-she-is and she looks around frantically, barley registering the overwhelming pain that floods through her entire body. When she does, she cringes.

There are not one, not two, but five people in what she assumes to be a dorm room. Five people that she doesn’t know and could be dangerous. She kinda recognizes Max and Kate, but she doesn’t know them well enough to be cool around them.

The other three complete strangers are as followed: Blue haired chick who is definitely gay (a wolf? maybe a shark?), lady with brown hair (lioness, definitely), and some dude by the window (possibly a ferret or lemur). Heather has no idea who gave them the right to watch over her unconscious body.

“Too fast,” Max mutters, her hands going out to steady Heather.

The girl defensively snapped her head around and bared her teeth, reaching for her pipe.

“Don’t touch me.” She warned and Max backed off.

“I like her.” Said the wolf-shark.

Heather eyes her wryly before going to stand up. Every muscle in her body strains in disagreement and it feels like two-ton chains are weighing her down at the wrists.

“Woah, hey, I don’t think you should do that.” The boy said, but Heather ignores him.

Her spine bows when hands close around she forearms and she’s paralyzed for a moment, like an animal shot with a tranquilizer dart. She struggled but fatigue has zapped most of her energy.

“For once, listen to the geek over there.” Says the culprit of the touch, wolf-shark.

“Hey!” The geeky lemur barked.

“His name is Warren,” Max informs, “That’s Chloe and Rachel.”

Heather hums roughly in response, mainly because it hurts to talk. Her stomach cramps from hunger, but she isn’t about to go and eat something from this unknown place. It’s not safe in the slightest.

“What happened to you?” Rachel asked and Heather spends a long time just analyzing her.

She quickly realizes what she’s doing. She’s sizing these people up. Estimating how easy it would be to kill them. It’s not a morbid thought- it’s self defense. She can’t trust people anymore. If she struck now, she could probably bash in the obvious Christian’s head before anyone could react. Then, if she spun around quick enough, she could definitely nail the doe in the back of the skull or neck. Lemur-boy shouldn’t even be a challenge. She might be able to get him in the throat with enough precision. She has her pistol, too, so that should make quick work of Blue Hair and Queen Bee. Yeah, she liked to think she could have them all down in a minute.

“It’s not something I want to share,” Heather grits, idly tracing her fingertips around one of the holes in her calf. The bite mark was blackened and warm to the touch. She hasn’t thought much of it until now, but she still pushes it out of her mind.

“Something wild, I bet.” Warren comments, getting closer to really join the huddle.

“Wow, did it take a Master’s Degree in psychology for you to realize that?” Heather said sarcastically. That came out much harsher than she had really intended. She’s more sardonic when scared.

Chloe barks with laughter while Warren huffs, muttering something underneath his breath.

“Okay, I’m- I’m sorry.” Heather sighed, “Can I just- can I have some space? So I can clean up? Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“There’s the showers.” Kate suggested.

A shower actually sounded really nice. Heather couldn’t turn it down, so that’s where she shuffled off to.

“Oh my god,” Rachel said once she was out of the dorm room, “Max, what a mangy little weirdo you managed to scrounge up.” She meant that in a good natured way.

“Maybe she can time travel, too.” Max says, genuinely interested in this weird experience, “This is a perfect opportunity to learn more about the ability! And I would have felt bad if I just left her unconscious on the floor.”

“So would I.” Kate agreed.

“What are we going to do with her?” Warren asked, “She can’t stay here. People can’t just waltz into this school. You have to be accepted. Even though most people on this campus act like they are drugs every second of every day, even they could figure out she shouldn’t belong here.”

“Or would they.”

Chloe is smirking from where she’s perched on Max’s bed- not a good sign.

“Not another one of Chloe’s ideas...” Kate mutters.

“It’s another one of my ideas!” Chloe announced, “Just sneak her in. Say she’s new and just hasn’t been added to the system yet.”

“I said everyone here takes drugs, not that they lack any brain cells.” Warren says against her plan.

Chloe shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“It might work.” Max shrugs, “There’s an empty dorm in the girl’s building. She can stay there.”

“I thoroughly enjoy how we’ve all collectively came to the agreement that we’re not letting her leave.” Rachel chuckled.

They all laughed, but there’s no way they’ll be laughing forever. Fog rolls into Arcadia Bay in thick white sheets that afternoon. Heather feels sick all over again, like another demon is trying to claw its way out of her stomach.

[thedelineator-blog]

we sat in a room alone - my mom and i - waiting for someone to come back with paperwork. the room contained a desk with a chair behind it, and two other chairs against the wall where we sat. i stared at my zebra print duffel bag on the floor, enveloped in an angry fog as my mom reassured me that everything would be alright.

we had been in one of these rooms a few weeks prior, after my therapist had recommended to my mom that i stay at a psychiatric hospital for a while, until i didn’t feel like killing myself anymore. they needed to “evaluate” me - to see if i was fucked up enough to qualify to stay in an inpatient program. i remember filling out some questionnaire that asked your run of the mill “are you depressed?” questions. in the room next door, someone who i assume was a patient there was meeting with his mother. we listened as he screamed at her and the employees, and at one point threw something against the wall. i remember laughing to myself as he demanded a coke, and then when someone brought him one he screamed that he wanted diet. my mom seemed disturbed by this and we left. she told me she couldn’t live with the thought of leaving me there alone.

but there we were. she was leaving me there alone.

the night before, my dad had walked into the kitchen as i was slicing into my left arm with a knife meant for filleting a fish. it was a half assed attempt at committing suicide and a full assed cry for help. in the weeks prior i had cut my left arm with a wide variety of objects - a key, a shard of glass, a pair of scissors, a thumbtack - and had worn long sleeves until my therapist told my parents about my cutting and i was forced to show them my arm. in my mind i was punishing myself for being sad and acting crazy. i wanted to see my own blood to prove to myself that i was alive and this was real. i had become fixated on blood - to the point where i had made a plan to lock myself in the bathroom and slit my wrists and watch the blood flow out of me until i died.

in a moment of impulse - and after finding where my parents had hidden the knives - i settled for a quick slice to the forearm while standing in the kitchen.

the lady with the paperwork came back in and we filled out all of the forms. she went through my bag which contained clothes, underwear, shampoo and conditioner, a coloring book and some crayons. she made me pull the strings out of a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and told me i could either cut the wire out of one of my bras or send it back home with my mom. she explained that the program i was going to be in was point based and that i would start with zero but could work my way up with good behavior and earn privileges back - some of the privileges included washing my hair with the shampoo and conditioner i brought, and using the coloring book and crayons that i brought. washing my hair seemed like a basic privilege and human right to me.

after going through all of my things and patting me down to make sure i wasn’t smuggling in anything “contraband” i said goodbye to my mom. and was lead through a door and down a hallway to the ward where i would be staying for an indefinite amount of time.

looking back now - 7 years later - i know it must have broken my mom’s heart to have to leave me there. at the time i was angry. i had never felt more alone and alienated than i had for the past 2 months. it seemed like no one understood me and quite frankly, i didn’t understand myself either. i spent days in bed doing nothing but sobbing while staring at the wall, and was met with only anger and confusion from my mom, who probably had no idea what to do or how to help me. i understand now that i didn’t go to the hospital because my family was trying to get rid of me - rather they didn’t know how else to help me and protect me from myself.

it was night time when i got to the hospital. i was led down a hall to a door where you had to get “buzzed” in, which seemed very jail-like. the hallway was lit with fluorescent lights which were mostly turned off. the lady showed me my room, which was next to a bunch of other rooms in what they called a “pod”. a “pod” had a common area with a tv, tables and chairs, a bathroom and four connected rooms, each with two twin beds. i didn’t have a roommate, which i was thankful for. she led me into another “pod” where a bunch of girls who looked a lot younger than me were watching a movie about gladiators, which i had seen with my ex boyfriend in theaters. i sat down without speaking to anyone - probably looking like an angry bitch - and colored a coloring page that was on the table.

because i was 17, i was still considered an adolescent and was kept in the adolescent ward. there were probably 9 other girls there, ranging from the ages of 11-15, with me being the oldest. there were also 2 pods for small children and 2 pods for adolescent boys. there was a really nice black male nurse sitting in the room with us as we watched the movie he saw me silently sitting alone and talked to me without asking any questions and taught me how to make a macrame friendship bracelet out of string. i appreciated this about him because i had made some sort of promise to myself in my head that i wasn’t going to talk to anyone about why i was there. during my two week stay at the hospital, making friendship bracelets was my preferred activity and something that i continued to do after leaving the hospital as a hobby.

i don’t remember names of the girls who were also staying there, but i’ll describe the ones that i remember.

probably the first girl to talk to me, and the only one that i considered a friend while i was there was skinny and 14 years old. i later learned that she was bulimic and had wanted to be my friend because she thought i had an eating disorder too. one day at lunch she talked about how she wanted to be just like me. one of the other girls told me that she meant she wanted to be my size and had assumed i was there because i was anorexic. it made me feel weird and disgusting to be idolized in that way.

the first girl that anyone gossiped to me about was chubby and probably also around 14. she had long mousy brown hair and was typically quiet, despite having short outbursts of anger, in a random and disturbing manner. when i arrived she had a cast on her arm, which someone told me she had broken after punching a mirror, and had also been the only person they had witnessed to be sedated after an outburst of anger.

another girl had short dark hair and looked like the type of girl to have a ghetto boyfriend. i think she even had a tattoo. she seemed like a bully to me and also had anger and behavioral issues. she looked like she was 15ish but i vaguely remember being shocked that she was actually younger.

there was another girl with a broken arm - a 12 year old sweet looking blonde girl who had been abused by her father and taken into custody by CPS.

another girl was waiting to be placed in foster care. she was also around 12, chubby and mexican. she was funny and was one of the only people there that could make me laugh. she had been part of a gang that her older brothers were in. i think her name was lana. the day that i left, she gave me a coloring sheet with her name and phone number on it that i think i still have somewhere.

there were other girls too, but these are the ones who stuck in my mind the most. after seven years a lot of the details have faded away, while others seem to stand out. there are some times where i wonder what happened to all of those girls, especially the ones who were waiting to go to foster homes. some of them had been there for over a month already, and had previously stayed in other hospitals in texas. they didn’t seem to have a lot of problems, but rather were stuck there as the state tried to figure out what to do with them.

my first night in the hospital i remember laying alone in my cold room and crying. i wasn’t allowed my usual nightly dose of temazepam to knock me out, because i was supposed to talk to a psychiatrist the next day who would prescribe me a brand new drug cocktail. i felt abandoned and strangely guilty for being so fucked up that my parents felt like i needed to be hospitalized. i realized that all i wanted to do was be with my family and my heart ached thinking of how i didn’t know when i would see them again.

life in the hospital revolved around schedules and routine. we woke up really early, around 7, and sat with a nurse in the pod who would take our vital signs and give us all our assigned drug cocktails. then we walked together to the cafeteria to eat breakfast, which was the only meal of the day that i looked forward to eating. in the cafeteria we were assigned to sit with certain people at certain tables. after breakfast, go back to the pod and have “quiet time” which for me mostly consisted of coloring with markers on coloring sheets that always seemed to have the same pictures. sunflowers, a mandala design, a character from a children’s show, an elephant. we weren’t allowed to make friendship bracelets, or even have the ones we had made previously, when the male black nurse who helped with them wasn’t there. he worked at night. when i asked why we weren’t allowed to keep our bracelets, someone told me it was because we might try to choke ourselves with them, which i thought was funny.

after breakfast some of the girls did school work, something i had been excluded from after “medically withdrawing” from school a month or so earlier because i was so depressed.

then lunch. there was one little boy that ate lunch with us, probably around 6 years old, who i still think about periodically. he was schizophrenic, or in some state of psychosis, which in itself was already sad enough. he was so far removed from reality. he seemed to have hallucinations that never ceased, and spent the entirety of lunch wandering around the cafeteria, following something visible only to him. he was constantly being herded around by a nurse, or by one of us during lunch, and didn’t seem to care much about interacting with other people. he sometimes would burst into tears in a moment of confusion and scream for his mom. i heard that his family came to visit him on every visiting day, but he frequently felt confused about where he was and what was going on. i hope he is okay.

after lunch - group therapy - which i absolutely despised. and then an hour of time spent outside. then dinner, more “quiet time”, the distribution of the drugs, and finally sleep.

my drug cocktail - thoughtfully and carefully chosen by a guy named “dr. parrot” - consisted of 50mg of pristiq, an antidepressant, in the morning and 25mg of seroquel at night to knock me out. i had briefly had insomnia, staying up for days at a time, and after being prescribed temazepam i would take it whenever i wanted to sleep, sometimes multiple times a day. even though i no longer had trouble sleeping, dr. parrot was happy to add another sleeping pill to my cocktail, and never questioned whether i really needed it or not.

