#ill just exist on another plane from other people entirely for months

[vampiromano]

i reckon this process started sometime in late February but my Nothingness is only now Gone and I feel like a Person that Exists again and oy my god finally finally finally

[murasaki-murasame]

Thoughts on Higurashi Gou Ep22

All of this ‘the culprit’s motives are super shallow and they’re just unhealthily obsessive’ discourse is giving me war flashbacks to . . . . basically every other part of the entire When They Cry franchise, lol.

Thoughts under the cut. [Plus spoilers for Umineko]

I feel like at the end of the day we’re all just gonna have to agree to disagree about how we feel about how Ryukishi is handling Satoko as the culprit here, since I don’t really think any amount of social media posts detailing our interpretations of her character are gonna change anyone’s minds, lol. But I’m still gonna give my thoughts on her anyway because it’s fun, even if I’m basically just preaching to the choir.

To be honest, this feels pretty much in line with how Ryukishi already wrote characters like Takano and Beatrice, in terms of them having unhealthy obsessions that lead them to mass-murder. The amount of violence Satoko has caused is arguably worse than either of them, but they’re all pretty awful if you think about the reality of what they all did as villains.

Sorta like with how a lot of the old-school Umineko discourse went, I think people are too focused on the whole idea of Satoko hating studying, and ignoring everything else about her character and her circumstances. Although even then I feel like people are being kinda unfair toward Satoko about how strongly she feels about academics, but maybe I’m just biased because of my own history with schooling and the intense levels of anxiety and self-hatred that can go along with it.

Plus the fact that Satoko already has a long history of sever abandonment issues, and has basically always had HS that amplified her feelings of paranoia and persecution. It’s pretty obvious at this point that she never really got ‘cured’ in the first place, though it’s less important to think about HS as an in-universe fictional disease with it’s own rules, and more important to just think about it as a representation of real-life mental illnesses which aren’t bound by the rules of made-up brain-worm parasites and aliens or whatever.

Also, the Satoko that started all this looping in the first place was one who never dealt with Teppei returning to the village, and thus never went through her whole character arc related to that. The series is kinda ambiguous about how it handles the idea of people’s character development carrying over between loops, but it explains a lot about Satoko’s attitude here if you go with the idea that she never really had to overcome any of her trauma or coping mechanisms in the “good ending timeline”, and this is the consequence of that taken to it’s logical extreme. The idea of her view of the world being skewed by the fact that she only remembers the “good ending timeline” is also kinda lamp-shaded by the part where she hears about Rika’s looping and is like “oh yeah, that’s the month where we had that cool action movie stand-off with the Mountain Dogs :)”. By the time she really got to understand exactly what was going on beyond the specific timeline she had experienced, she was already way over the edge.

I get why people don’t like the idea of Gou ‘tainting’ the VN’s happy ending, but I honestly like the idea that it’s examining the consequences of how Matsuribayashi was such an overly-specific timeline where basically nothing bad happened and everyone just banded together to beat Takano. It kinda glossed over a lot of the personal problems that the main cast had in the rest of the series, and this really goes to show the effects of some of that stuff not getting properly addressed. It also reminds me that Minagoroshi is a timeline that even in the VN, Rika completely lost her memories of, so I can see how even post-Matsuribayashi she might have never let Satoko know about the details of that one timeline where she overcome her abuse.

I also feel like it only really got to this point because of Featherine’s meddling. In the original Matsuribayashi timeline, Satoko just started drifting away from Rika and ended up wandering into the Saiguden and meeting Featherine before anything actually serious happened in that timeline. I think that if she had just been left to her own devices and that timeline had just kept going, Satoko probably would have either found a way to reconnect with Rika, or they would have just slowly drifted apart for good. But then Satoko got given the power to time travel, and only started going off the deep end after going through another five years of identical suffering.

And on that whole note, it reminds me of how in Umineko, Lambda had a whole conversation about the idea of an abused person becoming an abuser themself if they’re given the power to lash out. Which is basically what’s happening here. Satoko is being given the tools to completely detach herself from reality and try as many times as she likes to get what she wants.

Which also reminds me that this episode in particular REALLY lays the Umineko parallels on thick, lol. Particularly the whole ‘Satoko is turning into Lambda’ thing, which feels just about 100% confirmed now. They straight up have Featherine bring up the exact same ‘monkeys using a typewriter’ analogy to explain Rika’s situation that Lambda uses in Umineko to explain Bern’s situation.

I know a lot of people don’t like the increasingly blatant Umineko tie-ins, and that a lot of people still think it might just be misdirection, but considering how much stuff in Gou has been surprisingly straightforward and predictable, I think it’s pretty much exactly what it seems to be.

Though to be more specific, this is probably more about the start of Lambda and Bern’s relationship, and their appearances in Umineko, rather than the very first origins of them as individuals, if that makes sense. Obviously the concept of Bernkastel as an identity has been around since Higurashi itself, and we’ve known for a long time that Lambda was the one who originally gave Takano her blessing of certainty, but we’ve never known the full details of how those two started their relationship, and Featherine’s whole series of name-drops in the last episode makes it seem like Lambda as a meta individual more or less already exists, with Satoko being an iteration of her. So I think they both technically already exist, but this is how the two of them come into contact and start their whole unhealthily obsessive relationship.