according to google, pristiq - generic name desvenlafaxine - is a serotonin reuptake inhibitor used to treat major depressive disorder. side effects include increased suicidal thoughts and behaviors, elevated blood pressure and activation of mania, to name a few.

seroquel - generic name quetiapine - is an anti-psychotic drug that is supposed to balance out the neurotransmitters in your brain. it’s typically prescribed to people with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, major depressive disorder, and in my case - insomnia. side effects include drowsiness, headache, dizziness, and upset stomach.

i had looked forward to talking with the psychiatrist. since arriving at the hospital i had not had a moment of “therapy”, which in my mind consisted of crying while word vomiting about all of my bad feelings to someone with a degree that makes them qualified to listen to me. instead, a couple of days after i had arrived at the hospital, i was ushered into a tiny office where a balding middle aged man waited for me. he talked to me for maybe five minutes, and then prescribed to me my magical drug cocktail, which i was to start taking as soon as possible.

i thought that this was complete and utter bullshit. instead of talking about how i wanted to die, i was given some drugs that were supposed to be the magical cure to everything. i complained to a nurse about it, who told me i could talk to my “case worker”, a young 20-something really attractive guy who visited the hospital in a sporadic and seemingly unplanned manner a couple times a week.

as a part of my daily routine, i was also allowed to make one phone call a day, which i always used to call my parents. i cried to them over the phone and begged them to either come get me or bring me warmer socks when they visited. (they brought me socks). I was also allowed to shower, which i avoided for as long as possible because the showers were cold most of the time, and the shitty shampoo (no conditioner) i was given made my ass-length, super thick hair a tangled rat’s nest.

the first couple days at the hospital were nothing to write home about. i made a conscious effort to not talk to anyone, colored coloring pages and listlessly did as i was told. we were all given journals that we didn’t have to show anyone and were supposed to write about our feelings in during group therapy. the first couple of days i sat in a corner and wrote “forever” over and over and over again with a red marker in reference to the beatles’ song “i will” and the fact that at the time i was still committed to loving my ex boyfriend forever.

after i had been there a couple of days i experienced something that until that point, i had thought only happened in movies. it sounds ridiculous and made up, but i promise it really happened.

i refer to what happened next only as “the incident”.

some of the girls had grown close to each other, forming what i felt was a “fucked up psychiatric clique”. i kept my distance from them because i hate cliques, and also because i really didn’t care about making friends in a mental hospital. i would eavesdrop on their conversations, most of which were about how fucked up this place was (yeah) and how it felt like a prison (agreed) and how they were going to figure out a way to escape (not likely). i thought it was kind of hilarious that they thought they could just...escape. there was no access to doors that lead outside, and you either needed a key, or to be “buzzed in” to enter a different part of the hospital.

there was one girl who was best friends with the aforementioned dark haired girl who looked like the type to have a ghetto boyfriend. she seemed to be the mastermind of this ambitious scheme to liberate us girls from unflattering fluorescent lighting and drug cocktails. she thrived off of being a self proclaimed bad girl, and had bragged about using drugs on a couple of occasions during group therapy even though she was probably only 15. she and the dark haired girl were actively kept away from each other during meals and even some other times, i think because they always seemed to be working up some sort of elaborate scheme, or just being bitches while together in general.

one night i was sitting at a table in a pod by myself, probably coloring or watching whatever movie was playing for the thousandth time on the TV. all of the sudden there was some sort of commotion, and i looked out of the glass window of the pod towards the nurse’s station and saw a girl tackle a nurse to the ground like a deranged homeless woman on PCP. other girls from the “clique” were also running around trying to attack nurses.

people were screaming, everyone was rushing around. nurses were getting attacked. i sat in my place and watched in disbelief, i couldn’t believe these dumbasses thought this would actually work. i watched as one of the boys - whose pod was visible from where i was sitting - tried to open one of the doors that led to a hallway outside while everyone was distracted. more people came running, nurses from the adult and children’s ward i presume, and started restraining the girls and tackling them to the ground.

a nurse came into the door of my pod ad started grilling me, asking me if i was in on this. she took me to the pod next door, where the dark haired girl was having an absolute breakdown, and locked the door. i still to this day don’t understand why she locked me in there with someone who was on an angry rampage. i sat in a plastic chair in the corner and watched as the dark haired girl threw chairs around the room and screamed at me. she probably said some things along the lines of “why won’t you say anything bitch!” and “don’t you want to get out of here?!”

at this point i was truly terrified and started to cry, which she yelled at me for also. i didn’t understand why i had been locked in this room with this crazy girl and in that moment all i wanted to do was take my sweet, sweet seroquel and sleep. she contiued to tear about the room in a really manic and destructive manner while chaos continued outside the door. at one point she ripped the thermostat partly out of the wall and threw a chair in my general direction.

someone finally came in and got me out of there and led me back to my pod. they had finally gotten things under control and i watched as they restrained each girl who was involved and sedated them with a huge needle in the hallway outside of the pods. probably around five or six of the girls had been involved, and i believe some of the other girls had been released recently so there were only a couple of us who didn’t get sedated.

i remember being kind of traumatized that night, i definitely cried for a while and talked to a nurse, who seemed uncharacteristically calm about what had happened. at one point i went into the bathroom and found a circular orange pill with something stamped into it on the ground in front of the toilet. i gave it to the nurses at the nurse’s station, took my seroquel and went to sleep.

looking back now, i’m pretty sure that the pill i found on the ground was ecstasy or something similar. the girl who was the ringleader of the scheme had spent longer than normal in the bathroom before all of the craziness went down, and i vaguely remember a nurse making her come out of the bathroom after a while. i’m not sure how she would have gotten drugs into the hospital, but it’s definitely possible. it’s completely possible that it was an ecstasy fueled dream of freedom, which when carried out went terribly wrong.

after that night, the heavily sedated group of girls slept in the hallway for an entire day, and after they woke were placed on some sort of “house arrest” and not allowed to leave their pod, even for meals.

the incident made me withdraw even more into myself, and i sobbed on the phone to my mom the next day begging her to please get me out of there. i felt as if being there wasn’t helping me at all. sure, i was no longer able to hurt myself, but i felt totally alienated, forgotten about and now a bit traumatized.

i told a nurse that i wanted to leave, and i was under the impression that because i was 17, i could leave whenever i wanted. i think i had this confused with the age of consent (which is 17 in texas) and she told me that i was not allowed to leave until the psychiatrist released me. i thought - and still think - that this is complete and utter bullshit. the doctor who talks to me for a couple of minutes a day and did nothing but prescribe drugs to me is the only one who has a say in how much my mental health has improved. this made absolutely no sense to me then, nor does it now.

in the following days, i continued to follow the routine. my parents came to visit me and i told them about the incident, which they probably found hard to believe. they told me they would try to get me out, but later on the phone gave me the same news that the nurse had - it was all in the hands of the doctor.

because i had been compliant, had followed the rules and participated in group therapy and written in my journal - though if they had looked they would know that at that point, i had filled almost the entire thing with just one word - i gained enough points to use my own shampoo and conditioner. this was an absolute luxury and some of the girls expressed their jealousy to me. most refused to follow the point system and continued to use the shitty shampoo the hospital supplied for their entire stay.

while i was there, i worried a lot about what was going on in the world outside. about my friends, who i had only told i was going away for a while. about my brother, who was 11. i wondered if my parents had told him what was going on and where i was. i later learned that they gave him the same explanation i gave my friends - i just had to go away. i worried about my cat oliver and bout my ex boyfriend, who probably had no idea where i was and wouldn’t care anyways.

i thought about school and what everyone thought about me not being there. or if they even noticed that i was gone. as i had spiraled deeper into depression in the previous months, school had become impossible for me. with my depression i had also gained social anxiety, and felt increasingly alienated and misunderstood by everyone at school. the girls i sat with at lunch didn’t understand why i was suddenly so sad and angry, and for reasons that i don’t remember had asked me not to sit with them anymore. i began eating my lunch either in the bathroom or in the theatre prop closet, most of the time listening to “breathe” by telepopmusik and crying. at some point, i just stopped going to school and instead would go to a treehouse in the woods and lay there for a couple of hours before going home, taking sleeping pills and going to sleep. eventually my parents gave up and let me stop going, but i went to work with my mom every day so i didn’t have the opportunity to do anything crazy.

i began seeing a therapist after my mom seemed to become scared of me and said she felt that i needed help. i decided that i hated the therapist after our first session, when she told me that i needed to write my ex boyfriend’s name on a piece of paper and burn it, as if that was some sort of magical secret for letting go. i hated the therapist even more when she recommended inpatient treatment after i had only been seeing her for a month. though, i will admit i was quite out of it - bordering on psychosis - and remember telling her once about how i would stare at the carpet at school until i started to hallucinate.

a couple days after the incident, a new girl was admitted to the hospital and introduced to our pod. she was small and skinny, with a bleached pixie cut. she was really talkative and immediately tried to make friends with everyone. this initially made me suspicious of her, and i didn’t perceive her willingness to talk as friendly, rather it felt conniving.

my suspicions turned out to be right when she approached me one day while we were outside. she took off her shoe, produced a medium sized safety pin and handed it to me. she explained that she had given one to all of the girls so that they could cut themselves if they wanted to. she had been wearing a bracelet with all of the safety pins on it when she was admitted, and by some miracle no one had noticed.

this interaction struck me as really weird and crazy, and i later learned in group therapy that this girl was truly and utterly fucked up. she was eager to talk about why she was there, and cheerfully explained that she wanted to kill her mother and her dog, but was brought here before she could carry it out.

i told a nurse about the safety pins (yeah i’m a snitch, but it was fucked up) and she was placed on “house arrest” for a couple days.

her bad karma for handing out safety pins like candy to a bunch of mentally ill girls came back to her when, on my last day there, she broke her arm while playing red rover with everyone outside as i watched in shock.

by the time my last couple of days at the hospital rolled around, i was talking more. i would frequently stand at the nurse’s station with the girl who was bulimic as we held ice cubes in our hands until they melted. we watched a bunch of dumb movies, one of which was heavyweights, and another a documentary about 9/11. i didn’t understand why a psychiatric hospital owned a movie about 9/11, let alone why they were showing it to a bunch of adolescent girls. i remember saying “why are you making us watch this?” about 10 minutes into the movie.

they also had a wii, but the only game we could play was “just dance!” and we played the shit out of it. i especially liked it because i didn’t feel self conscious around the girls, and we all had fun being stupid and playing together. that and making the macrame bracelets are the best memories i have of my stay there.

the last day or two that i was there, i finally revealed in group therapy that i was there because i had tried to kill myself. i talked about how my boyfriend dumped me and i completely lost it, feeling depressed for the first time in my life and having no idea how to deal with it. most of them seemed surprised, as the majority of them thought i had an eating disorder, and said that i didn’t seem “that messed up”. the nurse who led the group therapy asked me questions about my boyfriend, which i found annoying. but it felt good to stop being silent and finally talk.

i don’t really remember why i got released exactly - but i finally got to leave. i remember some of the girls acted sad that i was leaving, which struck me because i didn’t think any of them cared about me that much. lana gave me a coloring page with her phone number, which made me feel sad to leave for a split second. i got to take all my bracelets home with me and still have a collection of hospital stuff - my bracelets, hospital bracelet, my numerous coloring book pages, lana’s coloring book page.

the hospital’s conclusion about me was that i had major depressive disorder with attachment issues and an intense fear of rejection. (duh)

on the ride home with my mom she asked if i felt like being there helped me and i said that i felt traumatized. i commented about how i felt like i had just gotten out of jail and everything seemed weird, even though i had only been gone for two weeks.

[aknazer]

Plagg’s Day Out 2: Chat Noire (Snark)

Also on Ao3

Day 1 << Day 2 >> Day 3

“You are the most ridiculous thing, ever.” Marinette announced. “And coming from the girl who works with Chat and Queen Bee, that’s saying something.”

“I am not.”

“You so are!” Marinette gestured wildly. “You got in a fight with a pigeon over cheese, you rode a pigeon through the city because of cheese, then you raided a cheese shop and caused who knows how much damage. You hitched a ride on a supply truck in a crate of cheese, only to wind up in my refrigerator eating cheesecake.”

“That is all perfectly reasonable.” Plagg insisted.

“It was all for cheese.” Marinette said. “Who in their right mind is that enamored with cheese? My god-”

“-You rang?” Plagg grinned.

“Jerk.” Marinette sniffed. “But, seriously, no wonder Chat is always complaining about cheese.”

“He has no appreciation.” Plagg nodded.

“I’m going to have to draw you riding a pigeon.” Marinette muttered, pulling her sketchbook down off of her desk. “I just… I can’t even. A pigeon.”

“You could draw me wielding a bolt of lightning as I smite you.” Plagg frowned.

“No, definitely the pigeon.” Marinette twirled a pencil in her fingers and grinned menacingly.

“Don't you have patrol or something?” Plagg wondered. “Homework? Something besides trying to immortalize your amusement at my suffering?”

“I think we might actually have a more pressing issue.” Tikki piped up. “Like getting Plagg back to Chat Noir.” She added dryly when the other two looked at her blankly.

Marinette slapped a hand over her face, Plagg unknowingly mirroring the motion. Tikki took a deep breath to swallow her giggle as Marinette groaned.

“Oh nooo…. Poor Chat!” She fretted. “He must be so worried. How are we going to get you back?”

“Easy.” Plagg shrugged. “Just take me to school tomorrow. When I sense my Miraculous, I'll just hop out and go to him.”

Marinette gaped at him. “Are you saying Chat goes to my school? Plagg, you can't just go giving that information out!”

Plagg shrugged again, ignoring the way Tikki’s eyes bored into him. “Eh, so what? There's tons of kids in your school. He could be any one of them.”

“Still.” Marinette worried the end of her pencil. “What if I figure out who he is?”

“Then you figure it out.” Plagg waved off her concerns. “You don't think that wouldn't be easier, anyway? I mean, if you knew who he was, you could just call him up or take me over, without all of this stress and strategy.”

“Enough.” Tikki said warningly. “Plagg, there are rules.”

“And they're stupid.” Plagg sniffed. “I didn’t agree, I don't agree, and I won't agree. End of story. Besides,” He added with a sly glance at Marinette, “I know the real reason you don't want him to know who you are.”

“You do?” She asked trepidatiously.

“Yeah.” Plagg grinned evilly. “Because if he knew his lovely Lady was also his precious Princess, you'd never get rid of him. Not that you'd want to.” He added smugly.

“I wouldn’t?” Marinette raised a skeptical eyebrow and considered her pun-loving, trash-talking superhero partner. “Pretty sure I’d trade him in for, like, JT. Or a hamster.”

“Eh, Wayzz is boring.” Plagg waved her off. “His wielder is cool, though.”

“You know who has the turtle Miraculous?” Marinette asked. “You talk to them? Why didn’t Chat say he knew who they were!”

“Because Chat doesn’t know.” Plagg smirked.

“Plagg!” Tikki scolded.

“Two best buddies, each keeping one gigantic secret from each other.” Plagg sang. Marinette’s eyes narrowed as she considered him. Plagg grinned at her unrepentantly.

“Plagg!” Tikki snapped.

“You,” Marinette leveled a finger at him, “are a very sneaky kwami.”

“Thank you.” Plagg beamed. “It’s so nice to be appreciated.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that.” Marinette replied dryly. “But I do need to be heading out, so are you going to stay here, or do you want to tag along? Maybe JT can take you home, since he apparently knows who Chat is.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Plagg asked.

“Maybe in not giving poor Chat an anxiety attack?” Marinette asked dryly.

“It’s not his turn to patrol anyway.” Plagg said unconcernedly. “He and Rena have to deal with each other on Thursday.”

“You are far too relaxed about this.” Tikki huffed. “Shouldn’t you be at least a little bit concerned?”

“Yes and no. I would be more concerned if it were just us, but with Trixx, Pollen and Wayzz all in the mix, there’s enough coverage to handle whatever comes up.” Plagg replied. He hesitated, the added “The kitten could stand to have a few days off, honestly.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’re lazy?” Tikki asked suspiciously.

“I’m really not.” Plagg said, sounding surprising seriousness. “A- ahhh, the kid could use a break. Really”

“Is something wrong with him?” Marinette asked, concerned.

“Nothing in particular.” Plagg frowned. “He’s got too much on his plate. He doesn’t eat enough, or sleep enough, and his family is actually fine with that bullshit.”

Marinette and Tikki traded concerned looks.

“Do we need to intervene?” Tikki asked seriously.

“Not yet.” Plagg sighed. “But if things don’t change, then sooner or later yes.”

Marinette shifted uncomfortably. Plagg made it sound like Chat was in trouble. She knew he didn’t have a particularly good home life - he’d let slip more than enough hints - but she hadn’t thought he was in danger.

And not eating enough? She knew her partner was thin, but she’d always assumed he was just somebody who was naturally slender like herself. Not that he was denied food.

Marinette chewed her lip nervously, tugging on her pigtails as she imagined her poor starving partner alone in a dark bedroom. Chat had always seemed so lighthearted and carefree - the consummate flirt whose loyalty was beyond question. The thought that he might be in trouble and she couldn’t help was...disturbing. Concern sat like a lead ball in her stomach.

“But you don’t need to worry about that, Princess.” Marinette focused on Plagg, only to find the kwami watching her steadily. Seeing that he had her attention, Plagg abruptly shifted course, sliding a mischievous smile towards Tikki. “Hey, Bug, can I take her for a spin?”

“Can you what?” Marinette asked, bewildered.

“No.” Tikki sniffed. “Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on, it’ll be fun.”  Plagg wheedled. “I ate well, so I could totally do it.”

“Do what?” Marinette asked, as Tikki opened her mouth to reply.

“Hey Princess,” Plagg grinned at her widely. “How would you like to be the black cat for a night?”

“The what?” Marinette asked, surprised. “You can do that?”

“Sure.” Plagg preened. “But it’s something particular to Tikki and I, because we’re a set. So you can’t go swapping out with, say, Pollen, unless you have the comb.”

“That’s so weird.” Marinette muttered, confused. “And it’s only you two?”

“Yes.” Tikki sighed. “It’s not something that’s done very often, actually, but it can be done. It’s draining; the black cat ring was made for Plagg, but since we’re a part of each other, we can use each other’s Miraculous if needed. However, it’s supposed to be for an emergency, Plagg, not play time.”

“But we should test it out.” Plagg argued. “It always takes a little while to get used to, so better we test it out before it’s necessary, rather than trying to adjust and fight, eh, bug? And what better situation than this?”

“I know what you’re doing.” Tikki said with fond exasperation.

“Trying to acclimate a dual wielder to a new form in a safe and controlled environment?” Plagg asked innocently.

“Pull the other one.” Tikki suggested. “It’s got bells on it.”

“Aw, Tikki…” Plagg wined. “Come on. You can even tag along and babysit, if you’d like.”

“No thank you; I’d rather save myself the headache of trying to keep you two out of trouble.” Tikki sniffed, before she turned and smiled at Marinette. “What do you think, Marinette? Would you like to try the cat suit on?”

“What will the others say? On patrol?” Marinette wondered, but she was already picturing their stunned faces.

“Who cares?” Plagg said, zipping up to hover in front of her. “Come on! You know you want to ride Chat’s baton! It’ll be fun.”

Marinette choked on her own spit, coughing and sputtering. Her face could probably fry eggs, it was so hot.

“Are-” Marinette paused, sucked in another lungful of air, and turned wide eyes on the confused-looking kwamis. “Are you propositioning me? Like, on Chat’s behalf or something?”

“...What?” Plagg squinted at her.

“Nothing. Nevermind.” Marinette waved her hand to dispel the questions. If Plagg didn’t understand, she was not going to explain it to him. “What’s the phrase?”

“Claws on!” Plagg chirped happily, wriggling a little. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a Chat Noire.”

“You’ll like Noire’s suit.” Tikki beamed at Marinette.

“There’s a difference?” Marinette wondered, even as she considered that there had to be some difference, to accommodate different, er, physiologies.  

“‘Course there is.” Plagg scoffed. “Now hurry up, or we’re gonna be late.”

“Bam!” Tikki muttered under her breath. “And suddenly he’s motivated.”

“Very well.” Marinette grinned and scrambled to her feet, holding her arms out dramatically. “Plagg, claws on!”

With a wicked grin, Plagg spiraled into the earrings.

The transformation was different, Marinette noticed. Tikki’s transformation was always...soft. Almost like a hug, Marinette had always thought. It was warm and friendly and safe feeling. Empowered. Marinette always enjoyed the feeling of Tikki’s warm murmurs in the back of her mind as her consciousness sat alongside Marinette’s own.

Plagg was nothing like that. He raced over her skin like lightning, leaving an almost electric tingle in his wake. Adrenaline flooded her system: every smell heightened and every sound sharpened. Marinette felt almost jittery as the air scraped into her lungs. Green energy crackled and fizzed, leaving Marinette’s heart racing as the alien consciousness settled in next to hers, alive and mischievous.

Marinette could tell right away that she and Plagg weren’t a perfect fit. It was like everything had shifted slightly to the left. She wasn’t so off-balance the she couldn’t adapt, but there was enough dissonance to leave her vaguely disoriented. Turning, she stumbled a bit as she looked towards her mirror.

The suit was different. She had expected to see Chat’s suit - maybe with a few internal differences for a more feminine fit, but otherwise the same. Not that those differences weren’t there - there was less room in the crotch than a male would require, and extra support in the chest that he wouldn’t - but there were other similarities, too. The leather was the same, and the lines of the shoulder pads and the cuffs of the gloves were the identical. Pointed claws were at the end of her fingers, and the black domino mask curved over her eyes. The weight of Chat’s baton settled easily into the small of her back.

But the stitching on the shoulder pads and the cuffs of the gloves was pink instead of black. The shoes had a slight lift, and were more slender and feminine looking. They blended seamlessly into the rest of the suit, and angled pink stitches on the thighs gave the illusion of tops.

The biggest changes, however, were to the collar and ears. Chat’s normal ears were completely black: hers had pink insides. And in place of Chat’s black almost mandarin-style collar, a pink ribbon was around her neck, though the gleaming golden bell sat in it’s usual place.

Marinette giggled, trying to imagine Chat in this outfit. “I am so cute!”

“He went with pink this time.” The amusement was plain in Tikki’s voice as she zipped around Marinette, examining the outfit.

“This time?” Marinette asked.

“Hmm. Yes. We can alter the outfits, depending on what’s needed.” Tikki hummed.

“Really? How do you know what’s needed?” Marinette asked, moving to rifle through her drawer for some pink ribbons to tie onto her pigtails.

“You tell us.” Tikki replied. “It’s there, in your subconscious, what you expect and need in the way of acceptable fashions and equipment. Or did you think that your yo-yo had a phone on it two centuries ago?”

“Point.” Marinette agreed, tying off her ribbon and stepping back to admire her new image. “I need a picture of this.”

“Quickly though.” Tikki nodded. “Plagg won’t be able to hold this for more than an hour or two; less if you encounter an akuma. And the time limit on Cataclysm is still the same.”

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Don’t let him talk you into anything outrageous.” Tikki said dryly. “If he’s gone to all the trouble of making the suit your favorite color, he’s likely trying to butter you up for some silly stunt.”

Amusement and exasperation tickled the back of her mind, and a vague sense of disagreement.

“I don’t think he is.” Marinette hummed. “At least that’s not the feeling I get.”

“Really?” Tikki sounded doubtful. “Well, if that’s the case, that’s lovely, but chances are he’s just planning a long-range con.”

Affront sparked; a murmur that half-sounded like How could you doubt me?

“You’ve offended him.” Marinette reported dutifully.

“That old tom?” Tikki smiled. “Unlikely. Now, go, you need time to acclimate before you meet up with the others.”

Chat’s baton felt awkward in her hands - especially after Plagg’s little comment. Still, Marinette -Chat Noire- let Plagg guide her movements, showing her how to ground it so it didn’t damage buildings or slip out from under her, and how to vault over rooftops. He was actually entirely in charge of the movements at first, much like Tikki had been. Though Marinette noticed that he let her control things more often after a relatively short span. Tikki had directed her movements almost entirely the first few weeks, before they were confident that Marinette wouldn’t accidentally hurt herself.

You already know a lot of this. Plagg said to her unspoken question, somehow managing to sound both affectionate and uninterested. You’ve been doing this with Tikki long enough to get the basics, and you’re a quick little Kitten, even if you are temporary. Just don’t go splat, okay? Tikki will be upset.

I’ll give it my best effort. Marinette retorted dryly.

They building hopped for a bit, allowing Marinette to get a feel for things as Plagg relinquished more control. Eventually, Marinette turned towards the Eiffel Tower, where she was supposed to be meeting Jade Turtle and Queen Bee for patrol.

Hey Princess. Plagg had been quiet for a while, letting Marinette get used to operating without direct input, but now his “tone” was full of sly humor. Want to mess with the Kitten?

You mean Chat? Marinette teased, eyebrow quirking. We’re seventeen. He’s not much of a ‘kitten’ anymore.

Oh ho, you’ve noticed that then? Plagg was laughing outright, half-formed plans of teasing and blackmail drifting across the link between them. Marinette rolled her eyes in response. And you’re wrong - you’re all kittens compared to me.

Marinette didn’t want to get into it - the bond between them was still singing with sly mischief, and Marinette wanted to know what Plagg was up to.

Let’s get a picture.

I’m pretty sure I’ve been spotted. By, like, a lot of people. Marinette pointed out. Even if she’d been concentrating on her jumps (and not splatting into the sides of buildings), she had noticed the stares, pointed fingers, and cameras focused on her.

Yeah, yeah, but that’s all hearsay. Plagg was definitely up to something; Marinette could almost see him waiting to pounce.

And you want to…? Marinette drew it out, pulling the mental string along to tease him a bit more.

Go find your girlfriend. The Ladyblogger.

I think your vocabulary needs adjusting. Marinette pointed out wryly. Girl. Friend. Not ‘girlfriend.’

Whatever. She got the distinct impression that Plagg didn’t care, and was in fact amused. Let’s give ‘em something to talk about.

Hmm…

We’ve got a few minutes. Plagg pointed out. You picked this up pretty quick - good work, by the way. And you wanted a good picture of the costume, right?

Marinette could practically hear the trap snap shut. Plagg would know that she desperately wanted a few good pictures of this version of the suit...and he knew that she knew Alya would take about 500 pictures, given the opportunity. Marinette had gotten a few pictures with her phone, but Alya had an actual camera, and could get angles that she couldn’t.

What are you waiting for? Plagg cajoled inside her mind. It’s just a little out of your way. Less if you hop over that puffed-up excuse for a house your classmate lives in.

Puffed up excuse for a…? Marinette wracked her brain, nose wrinkling as she tried to put that description into practical terms. Alya lived in a modest house above a convenience store, so that was out. Nino lived with his mom and dad in an apartment. Chloe lived in the penthouse atop Le Grand Paris, maybe he meant that one? But it wasn’t on the way to Alya’s.

The blonde pretty boy in front of you. Plagg clarified. Your...what is the term? Crush? How odd.

Butt out of my head! Marinette scowled.

Another phrase that doesn’t make much sense. Plagg mused internally, ignoring her mounting irritation. Why do humans persist in using words that don’t mean what they actually mean? Slang is so confusing.

Seriously? Marinette frowned as she picked a spot, bracing the pole against the roof between her knees. A mental flick had the pole extending behind her, launching her towards her next chosen landing. Plagg radiated satisfaction and amusement.

Oh, relax. Plagg scolded lightly. I don’t care about who you stare at during classes. And anyway, your secrets are safe with me. Mostly.

Mostly? Marinette asked archly.

I reserve the right to hint, allude to, and tease whomever I want for my personal amusement and enjoyment. Plagg informed her crisply. But...no. Like Tikki, I cannot outright tell your secrets.

Just tease the hell out of me. Marinette deadpanned. The Agreste mansion was in sight now.

Now you’re getting it. Plaggs satisfaction was evident, but Marinette couldn’t decide if it was because she understood his reasoning, or was getting better at using Chat’s weapon.

Yes.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you?” Marinette grinned as she landed lightly atop the wall that surrounded the Agreste property. “You’re going to use this to tease the hell out of poor Chat.”

Oh, absolutely. Marinette got the impression of Plagg nodding happily. The only question is whether I tell him I spent the night with his Princess, or his Ladybug?

Which one would drive him more crazy? Marinette asked, planting the pole in the side lawn. She probably shouldn’t, but she just couldn’t help it - this close to Adrien, she just had to swing by his windows and take a peek.

Undecided. Plagg’s tone was distracted.

Luckily for her (or maybe not), Adrien was actually out on his balcony. Marinette sent him a cheeky grin and a jaunty wave - something she never could have done outside the mask. His open-mouthed stare as she vaulted past sent Plagg into hysterics, though Marinette couldn’t divine why. Just that he found the situation immensely satisfying and supremely amusing.

Behind them, Adrien hit the edge of his balcony, nearly bending double over the railing as he continued to gape.

“Careful!” Marinette couldn’t resist calling back, even as he straightened. He raised a hand, maybe to wave, or maybe to beckon her over, but Marinette hurried on. As much as she wanted to stay, and maybe even flirt with the beautiful boy, she wanted those pictures even more.

A few hops later had her landing on Alya’s roof. With Plagg’s guidance, she planted the pole on the ground below and balanced on it while it retracted to dangle her outside her friend’s window.

Alya was indeed inside her room, her school books scattered on her bed behind her as she sat in her computer chair, frantically typing as she hunched over the keyboard. Raising a hand, Marinette knocked on the window.

Alya spun around so fast her russet hair went flying, hazel eyes blowing wide sa she gaped at Chat Noire suspended outside her window. She bolted out of her chair, practically flying to the window and throwing it open.

“What the heck? What are you?” She gasped, and Marinette giggled.

“Chat Noire, at your service.” She beamed.

Alya’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And where is the other Chat Noir?”

“Oh, he’ll be back soon.” Marinette said. “I’m just a temporary stand in.”

“And how do I know you’re telling the truth?” Alya’s lips pursed as her eyes roved over Chat Noire’s suit, and the familiar silver baton.

“Because, Ladyblogger, I’m here to give you the first and probably only peek at the stand in.” Chat Noire smirked, knowing full well her best friend’s weaknesses. “What do you say?”

Alya took about half of a second to consider. “Meet me on the roof.”

Ten minutes later, Marinette was off, hurrying towards the tower, smug in the knowledge that she would have pictures from every angle she desired soon enough. Alya had been thrilled to get the only inside scoop, and had almost wheedled more information out of Marinette than she had been willing to give.

Her best friend was going to make a fantastic journalist, she just knew it.

Landing lightly above the tower’s observation platform, she was unsurprised to see Jade Turtle waiting. He was slouched against a beam with his shield resting against his calf, eyes closed and usual earbuds planted firmly in his ears. Chat Noire’s enhanced hearing could pick up the music from across the platform, and she idly wondered why the tune sounded familiar.

Jade Turtle liked music. Despite her repeated scoldings about needing his hearing for job-related things (like people screaming for help) he usually had at least one earphone in. Chat Noire rolled her eyes at his continued obliviousness. What if she were an akuma? She would have gotten the drop on him and wrenched that pretty little bracelet off of his wrist, no problem.

Pounce on him. Plagg suggested.

I want him to trust me, not attack me. Marinette said dryly.

It’ll be fine. Plagg said. Chat pounces on him all the time!

And I’m not the usual Chat. Marinette rebutted. He’ll think I stole Chat’s Miraculous, or that I’m an akuma.

You’re no fun. Plagg pouted.

Rolling her eyes at the sulking kwami, Marinette carefully extended the pole until she could poke Jade Turtle  in the side. JT started, then flailed as he caught sight of her, jerking his shield up hastily. Crouching defensively behind it, he peered at her over the top.

“What the hell?” He shouted as Marinette retracted the baton and slipped it into place at the small of her back. Jade’s eyes narrowed as she started over, and he tensed to attack.

“Whoa.” Chat Noire held her hands up in a placating gesture. “Peace.”

“Who are you?” Jade Turtle asked loudly.

Sighing, Marinette tapped her ear, indicating that her fellow wielder should take the earphones off. Jade blinked in surprise, and Marinette could see red creeping across the tops of his cheeks over his shell as he yanked the earbuds out and dropped them around his neck.

“Who are you?” Jade repeated at a much more reasonable volume.

“Chat Noire.” Marinette replied cheekily.

Jade didn’t budge from his defensive crouch.

“Yeah, right.” He snorted. “I know Chat Noir, and you’re not him.”

“Chat Noire.” Marinette emphasized gently. “Chat Noir got separated from his kwami, so I’m filling in until I can get Plagg back to him.”

JT straightened up and lowered his shield (though Marinette noted he didn’t put it away) to frown at her. “And how did that happen?”

“It’s kind of a long story, actually.” Chat Noire said, shrugging. “But the point is that I found him by accident, and he’ll be heading back to his regular Chat as soon as possible.”

“And do you have Chat’s Miraculous, too?” Jade asked, keen golden eyes studying her intently.

“Ah…” Marinette fumbled, unsure of what to say.

You can trust him. Plagg told her.

“I don’t.” Chat Noire said hesitantly, unsure whether or not to reveal that she was Ladybug. If Plagg told Chat that Marinette had been Chat Noire, and JT knew that Ladybug was Chat Noire, she would be down a secret identity in short order.

Chat Noire chewed her lip uncertainly, recalling Plagg’s earlier words about Chat’s precarious position. If what he said was true, then chances were she’d wind up revealing herself to him sooner rather than later anyway. There was no way she could justify leaving her partner open to harm because she didn’t want him to know her name.

While she had been fretting, JT had fully straightened, stance relaxing as he studied her.

“And Plagg was able to use something of yours as a temporary Miraculous?” He asked, sounding like he was choosing his words carefully. Marinette nodded, shifting her weight under his considering gaze.

Considering the previous tension, she was understandably surprised when Jade sighed and rolled his eyes. Reaching to the side, he shut off the music, stowing the device away before he turned back to face her. “What the heck happened?”

Marinette paused while she tried to gauge Plagg’s mood, trying to decide how much and what she could say. She liked and trusted JT, but realistically she’d only been working with him for a few months. And despite getting along with him on a personal level, they just didn’t click the way she and Chat had, even in the beginning when they were both clumsy and new.

There’s a reason for that, you know. Plagg remarked idly. Don’t worry about it, Princess. Just tell him that that it was the bird’s fault, and I’ll tell him later.

“You’ll what?” Marinette asked, so surprised that she spoke aloud, causing JT to raise a questioning brow at her.

“He, uh, says that ‘it was the bird’s fault’ and he’ll tell you later?” Chat Noire shrugged.

“Only Plagg.” JT slapped a hand over his face as he groaned, much to Marinette’s confusion. “Sweet baby cheezus, how does he do it? What a mess.”

It’s a gift. Plagg said smugly.

[lezliefaithwade]

Hitchhikers and Horror Movies

I was living in New York when one Sunday afternoon in late August a boyfriend suggested we go and see the newly remastered, Texas Chainsaw Massacre at a movie theatre on 42nd Street. It had recently been heralded as one of the most influential horror movies of all time, and as he was in the process of writing his own horror screenplay, it seemed only right to see what all the fuss was about.

It was a very hot day as we slipped into the darkened theatre. It smelled like wet pavement, stale popcorn and forgotten dreams. The floor was sticky from neglect. The whole interior reeked of resignation as though any minute the wrecking ball would tear through the ceiling and replace a bygone era with a GAP or a McDonalds.  There were probably no more than 20 of us oddballs sitting in the damp, musky building. I wondered what kind of person spends a Sunday afternoon watching slasher films? My boyfriend was a nice Jewish USC graduate currently studying playwrighting at Juilliard. He was the kind of guy who laughed easily and rarely lost his temper. I felt safe and at ease with him. A quick glance at the other patrons painted a somewhat different picture. It was obvious that I was the only female in an audience of men sitting alone waiting ominously for a slasher film to begin. I shifted uneasily in my seat.

“Did I mention I don’t really like horror movies?” I whispered to Bernie. “I scare easily.”

“No worries,” he said, “Just close your eyes over the gory bits.”

For anyone who has not seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, suffice it to say that the entire film is gory. It’s pretty implicit by the title words “chainsaw massacre”.

It’s been noted that the experience of watching a horror movie with someone from the opposite sex can become a catalyst for romantic bonding. Was that what Bernie had in mind that afternoon?

The lights dimmed, the movie began and within minutes I was on the floor with my head in the seat of the chair, mindless of whatever gross concoction I was kneeling upon. All I can tell you about plot is that some kids pick up a hitchhiker who cuts his hand with a switchblade. That was all I saw.

“I have to leave,” I said to Bernie. And being the great guy that he was, he escorted me out of the theatre and back into the real world. I breathed a sigh of relief, and spent the better part of the next week doing everything I could to forget what I had seen.

Horror movies and slasher films have always appealed to a broad audience. Consumers expect to be scared, disturbed, creeped out, disgusted, terrified. This is just the undesirable price one has to pay in anticipation of some other reward, such as the ultimate triumph over evil or the smug satisfaction of feeling safe while being afraid. Slasher films make strong commentaries on societal expectations. In other words, young women in particular are usually targeted by male antagonists with puritanical opinions on sexuality. That is, when any kind of motivation can even be found. The set-up goes something like this:

1. Some past event sets (the killer) upon a homicidal trajectory.

2. The killer targets a group of hedonistic youth.

3. Youths interact recreationally in an insular quotidian location.

4. The killer tracks the youths.

5. The antagonist kills some of the youths.

6. The remaining character(s) challenge(s) the killer.

7. The immediate threat posed by the killer is eliminated.

Bernie’s movie as I recall was titled Summer Stalk, or Hammer Slammer (something like that) and he had a passing relationship with the director Abel Ferrara who I recall meeting briefly and being unimpressed by at a party in New York. Bernie was a good writer, and it seemed entirely possible that he might actually sell this screenplay, so when school was finished we moved to Los Angeles.  Hollywood was a place so foreign to me and so at odds with my sensibilities that you may as well have dropped me onto the moon without a spacesuit and ordered me to survive. Even to this day my memories of L.A. are a compilation of avocado sandwiches, shark steaks, workout rooms, convertibles and endless conversations around film. I went from being a productive, enterprising intellectual young woman, to what can only be described as a “bimbo”. Glasses were replaced with contact lenses, hair was coiffed, clothes were fitted and shoes had a heel. Gone was the architecture, the history, the parks, the subway, convenient neighbourhoods with great second-hand book stores. Instead it had all been replaced by freeways, concrete, Stepford wives, alfalfa sprouts and sales pitches. I thought of going home, but I loved my boyfriend and wanted to be supportive. So, I sat on the sidelines in tightfitting Lycra and cheered him on.

On weekends, Bernie and I would drive to his father’s house in La Costa, Ca.  where I could swim, bike, catch a movie, or just go for a walk. The house was a welcome refuge from the hustle and bustle of tinsel town. It was large, (large by my standards) with great, comfortable furnishings and a spectacular view of the valley. Bernie’s family were wealthy. My family was not. This disparity in our lifestyles was, to my knowledge, the only thing we ever fought about. Things were easier for him than they were for me, and while I was certainly benefiting from orbiting in his world, I could never quite forget where I had come from and how difficult it was for me to obtain even the smallest of opportunities. As a brief example: at school in New York, before I met Bernie, I would resort to heating up tomato juice for dinner. Bernie’s family were the sort of people who own the tomato juice company.

So, it was on one dark and stormy night enroute to La Costa that a particular argument erupted over privilege.

“You have no idea what the real world lives like,” I shouted, nearly in tears. “I’m always one step from poverty and the only thing that separates me from the homeless man on the street is you.”

“So,” he shouted back, “Get a job!”

He knew this was impossible as I was an illegal alien.

By now the storm had become positively Spielberg like. Low hanging dark clouds, lightning, thunder and us in a small car wending our way to our destination. Windshield wipers on high we stewed for several minutes both of us in our own worlds thinking up clever rebuttals for the next wave of attack when I saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road. It’s important to note at this point in my story that I had NEVER picked up a hitchhiker in my life, nor did I advocate such a thing. But the weather, and the bedraggled look of the man somehow destroyed all my reason. Bernie saw him too.

“Should we give him a ride?” he asked, probably to show that he was still a generous and compassionate person in spite of his wealth.

“It’s pouring out,” I said, “I think we should.”

Bernie pulled over and the man ran to the car. Even before he climbed into the back seat we realized our lack of good sense, but once we were stopped it just seemed like bad manners to drive away.  

“Where you going?” Bernie asked turning to get a good look at our passenger.

“Where you heading?” he responded with a slight drawl.

“La Costa.” Bernie replied

“You can drop me off anywhere near the cut off.” The stranger said as he settled back in his seat.

From the mirror over my visor I had a really good look at the man who identified himself as Hank. He was lean and dirty with a long unkempt beard and equally unkempt hair.  His features were sharp and angular. Hank carried a large knapsack and frankly smelled a little. Had this been a Disney animation, he would have been drawn to represent an anthropomorphic rat.

“Where are you from?” I asked trying to be polite.

“Texas,” he replied.

It wasn’t my imagination. I could see Bernie’s knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel. Neither of us needed to say a thing. We were now the protagonists in a horror movie. It was that simple.  An unmarried couple headed for a week end of debauchery in a car with a stranger while a storm raged outside. We ticked off several of the essential criteria in the Horror movie genre and without saying a thing, we both immediately regretted our act of charity. Every moment in that car was leaden. As we sped our way through the dark I was counting the minutes and the miles thinking to myself, “We’re still alive. We’re still alive. We’re still alive.” I wondered what would happen if I insisted we make an exit to use a restroom? I imagined running for help while Bernie fought off an attack or perhaps I’d be able to fight off our assailant with a crowbar in the trunk. Hank was silent. Then, out of the blue he began to tell us about the corpse recently discovered at LAX. “They found it in pieces,” he volunteered, “The head, the arms, the torso in different places around the airport.”

Hank didn’t look like a guy who read the newspapers or listened to the news. He looked like someone who knew things first hand. “The hands were in a sink at the washroom.”

How does one respond to information like this? “Oh, how interesting,” seems inappropriate when what you really want to do is slam on the brakes and say, “Get the fuck out of this car.”

While writing his screenplay, Bernie had once mentioned to me that monsters like their victims to be afraid.  So, I muttered a half-hearted “Really?” hoping my nonplussed attitude would dampen his interest in killing us.  At this point Bernie was fixed, zombie like on getting us as quickly to the drop off point as possible. I glanced at the speedometer. We were over the speed limit on wet roads. Nothing about this adventure felt like it was going to end well. I could feel Hank staring at the back of my head. I slid down in my seat and wondered if a knife could penetrate the upholstery. The closer we got to the cut-off point, the more nervous I became. I reasoned that an assailant wouldn’t attack us while driving and risk being killed in a car accident. No. An assailant would kill us the moment we pulled over to let him out. He’d slash our throats, dump the bodies and take the car.

“What do you do for a living?” Hank asked

“I’m a writer,” Bernie said

“Oh yeah? What do you write?

“Horror movies.”

Hank seemed interested, “You don’t say?”

To be fair, it’s possible Hank wasn’t the least bit interested. He may have been as bored as toast and just eager to get out of the car. He may have interpreted our tension as residual anger from a lover’s spat, or thought we were good Samaritans with dull lives and little to say.

All I know is that when we saw the sign for the turn off, I blurted out, “I have to pee.” At least if Hank was going to kill us, it would be under bright neon lights and in clear view of a gas station attendant and several patrons.

Bernie pulled into the Mobil station and exclaimed a little too eagerly, “Here you go. End of the road.”

Hank opened his door, grabbed his belongings and piled out of the car. From the overhead lights I could see for the first time that he looked old. Here was a man for whom things did not come easily and I suddenly afforded myself a bit of pity.

“Thanks for the lift.” He said shaking Bernie’s hand.

“No problem.” He replied as we climbed back inside and locked the doors.  I realized that I hadn’t used the bathroom and was a little ashamed of myself.

As the car sped out of the station and back onto dark roads we exhaled a collective sigh of relief and laughed. “What were we thinking?” I asked “Oh my God. What was all that about a body at LAX?���

By the time we reached the house, I had convinced myself that I had over-reacted.

“Isn’t that how all horror movies work?” Bernie said “The protagonists are always being attacked the moment they let down their guard.” I admit, he had a point. How many times had I commented on how stupid the victims in horror movies behaved? I mean, what kind of idiot would pick up a hitchhiker on a dark and stormy night knowing full well the kind of risk they were taking?

We unlocked the front door of the house, and before locking it again, were sure to search the dark for bogeymen. There was no way Hank could have followed us, but still…

“Let’s get on dry clothes and watch a movie,” Bernie suggested, turning on as many lights as we could find.

“Sounds like a great idea,” I said, “Something funny, please.”

As we settled down with hot chocolate, safe and sound to watch Mel Brooks, I briefly thought about Hank out there in the dark making his way towards Mexico. I wondered what was in his knapsack and then let the thought slip from my mind as the storm continued to rage on outside.

[randomnessunicorn-imagine]

🌜 Beppi x Hilda  [ Cuphead Fanfiction ] 🌛

{ This is a request I received to AO3 and I’m always glad to write something about Cuphead. I had a lot of fun writing it, yey-! Especially for the jokes, but everyone who follows me have understood that I love them so much, lol-! Hope you will enjoy this fanfiction! 

If you like this story, you could leave a comment or reblog because it would help me.  }

The Laughing Moon

The moon shined in the night sky like a disco ball or, at least, it was the impression Beppi had while he was observing the big ball in the blue and he was confused. The clown did not understand the enthusiasm of Hilda about this big silver sphere. It did not seem a big deal or, maybe, he was missing something important. Everything was so dark and mysterious, the feeling Beppi perceived was the same way and his frozen skin was caressed by a cold wind that was accompanying the few clouds up above, this made Hilda happier since the moon and the stars were more visible now. The clown felt ignored and alone despite the company of her, all those stars, and the moon that gleamed in the sky with their bright light. The night donated to him this sensation of dullness and loneliness and he realized how he and this woman were different from each other in so many different ways. He was the daylight while she represented the eternal and enigmatic night with the entire celestial creatures that lived in there. Laughs and fun were the things that he searched for especially when he was the one that brought those laughs and fun in someone else’s life while Hilda was a loner and she seemed so serious all the time that Beppi asked himself if she was able to smile. Her gelid expression was so scary and her look as stoic as a Greek statue that could make shiver even a lion but, from other point of view, it was hilarious. This fact made the clown felt so curious and he wanted to know if there was something else other than this, if this woman was capable to smile, laugh and run wild like a normal person. Even now, when Hilda was so busy observing the night sky and, despite it was something that she adored, she appeared so professional and concentrated and the world around her seemed disappearing in the cold air. The same coldness that was present in her heart and that covered her skin. Only looking at her, made the poor clown shivering. The poor Beppi desired so much make her laugh since it was his duty: to donate a laugh to every citizen of Inkwell and Hilda was one of them so he had a sort of morale obligation and it was still his job. He was a clown and everyone knew that gave great times of fun to persons was his duty. First, he should have tried to have a conversation with the said woman, make her aware of his presence, and finally wash away the uncomfortable feeling that made him so nervous. He cleared his throat, «Ehm…Hilda? What are you scrutinizing in the sky? », his voice appeared a little insecure and the other looked at him with a glance that manifested scepticism and coldness as if she felt disturbed by his interruption but her voice came out from her mouth calm and resolute, «The moon… What kind of question is it? Look at it! », and she pointed the big sphere in the sky and the clown said, «Oh, well--», Beppi felt so embarrassed. Then, Hilda sighed, quoting a famous expression, «When the wise man points at the Moon, the idiot looks at the finger. », she looked at him with her usual air of superiority, smirking. This made the clown more uncomfortable than before and he sighed. Only because he was a clown, it did not mean he was stupid or a naive and he felt really offended by her behaviour. Yes, she was a prodigious astronomer and she knew so many things about the solar system and all those lights up above but, maybe, she was the one who missed something very important and she should have learnt how to be polite with other people. «Or maybe you are searching for your lost politeness… », he whispered to himself and Hilda raised her eyes giving him a bad look. «What did you say? » and Beppi just shook his shoulders responding at her hostile glare with an innocent and gentle smile and then she kept observing the infinite over her head. Her expression became more serious than before, if something like this was even possible and all this tension made him uncomfortable. Then, he had an idea and, despite the fact that it would have made her angrier, he decided to propose it anyway. In his heart was still hidden an unclosed desire, his new mission of life, that he could not ignore anymore. Make Hilda laugh, it was his new mission and he was going to win this challenge and maybe, in this way, he could show her that he was not stupid or useless and she would have learnt how to be less cold and more sympathetic.   Beppi took the courage he needed to challenge this queen of ice, speaking, «I was wondering… », and he did a pause, observing the woman turned in his direction and looking at him with her usual superior air and then Beppi continued, «If you were able to laugh like any other normal person does. Or the only expression you are able to show is that serious look… », he did not speak with severity since his tone was friendly just like he was asking for a curiosity. It was such an innocent question but Hilda did not take it so well and she did one of her loud and hysterical laugh that could wake up a bear from its hibernation. «What do you mean with that? », Hilda posed one hand on her hip and with the other hand she tried to hold back a new laugh because she wanted to show him that she was able to laugh, and she said again, «Don't you see? I’m laughing. Of your foolishness! You’re not so bad as clown, man-! », and Beppi felt offended even this time but he did not intend to give up. «Ah, that’s not a laugh but just a hysterical sound, it’s not natural! », said Beppi and he was right because her laugh was something too scary to be defined a real laugh. «Because you are an expert of laughs, eh? Are you graduated in laughtology or something? », she commented, crossing her arms. «Maybe, I’m still a clown! », he crossed his arms just like her. «So… Since you are a clown and it seems I’m incapable to laugh, why don’t you make me laugh? », she spoke with arrogance, posing one hand on her hip and with the other she pointed him. Then, he imitated her same gestures speaking with the same tone of voice. He was just mocking her like a mirror and maybe she would realize how irritating she was with her egotistical attitudes. Noting his behaviour, she snorted and he did the same. Then, she stomped her feet on the ground and he did the same. She was becoming more irritated than amused and Beppi found this situation so hilarious that he could not stop even if she was still waiting for an answer. «I bet I would make you laugh! », finally he spoke and Hilda was on the edge to lose her patience but Beppi seemed so sure about his capacity and he loved this kind of challenge. «Oh, well! You’ll never make me laugh, it’s not something a simple clown would do. My sense of humour is so sophisticated. », she pretended to check her nails while she spoke like if she was a sort of dame and this time Beppi was the one to laugh. «That’s the imitation of the Baroness Bon Bon… You don’t appear that noble. », said Beppi with sarcasm and his intendent was not to offend her but Hilda should have learnt how to be less touchy. «Ah, you don’t understand. Anyway, what if I win. », asked Hilda so curious to know her prize. «You can ask me whatever you want but…» , and after a significant silence, he said, «If you lose you will have to spend a day with me in my amazing Luna Park! Deal? ». Hilda found herself a little perplexed and she thought that Beppi felt uncomfortable toward her but the clown just wanted to show her some sympathy and tolerance, proving to her that there were so many different ways to have fun and that maybe she judged him in the wrong way. «Let's just cut to the chase. Let me laugh! », said Hilda and her expression was the most serious thing he has ever seen but he did not feel intimidated. Beppi had so many jokes in his repertoire and he could go on all the night until she did not laugh, «How do you know when the moon has enough to eat? », Hilda looked at him with severity and then he said, «When it’s full. », and she did not laugh. «I already knew it! », the woman giggled, and none would be able to make her laugh genuinely and maybe this fact was pretty sad. «Yes, it’s not the best but listen: what do you call a tick on the moon? », asked Beppi and Hilda raised her eyebrow, and he continued, «A luna-tick! », Beppi laughed alone and Hilda face palmed herself. «No, please. I want to laugh and not suicide myself! », her expression seemed more desolated. « Why don’t aliens eat clowns? », and Hilda seemed confused by this one. « Because they taste funny! », Hilda seemed perplexed and she said, «They should abduct you! ». A little smile appeared on her face, she did not even realize, and he understood this road was the right one to funny-land. « What type of songs do the planets sing? », asked Beppi and Hilda seemed more relaxed than before and she just nodded without exhibiting one of her severe faces. «Nep-tunes! », and Hilda showed another genuine smile and Beppi’s heart just lighted up as one of those stars that shined in the night sky. He took this moment to say another joke and he was sure this would be the ultimate joke, «Two astronauts went to a bar on the moon, but they left after a few minutes? You see, it had no atmosphere! », and Hilda tried so hard to hold herself and she posed both of her hands on her mouth because her honour could not permit her to lose this bet despite the joke was funny and she was unable to admit it. «Is this the best you can do? », she forced a sever expression and Beppi just smiled at her stubbornness before he said, «Why is Saturn so rich? Because it has lots of rings! », and Hilda was still keeping herself but not for so long since she started laughing so hard and, at the sounds of her genuine laughs, Beppi exploded and he joined her. Both of them laughed so hard that all the universe could hear them. Only after some time, she realized that she lost the bet and that he was truly great as clown and maybe she acted too harsh and arrogant with him and her expression mutated becoming bluer because she felt a little guilty now. «Oh, Beppi… It seems you won the bet, my congratulations! », and she patted his shoulder and even Beppi stopped laughing and he smiled at her. «Yes, so what do you say now? », he just wanted to hear those three little words from her and she was still so proud. «Ehm… That you make me laugh! », she chuckled nervously. «Not that… Another thing! », his smile became more wicked while he waited for those words. «Ah, ok… I’m… Ehm… I am s-sorry… For have been such an asshole! », and his eyes went wide open, applauding her, «Yey, exactly! Since you lost you will have to spend a day with me at my Luna Park. I can’t wait! It will be super fun! », he was unable to contain himself and he launched in the air a bunch of confetti blowing his trumpet and she sighed but maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. She could see that even the stars and the big moon over her head were shining brighter this night. 

[petshopfox]

The Top 100 Songs Of All Time: 1. Pet Shop Boys – Always On My Mind/In My House 

by Tom Ewing

The intro: 00’00 – 00’39

In December 1987 the Pet Shop Boys released “Always On My Mind”, a cover of the song made famous by Elvis Presley and Willie Nelson. It became the Christmas Number One that year. Almost a year later, they released Introspective, their third album, whose fifth track is a nine-minute version of “Always On My Mind”, including an acid house inspired breakdown that features Neil Tennant rapping. Introspective marks, in Tennant’s words, the end of the band’s “imperial phase”, where virtually anything they tried came off and was commercially successful. It charted at number two, behind U2’s Rattle And Hum.

Sixteen years later, at the end of a Freaky Trigger pub crawl, someone said that “Always On My Mind/In My House” was the best record of all time, and around a dozen of us agreed, or at least did not disagree, and that installed it at number one on our list, a list, we promised, that we would write up for the website over the course of 2005. And so we all went home the merrier for it.

And ten years after that, here we are.

The song: 00’39-02’53 When I wrote about “Always On My Mind” for Popular – giving it a 10 – I suggested the flash and bombast of the Pet Shop Boys’ synth arrangement preserved the song’s humility. I think I was mistaken about that. Neil Tennant isn’t gloating about his neglect of his lover, but he isn’t humble or regretful either. His reading of “Always On My Mind” preserves the admission at the expense of contrition: he is laying out the facts as he sees them, but even at this late stage he will not commit himself. Fortunately, the song has already done it for him: the crashing, swaggering synth riff that defines the Pet Shop Boys’ cover leaves you in no doubt which way Tennant is jumping.

But on this extended version, the riff is discarded, and Tennant’s wonderfully considered vocal holds the spotlight by itself. This time, he’s more thoughtful, more equivocal. And he has been across the whole album. Introspective is called that because that’s what the songs are like – “the Smiths you can dance to”, a winking Pet Shop Boy said to Record Mirror – but what the record is often about is autonomy: the will and fantasy and loneliness of living your life however you choose. As the opening song puts it, “I could leave you, say goodbye. I could love you if I try, and I could, and left to my own devices I probably would” – the desire here is for the fact of the choice, not its making. And on Introspective’s extended version of “Left To My Own Devices”, Tennant is faced with that choice, and smiles, and simply rejects the decision itself, stepping out of the song’s binary into a final-verse dreamscape where all his imagined possibilities mix into each other.

It’s intoxicating – an old rock dream of total individual freedom seductively re-stated as a promise of pop music. A promise – or so I heard it at 15, very ready for such things – that pop contains doors. Doors which, if you bolt through them at the right time, on the right day, could simply upend the way you see the world, by rejecting false choices and connecting impossible things: “Che Guevara and Debussy to a disco beat” – whyever not? Great pop music is forever being confronted by sentences that start “Great pop music is…” and try and throw a rope around it. “Left To My Own Devices” tells me that pop (or love, or people) are defined instead by how they shrug off or wriggle out of definitions.

That was one song, and at the other end of the album, “Always On My Mind/In My House” picks up the same threads, more darkly. Without the riff to bring Tennant’s decision home, he can lose himself in equivocation again: “Maybe I didn’t love you quite as much as I could,” he’s singing, but his unruffled tone is saying… and maybe that doesn’t matter. But the difference between “Devices” and “Always” is that in the former I hardly notice the “you” it’s sung to, I’m as giddy as the song is about its celebration of possibilities. “Always On My Mind/In My House”, though, is haunted by its wounded “you”, who is paying the price for the singer’s indulgent indecision. We can be, to ourselves, as undefined as we like: sometimes other people need us to be fixed.

Tennant makes the opposing case. It’s not enough. The song collapses around him.

The rap: 02’53 – 03’49 The way we worked out the greatest songs of all time was simple. We sat round a table, drinking. Someone named a song. If someone seconded it, it was put to a veto. If enough vetoed, it was off the list. Otherwise, it was on. Once we had a hundred songs, the list was over, and the final named record was number one. It seemed as honest a method of making a list as the usual ways, one as likely to reward happy memories or well-timed jokes as acknowledged classics.

One of the things that is favoured when you make a list that way, in the pub, are moments that can be easily imitated, in the pub. Neil Tennant’s rap on “Always On My Mind/In My House” is such a moment. In the plan of the record and its emotional journey that I’m outlining, it has a place – a list of excuses for inattention that the production, speeding and slowing, turning Tennant’s speech into a calliope ride, seems to mock. In the Pet Shop Boys’ career it has a precedent too – it’s an extension of “The Sound Of The Atom Splitting”, their theatrically disturbing surrealist B-Side.

None of that matters next to the pleasure of putting on a funny deep voice and going “You were AWLWAYS” like a slowed-down record. It’s silly, as befits the greatest song of all time.

The breakdown: 03’49 – 05’22

It’s the end of 1988, the dying days of it, that odd slice after Christmas and before New Years. I’m in my room, listening to a cassette of Introspective that I copied off a friend. The album is a few minutes too long for half a C90, so the final track, “It’s Alright”, cuts off. I don’t mind that as much as I should, because in 1988 I don’t understand “It’s Alright”. A cover of a house music track by Sterling Void, the man with the greatest name of all time, it sounds corny and repetitive to me.

But for thousands of people Sterling Void, and musicians like him, are one of those doors that open up in pop and rewrite the shape of their world. A few miles outside my bedroom is the M25 London Orbital motorway, opened two years earlier. On it, British pop music is changing nightly. The looped road means that convoys of cars can move around it at speed, looking for illegal warehouse parties, getting instructions at service stations or on new mobile phones that keep them an hour or two ahead of the police. The house and techno music played at them (and in clubs, and in fields) has begun its irreversible transformation of British pop.

The Pet Shop Boys – born out of a shared love of clubbing, remixes, import 12”s – looked well placed to take advantage of this new world. Instead, they never really meshed with it. The roots of their work were in Hi-NRG, synthpop, Freestyle, italo – the melange of post-disco dance musics where smart, direct lyrics and strong pop songwriting could thrive. The blissful structural explorations of house and techno – its repetition, its long breakdowns, the different ways it used vocals – drew on other parts of clubbing history and culture. Like pub rockers when punk came along, the Pet Shop Boys almost fitted in, but that almost could suddenly seem glaring.

I assumed, perhaps, that Introspective was the Pet Shop Boys making house music. It’s not: it’s the Pet Shop Boys responding to house music, trying to fit some of its ideas to their template. The breakdown of “Always On My Mind / In My House” is the best example of this. An acid bassline underneath a mournful orchestral melody, leading into an angry thicket of programmed drums, and then the whole thing repeats. It’s unsteady, more a travelogue than a groove, and it sounds little like any contemporary club music. The template is still the extended pop 12” mixes of the mid 80s – by remixers like Francis Kevorkian or Jellybean Benitez. Even so it feels like a house-inspired version of those, because of the dark bassline, the pitched-up squeaks of “You were always!”, and because while it sounds eventful now, back then this middle stretch of the song seemed forbidding, alien even, in its minimalism.

All this is knowledge applied in hindsight. It’s 1988. The new world is propagating imperfectly, and has not reached my bedroom. The magazines I read are other schoolboys’ copies of Q and Record Collector, which have no interest in orbital raves. They lead me to Morrissey and REM at best, U2 and Pink Floyd at worst. I start the Second Summer Of Love exploring classic rock, sometimes with enthusiasm, increasingly with duty. Then I discover the Smiths – a door to bolt through, a name to call myself. I like indie music. By the end of the year I’m an evangelist, drunk on new rules and prejudices. But my friend has the new Pet Shop Boys album, and offers to tape it for me. We used to listen to Actually together, but that was long ago, all the way back in 1987, when I was 14 not 15, and I still liked pop, not indie. I’ve made my choice.

The drop: 5’22 – 5’30

I’m wrong.

The triumph: 5’30-6’46 The riff – and with that sudden shunt of synthesiser at 5’22 the whole of “Always On My Mind / In My House” is revealed as an extended exercise in delaying it – doesn’t just define this Pet Shop Boys cover version. It defines their entire, storied, “Imperial phase”. I once spent a whole Pitchfork column trying to throw a rope around the term “Imperial phase”: I suspect it wriggled free. But the point of them, it seems to me, isn’t just that the stuff you always do well becomes absurdly popular, it’s that the stuff you stretch for, and risk, comes off too. So while a relatively mediocre Pet Shop Boys single like “Heart” reaching Number One is the sign of an Imperial Phase, so too is the band invading the rock canon, at Christmas, with an Elvis cover and a video of clips from a surrealist film they’ve made, and it seeming like perfect, swashbuckling sense. And this also is a promise of pop music: it can make any decision you take seem the right one.

“Always On My Mind/In My House” is not part of the phase, by Neil Tennant’s own definition. “Domino Dancing”, the melancholy lead single from Introspective, was the Pet Shop Boys stretching once again – two uptight Brits making Latin synthpop – and it failed: it staggered into the Top 10. The game was up. So this uproarious minute of music, the riff rampaging through the song, synthesisers squealing and drum machines crashing around it, is a victory lap and farewell to the brief moment of British pop when the Pet Shop Boys were in charge of it. They will go their separate ways now, the Pet Shop Boys becoming a band that can release songs like “Left To My Own Devices”, “Being Boring”, “Can You Forgive Her?”, and “Se A Vida E”, an occasional, clever counterpoint to the rest of whatever pop is doing. But in this minute, this bubble of pop, they will always reign. Wasn’t it fun?

The Resolution: 6’46 – 8’11 Meanwhile there’s a song to finish – one last go-around for “Always On My Mind”, this time closer to its hit single version, with the riff appended, once again making Tennant’s choice obvious. The seductive refusal of decision in “Left To My Own Devices” finds its balance, the tune finds its breakdown, and the album can proceed to its happy ending. As can this list.

It’s 1988. The thing about pop music, when you’re 15, is that its doors open all the bloody time. Years later, month-long obsessions or beliefs seem like eras. Was there a time when I disapproved of pop music, on the say-so of Morrissey or Roger Waters or some spanner on the front of the NME? There was, but it didn’t last. I’d like to say the moment I heard “Always On My Mind/In My House” killed it, but things are rarely so neat. Still, it was a moment – I rewound it again and again, playing the whole album or just that track or just that minute or two. After it, I could not honestly stake a position where I disliked pop music. Within it, I could trace the outlines of other doors, into house and disco, and a world where the glorious return of the riff wasn’t a great pop trick, but a first principle of making and building music.

The Coda: 8’11 – 9’04

It’s the most liminal time of the year. The days between Christmas and New Year are, if left unfilled, an unsatisfying appendix, like the minute or so of unadorned beats you find sometimes at the end of dance tracks, a residual tail for the mixer to match the next record to. Christmas is the year’s natural climax, New Year its natural beginning. The space in between is an equivocal season, something left hanging like an unresolved decision, or an unfinished list.

So we – a very specific we, the list-makers – fill it up, coming together every December 29th to go to pubs, catch up, talk nonsense, and occasionally in former years make lists of things to write about. Why lists? Because we were sad old nerds, obviously. But also, we liked – or at least, I liked, and I’m the one stuck writing this – the conceit that this unfixed time of year, and the magic of the pub, was a good time to make arbitrary decisions, like naming the greatest records, and accept the challenge of one day writing as if those decisions were right.

And now the list is finished. Something else can be the greatest record of all time. Not everyone who started reading the list is still reading, not everyone who made the list is still with us. I’m going to post this, put on my coat, go to the hospital, and then eventually go to the pub, because it’s December 29th and that’s what I do. Perhaps I’ll see you there.

“The impulse behind this “10″ is probably the same as the impulse of the “10″ for “Atomic” – whether it’s a cover version or not, important or not, this does what I need a pop record to do, perfectly and reliably. When you start saying “it needs something extra to be a 10″, what you’re doing is saying that joy on its own can’t be enough. I object to this idea. That objection can get misinterpreted as a hedonistic philosophy – that joy is always enough, pleasure above everything in criticism – but it’s not: of course pop can act in ways beyond simply ‘being pop’, how boring if it couldn’t! But I wouldn’t be much of a pop fan if I didn’t think that sometimes simply being pop IS enough to get the highest praise I can give.” “I think it’s going to be alright.”

[annisahaps]

Nov 1, 2016

This is my family. We call us “Kepuh 4 aliens”. There are a lot of reasons behind that name.

First, we actually live like aliens. The term alien that people use to describe people who like to alienate themselves. We have our own jokes, and sometimes it’s not appropriate but we do that because it’s fun. We have our own rules that I’m sure people wouldn’t understand why we live that way (and I won’t share it here anyway).

Second, because we live in Kepuh 4. And because there are 4 of us, so it’s kinda perfect.

My dad is a perfectionist. I don’t know but he’s so smart, that is why, I have a dream to marry someone as smart as him. He was the first student who graduate from university in 1984. Then, he took his master degree in Padjadjaran University for six years, yet, he got the best title, again. The last time, he took his doctoral degree in 2011 and finished it after 6 years of family struggle (of money, haha) with the Best Student title again because he get 4 out of 4 of GPA. (Damn, he’s smart!) Now, I proudly called him Dr. H. Setyo Widagdo, SH, M.Hum.

He once told me, “Karena bapak sudah lulus S3, nanti kamu juga harus ambil ya.”

The other side of him is really soft. He loves me, I know. People told me that my dad is kaku as hell, but I don’t think so. He never told me things such as, “O I love you my daughter” and stuff, but he always listens to me everytime, and, yes, I told him everything, literally. He also loves playing stupid with me. I remember when someday, 4 months ago, we were waiting for my mother to pray maghrib together, I threw a pillow to him and pretended that I didn’t do it. For a sec, I thought he would mad at me, but he cheerfully threw the pillow back at me. The other day, when we were waiting for my mother, I asked him to wear my mother’s cloak (mukena) and sit in a chair, tested my mother whether she would recognize it, and yea she did, and the ones who ended up laughed at loud are me and my father, while my mother kinda shock because her husband did stupid thing like that :’)

As a lecturer, he didn’t earn a lot like others, but he did earn a lot of knowledge that he would share to our family. He taught me to live well. To live as a good human being. He taught me that as a person, I have to use my sense to do good, to be kind, to be right. I should not live like a fish that go with the flow, he said. I should create my own flow. But he did say, “Jangan terlalu mengkhawatirkan kegagalan.”

He also a religious person. He pray 5 times a day, reading al-qur'an five times a day, do the sunnah prayer like always, and he also become a speaker (sometimes) to share his knowledge about Islam in a religious forum.

He isn’t romantic. My mother said so. When the first time they know each other, she did not like him. She even told me that when they got married, she hadn’t love him, she married to him because he is the only man that came to her house and get my grandmother approval to be her husband, and since she believe that the permission of her parents is the only thing that matter, she agreed to marry to him. But in the process, she fell head over heels to him, because she knows that she needs someone like him to be the captain of her family ship.

My father is not romantic, indeed. He never said anything romantic, but, I know he loves my mother. He can’t live without her! He never get mad at her. When she did something that made him mad, he keeps silent, or if it is something big, he would go out to his friend’s house just to avoid a fight and come home as if nothing happens. He sometimes said sorry (in a cool way of course) and make a jokes to make my mother laugh again. Believe me, he only did that to my mother, he never did that to anyone, even me!

He also loves taking my mother out. Whenever he gets the opportunity, he would take my mother to go out watching movies, eating dinner, meeting his friends or spending time only two of them in another city just like newlywed (hadeh). He loves my mother so much, he even willing to watch rubbish television show like Rumah Kuya or Katakan Putus just because my mother loves it so much (oh help)

He isn’t perfect, but he is perfect and enough for me.

While my mother, 180° different from my father, is a very cheerful person. Note it, everybody loves her. Even my friends love her more than they love me… She already 54 years old, but she has a very young spirit and soul. My friends has no awkward feeling to go out with her, even when I’m not around.

She is soooo soooo sensitive, she always cried whenever she saw Termehek-mehek when I was in Junior High School. I already told her that it was fake and everything that happen in the show was already planned, but she said, “I know and I don’t care! Don’t disturb me, this show entertains me!” Huft.

She’s not that smart, she has only take her bachelor degree and did not want to continue her study, but she always told me, “Dari dulu Ibu selalu berdo'a anak-anak ibu itu pinter kaya Bapak, jangan sampai kaya Ibu.” Ok, I accepted it, but I do want to look like my mother, because she is beautiful!!! And she’s kind, she’s lovable, she’s talkactive, she’s a good cook, she loves me, she loves her family, and she is both dedicated wife and mother. Is okay Bu, not being smart. The other part of you are also important. And you’re charming. And I love you dearly.

Her passion is cleaning. She loves it when my father goes to the office, because she can clean up! Everytime I put a clothes in my room so I could wear it because the clothes was not that dirty, she would pick it up and threw it to the laundry. She also loves to paint our house all over again, all by herself and she would proudly welcoming my father home, and said, "Bapak rumahnya sudhh bersih sudah ibu cat ulang semua." And my father always worried that she would exhausted from cleaning the house like every single second of her life. Even if my mother come to other house, she would clean up a bit till my father mad at her because it could hurt the house owner's feeling.

She loves making a joke. My father always laugh at her joke. She even making a joke to wake me up in the morning. For example, when I was in High School, I used to sleep after 12 am, and it makes me so hard to wake up early, and when she woke me up, I always told her, “Lima menit lagi, Bu.” Even when my father showed up in a Buto Ijo voice, “Dek Ani, bangun!!! SUDAH JAM BERAPA INI?!” I would easily ignore him, but then, my mother would say, “Loh gapapa Pak, dek Ani hari ini libur… Biarin aja dia nggak sekolah kok hari ini… Nanti aja dibangunin jam sembilan…” and it always works on me because I’m afraid she would really wake me up after nine which is crazy, so I would eventually wake up to take a bath.

The other day, when I hard to wake up (it happens 4 months ago, I guess), she keeps whispering in my ears, “Dek Ani, ayo nak bangun, shubuhan” and I pretend not to hear her and continue my sleep, but then, when I woke up, I realize that she put earrings in my ears (Like…whaaaaaaat) and when I saw myself in the mirror, she said, “Makanya bangun kalo dibangunin, ya,” while smiling.

She is a lovable mom, indeed. She would do everything for me, that is why, my friend would say, “Ani mah dimanja sama Ibunya.” But I don’t care, because yeah, we love each other, do you guys got problems?

My mother is a romantic person, but that is not the thing that make my father falls in love with her. My mother doesn’t win my father heart at first. I’m quite sure that they haven’t fall in love with each other when they tied their knot, but my father always said, “Ibumu itu orangnya baik, sabar, pintar masak. Dijahati sama orang ya tetap baik. Makanya bapak itu suka marah kalo ada yang masih jahat sama Ibumu, orang sebaik itu kok.” And I take it as “I love her,” in different words.

At least, now I know even if my parents didn’t love each other in the first place, they love each other now, and I hope it lasts forever.

The last member of kepuh 4 aliens is my sister. The smartest woman in my family. The only partner to my father to talk about politics because they love it. She knows how to write, how to sing, how to draw, how to argue, how to make people fall in love with her, she knows how to do everything that I wanna do as good as her.

She hates me when I was kid, she wrote in her diary that I look like a devil when the first time she saw me in hospital when I was born. She hates me because she thought that my parents would stop loving her. But, of course, the hatred continue until we both growing up because I followed everyting that she did. We wanted to kill each other everytime we argue, but the moment she leaves our house 8 years ago, changes everything. We live our life separately and we acknowledge our love for each other.

She taught me a lot. About life, about love, about our religion, she always give me new knowledge, new insights, and I’m so proud having her as my sister. She is a woman version of my father. Hell, she is smart. She is the person I wanna be. She is my role model.

And those are the things about my lovely Kepuh 4 aliens that I wanna share with you.

[rewrittenkoomie]

Blame

This is an excerpt from a book I’m trying to write, y’know, Generic stuff really. Girl find werewolf dude, vampires are chill, Dragons are a thing and while we’re at it, she’s a witch.  Oh, but it’s based in Alaska.  So yeah, here’s the stuff, this is from about the middle-end part.

“There’s nothing worse than knowing it’s all your fault”

“Shut the Fuck up Vic.” I snapped to the man traveling behind me as we trudged beside a stream in the backwoods of Alaska. I was peering around as we walked, looking for the clearing we’d be working in, but Vic was trying to pick a fight. 

He was getting on my nerves. 

He was the more successful of the two of us. 

“Make me, Wench.”

Pausing midstride, I turned to glare at him sharply. He was tense and growling deep in his chest. Great, he’s defensive and irritated, not like I was having a great day already! I sighed and rolled my eyes, as I turned to face Vic and he growled louder. “Don’t Fuckin start with me today Vic, we do NOT have time for this shit.”

“Then you’d better MAKE time! It’s your fuckin fault we’re in this mess!” He didn’t yell, but the vehemence in his tone was like a slap to the face. I hate being yelled at, and I hate being blamed for things I had no control over. I was already overwhelmed, and this was just a step too far. I stared at him for a moment, then bared my teeth.

“MY FAULT?” I started at a yell, “How is this MY fault?! ALL THIS SHIT STARTED LONG BEFORE MY GRANDPARENTS WERE BORN MOTHERFUCKER!” I stomped my way back to him, and his eyes widened.

He’d never seen me angry, he seen me frustrated, certainly! But NEVER angry enough to yell at people. He tried to make himself bigger, planting his feet apart and straightening his posture, as I approached him, tensing up even as I stopped a foot away and glaring up into his eyes directly challenging him to stop me.

“If I wasn’t a goddamn Omega, half the pack would be dead or worse!” I poked his chest with my left hand and practically pinned him to the tree he was standing in front of.

“Do NOT go layin’ this mess at MY goddamn feet!” I took another breath, trying to calm down enough to not strangle this judgmental fuckwagon. I crossed my arms, still glaring at him. His eyes were blown wide, the pupils pinpricks and his Irises changing from the clear blues to the green gold of his inner wolf. He held his head up high, and the low growl was vibrating in his chest.

Dominants don’t like being challenged, they obsess over order and  structure. Things must be ‘Just so’ in their world, and when that world order gets messed up or disturbed, they lose their composure. Vic was lashing out at me because I was the only thing he could project his feelings towards, but that didn’t mean I was going to take the abuse. I had been working for ages to re-teach the pack what was appropriate behavior and what isn’t.

We’d made progress, but this was something we were still working on.

“Vic,” He blinked, and looked away, “you know I’m not the person to blame right now.” I had modulated my voice, trying to speak more calmly and at a lower pitch.

It was absolutely necessary for him to be calm before we set to work, magic was finicky like that. Intentions have a lot of influence in magic and I didn’t need him screwing the whole thing up while I was working. Sighing, I lifted my chin to expose my neck, making myself as non-threatening as possible. I wasn’t giving into his statements, but I was acknowledging his emotional state. A few moments ticked by, and his shoulders began to droop.

“You’re a goddamn Omega Bitch.” He started, his eyes slowly leaking back to blue, “Why don’t you just…” He flitted his hands between us as I lowered my chin and smirked.

“If I just Omega’d all our problems away, you fucker’s’d never learn anything.” He snorted, smirking back showing the tiniest bit of canine. “It’s gonna be another decade before you teach me anything Bitch.” I just sighed again, moving to a boulder nearby to take a seat. Adrenaline rushes were exhausting.

“Vic, I know you don’t particularly like me, and I can’t say I’m terribly fond of you, but at this moment in time, we are working towards a common goal, right?” He was walking stiffy to the river we’d been following. Turning his back to me indicated that he was either seeing me as an ally, or that I was unimportant. Either way, he wasn’t going to attack me. He paused, then crouched down and was picking around at the rocks in the riverside. He seemed to be thinking pretty hard, and the silence was broken only by the chittering of some small birds and the burbling of the nearby water.

“ I can’t say I hate you, but yeah, we’re trying to set things back to a better place?” He was looking up at the canopy of the trees now, “ I just, like, I dunno.” Scratching the back of his head, he then stood up and placed his other hand on his hip. Turning to me again, his expression was neutral, but his eyes were dark with emotion. “This ain’t my shtick, I’m better at fighting and winning, Brain stuff is more Bubba’s thing.”

“And we’re here to help get Bubba back to keep doin’ his ‘Brain Thing’ Yeah?”

“I dunno, you’re the witch.”

“I’m not a witch, I’m Wiccan.”

“Same shit, different name.” Vic Grinned wide, his nose crinkling slightly. It was his way of teasing me without actually being nasty. I sighed dramatically, I’d be sighing a lot for the next few years if I have to live with this asshole.

“Whatever, can we get back to finding the damn clearing?” He nodded once, taking my sigh as a victory, which made his wolf side happy. I stood, grimacing slightly when some muscles decided to protest moving, as well as the bruises I’d accumulated recently. I didn’t groan, or ask for help, both were signs of weakness, and at this moment, I was in charge.

I was considered Bubbas’ ‘Mate’.

He was honestly only my boyfriend, but in the pack, once a bond was formed, only death would break it, unless you knew some fairly powerful magic to remove or at least sever the bond. Severing bonds was nasty work, and painful as all hell to boot. I love him, with all my heart, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to commit fully to being a werewolf and his full mate.

I stroked the Bundle I had in my coat pocket as I lead Vic through the dense forest. This ceremony was going to take a few hours of time to conduct. I’d already been out with Bob setting up the space and making sure all the items on the Alter were in their right places. He’d then popped me back to the Den so I could pick one of the pack to come with. Though, pick wasn’t really the right word. I’d asked for a volunteer to help me get Bubba back. Everyone had been quite standoff-ish, and I couldn’t blame them. Magic is a fickle thing and can harm just as much as help, or more.

Besides, I also knew that if Bubba found out what I was doing, he’d yell at me. He hated when I put myself in danger, especially if he wasn’t there to protect me. Hell, Bubba hated it when I went to Bob for my ‘Lessons’.

He’d tried coming to watch once (or to at least assure himself that Bob wasn’t trying to steal or harm me) but Bob had put his foot down and told him to wait outside. Bubba had had a fit, and fumed for over a week, thankfully he had a  lot of work to catch up on, so he’d taken it out on the materials at hand rather than any people. Bob’s reasoning for kicking Bubba out had been that he wasn’t naturally magical and could mess up the workspace with his Werewolf magic.

Personally I believed him, at least a little bit.

Werewolf magic was a bundle of strings wrapped tightly around each person. It encased them from top to bottom and ‘squeezed’ as they changed to make their new shape. Natural magic ebbed and flowed like water, it was denser in some places, and scarcer in others. The biggest reason though? We’d move into a ‘Pocket Universe’ that Bob made just for teaching me magic within a safe space. If anything exploded, no one would get hurt.

Bob is a dragon, and in his natural form he was a huge magnificently opalescent dragon, each scale reflecting multiple colors and shiny rainbows all over the place when the sun hit at just the right angles. Standing over fifteen feet made him pretty imposing in his dragon form. He claimed to have met Christopher Columbus, though from his account of the man, Columbus was a gigantic moron.

Bob also knew many other Universes, some similar with minor differences and others so alien it would be impossible to assimilate. That was one subject we were still discussing in my lessons, which worlds would be sympathetic to my needs and which ones I need to avoid at all costs.

Now, the ceremony we were going to try today was something familiar to me, as a Wiccan by religion.

Wiccans use ceremonies to help initiate contact with forces around us to hopefully influence good vibes and make positive changes in our lives. Others would try to curse people, but thankfully most of those ceremonies had been translated incorrectly, if Bob was any judge, and they did no harm to anyone because they involved no actual magic. He had taught me to look for many indicators of true magic and how to tell if it was ‘good’ magic or ‘dark’ magic.

He’d explained to me once, “The ceremonies are similar, simply because the humans of the bygone days would observe us and make their own guesses. Many humans back then actually had magic in them, so the ceremonies would work, at least partially.” He chuckled at my grimace, Half-formed magic was wild and did unpredictable things. “After much experimentation, some found what worked best for them, but they were never quite as powerful as ours. Those ones generally either became Hedge witches, or Blood witches.” He had sighed, and a faraway look was in his eyes, “Back then, some of my brethren took pity on these little naked things and taught the strong ones, who showed great humility and generosity, the lesser forms so they could help their fellow humans to survive.” He smiled lightly at that, “the great Talex, The Mirror scale, is to be thanked for that.”

“Are we there yet?” Vic whined petulantly, snapping me back to reality and out from my memories.

At least he was back to his normal attitude.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, We’ll get there when we get there.” I snapped back, he chuckled to himself and was about to retort when Bob appeared before us from behind a tree. He appeared pretty suddenly and Vic yelped, then growled when he realized it wasn’t a threat.

“WHAT THE FUCK OLD MAN?!” He yelled, voice rising in pitch. Bob started laughing heartily, one of his favorite tricks was to suddenly appear and scare people. He was laughing so hard that I could actually see tears rolling down his cheeks. Sighing heavily, I shook my head and crossed my arms, trying to give Bob a disappointed look, but it was honestly funny to hear a werewolf yelp.

“Bob, please don’t do that,” I started as he began to compose himself. “I’d rather not have to go all the way back to the Den to find a new volunteer.” He wiped his eyes one last time and cleared his throat. “Sorry boy-o. I couldn’t help myself, it’s not often I get to sneak up on a Wolf!” He smiled big, crinkles forming at the outer corners of his eyes.

[silvensei]

2, 6, 13, 15! \(*u*)/

2- Favorite snippet of dialogue

Hmmm… off the top of my head (that’s a lie, I went looking through stuff), I thought of this one short I wrote that was only dialogue. Like, only. Nothing outside of quotation marks. Characters didn’t even have names. That was alright, bit abstract, didn’t make too much sense, but here’s a bit from that short about two criminals on the run that showcases my love of referential humor:

“Also, have you seen Ocean’s Eleven? They all walk away happy at the end. This was more like Reservoir Dogs; you can be Steve Buscemi, and I’ll be Harvey Keitel.”

“H-Harvey Keitel dies at the end!”

“Yes, he does. That makes it an excellent analogy, what with the hiding and the bleeding….”

“Oh god, oh god….”

“Yeah…. But Keitel doesn’t bleed out; he’s shot by the police.”

“I’m gonna throw up.”

6- Detail you wait for readers to notice

…again, I’ve been at this for a while, got a lotta different stories piled up. When I write, there’s very little planning; I just write as it goes? Some major plot points I (hopefully) have down, but the rest is rather spur of the moment, so in fact there’s a lot of little things that are subconsciously added, and I don’t realize how significant/funny they are until later.

Maybe the most relevant one at the moment is from Animosity Among Men. I was just writing Animosity as I do, but then I backtracked and realized: If I italicize the word ‘god’ every now and then, it makes it subtly punny. Like when Ani first is around and announces, “I feel…. Period! I feel! Thank God for that!” Geddit? Boom. Bonus amusement points. At least for me.

13- Favorite character to write for

The real smart alecks that just talk. They just go on and on, and whether it’s a much-too-in-depth explanation of something or just rambling complete bullshit, I love just writing on and on and seeing what the heck happens. Reigen can absolutely be like that, when he just goes on and on and on, and Ani as well. Absolute favorite miiiiight have to be Handsome Jack, though. Such a fun guy to write.

15- Snippet of WIP

Um. Hm. I did mention Jack. How ‘bout some TftB? Been thinking about replaying Tales again anyway.

Recap of Tales from the Borderlands: Cyborg man unknowingly installs morally-questionable psychopath in his head:

“Look, I’m sorry, bro! That deal Vasquez offered me, I swear I wasn’t going to go through with it! It was just to get him off our backs; I would never betray you, bro!”

Without looking down at the drop below them, his friend adjusted his grip on Loaderbot. “Hey bro, don’t worry,” Rhys assured. “I trust you. It’s all water under the bridge.”

Vaughn beamed. “You mean it, bro?”

“Completely over it, bro.”

“Bro, thanks!”

“No problem at all, bro!”

“What's with all this ‘bro’ shit? This is just getting stupid.”

Rhys jumped, his shout of surprise quickly getting cut off by the sense of falling to his death. He scrambled to regain his balance and grip before glaring to his side. Jack smirked back at him from his spot in between the other two passengers, lying with his hands behind his head.

“Whoa, bro, are you okay?” Vaughn asked, startled and looking around for the source of disturbance.

With an exaggerated groan, Jack snapped, “I swear, if you answer with ‘bro,’ I’m throwing myself off this ship.”

The company man sighed. “It’s fine, Vaughn.”

His friend was confused for only a moment before his eyes widened. “It’s Jack, isn’t it.”

“When isn’t it Jack?”

“Well, what does he want?” he asked quickly with thinly veiled fear.

“I don’t know.” Rhys crossed his arms before turning his attention again to the hologram. “What do you want?”

Jack waved a hand in the air. “Oh, the usual: money, power, women, good looks— Oh, wait, objective already completed.”

“Ha ha. And right now?”

“Hey, maybe right now I want to just relax out here with my current two favorite employees, feeling the breeze and cloud gazing.”

“…Really?” That threw Rhys for a loop. Then again, it’s true he didn’t know what it felt like to be holographic data in the back of someone’s head; maybe it got cramped in there. “Okay then. That’s, uh…surprisingly harmless.”

Jack laughed and sat up. “Ah ha, ah, no, that was a lie. I wanted to ask you somethin’, cupcake, but you’ve gotta hear me out.”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. He glanced at Vaughn, who mirrored his expression and gave him a shrug, before saying, “Uh, okay? You’re not off to the best start, but I guess there’s nothing better to do here.”

“That’s the spirit! Open mind!” He clapped his hands together. “So remember that time your power-crazy boss tried to murder you and your best friend in a remote desert on a hostile alien planet? And you were saved by some, ah, quick thinking and splendid technical upgrades, free of charge? Hmm?”

“What, you think I owe you for pulling your own weight in keeping us alive?” Rhys scoffed.

Jack's hands flew up. “No one’s saying that; I’m just recapping.”

“It was like fifteen minutes—”

“Anyway, somethin’ happened, and I was able to do a thing, and then you knocked me out and I lost it, but I kinda wanted to see if we could do it again.”

He blinked, giving him a skeptical look. “You mean the arm thing? Nuh-uh pal, you'd better have a damn good argument to get me to willingly agree to letting you control me.”

“Okay, kiddo, I get it: Having your arm move on its own freaked you out a bit. Believe me, it was a surprise for us both. However, I didn’t know how I did it before, so how am I going to know how not to do it in the future? Eh?”

“I don’t think that’s how that normally—”

“It’s like,” Jack interrupted again, “like having the kids drink at home so they know what to do if they’re piss drunk at a frat party. What if that happens again and I accidentally move your arm and you miss your target and bam! You’re dead. Hm? Then we’re both dead, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself for getting us both killed.