I guess it’s still possible that, even if she’s already existed for a long time as a meta individual, she hasn’t actually come up with the name ‘Lambdadelta’ for herself yet, and this might be where she does so. Even with the list of names Featherine referenced, she didn’t technically bring up Lambda’s name directly. So in that sense this might be ‘Lambda’s’ origin story, even if she already exists.

Considering how basically the entire story at this point seems to be acting in service of setting up the whole LambdaBern relationship dynamic no matter what, I’m becoming increasingly convinced that this will end with Satoko and Rika fully embracing their codependency and mutually ascending to the meta plane so they can stay together once and for all. There might still be human versions of them that stay behind in the real world and continue living normal lives, though.

At the very least, it feels like that’s the logical outcome of the whole Chekov’s Sword Fragment plot device that’s been hanging in the background for ages now. I think it’ll just be the in-universe explanation they use to show the mechanics of how exactly that process works. It’ll probably be used to ‘sever’ Satoko and Rika’s meta consciousnesses from their physical bodies and allow them to basically become witches.

Mainly I just can’t really see this having a ‘happy ending’ at this point, aside from the whole idea that maybe the severing process leaves behind ‘normal’ versions of the two of them who stay in Hinamizawa and go back to their normal lives. I dunno if that’d make people happy, but it’d at least be a way for Ryukishi to have his cake and eat it too, lol.

I just don’t think that there’s any real chance of this ending with them just talking to each other and agreeing to put an end to all this, though. For one thing that’d just feel kinda anticlimactic and honestly make Gou’s story feel even MORE pointless, if it just ends with literally the exact same ending as the VN with nothing really being changed. But I also feel like Featherine wouldn’t be willing to just let Satoko ‘give up’ without having one of them definitively win their current game. In general I just feel like Ryukishi should just commit to the story he’s setting up at this point, instead of just backing out at the last minute and circling everything back to the same ending we already had like nothing in Gou ever happened. If we’re gonna have this whole new story to begin with, it should at least have some lasting consequences.

Anyway, I think in the next episode we’re finally going to loop back to the Damashi arcs and see how they played out. At this point I don’t care too much about getting answers to the ground-level mysteries of those arcs, and I doubt the story will spend much time on that, but I’m curious to see how it progresses Satoko’s whole development through these loops, since I think she goes through some changes with her motives and methods over the course of them.

Specifically I think that the actual experience of being physically present in her own set of loops and causing so much pain and suffering started to get to her, and she might have almost given up in her own way during Tataridamashi and wanted to just stay in that arc, but things went south anyway. Maybe, if that’s what happened, Featherine basically let her know that she won’t let her give up, and will force her to keep looping until one of them ‘wins’ no matter what. Either way, I think that arc was a turning point for her. Like how she asked Featherine to arrange things so that Satoko can make sure that she and Rika’s loops are synced up, she probably asked Featherine after that arc to change the rules again so that Rika will start remembering the details of her deaths. At this point it’s pretty obvious that the Hanyuu fragment Rika was talking to earlier in Gou was more or less just Featherine putting on an act and manipulating her, so the scene of Hanyuu giving her the power to remember her deaths was probably just Featherine telling her about the rule change.

And going by how the Nekodamashi arc went immediately afterward, I think that rule change was related to Satoko becoming increasingly desperate to put an end to the loops as soon as possible. And considering how she was willing to spend so much time reviewing Rika’s hundred years of looping just to prepare for this, it’d make sense to me if she becomes desperate because she basically gives up, but realizes that she isn’t actually allowed to give up, so she has to try and make Rika give in as fast as possible. Either way it’s pretty obvious that Satoko’s methods start becoming more violent in that arc, and she basically tries to brute-force Rika into submission, leading up to the loop where she just spawn-camps her and straight up starts screaming at her to just stay in the village while tearing out her guts. It’s still possible that her attitude in that loop was just one big act, but I think that was the result of her being genuinely desperate to just have Rika give up once and for all, and her starting to crack under the pressure of doing all of these things with her own hands across so many loops. 

So now we’ll just have to see how the confrontation between them at the end of Nekodamashi plays out once we get back to it. In the long run I just think it’ll lead to the ending I talked about before, with them using the sword on each other. The exact nuances of how that sorta ending might play out are up in the air, though.

Either way, I think there’s probably enough time to wrap up all that in two more episodes, but there’s still reason to believe that there might be some kind of sequel in the works. I don’t really want to bet on it, though, so I’m just gonna assume that there’s two episodes left and base my theories on that. In which case I think the next episode will go over the Damashi arcs and end with Rika and Satoko’s confrontation at the end of Nekodamashi, and then the final episode will wrap everything up. Considering that they both more or less know exactly what’s going on with each other by that point, there isn’t really that much that needs to be wrapped up. I think that will be the final loop we get, so it’ll all just come down to how their confrontation plays out, and what decision they come to about how to handle each other.

I honestly don’t really know how I think a full sequel would go, if it’s at least one cour long. Assuming that it’s not just a new Umineko anime that more or less continues Rika and Satoko’s arc via Lambda and Bern, but is a straight up ‘Higurashi Gou Season 2′. It just feels like there isn’t really that much that needs to be done to wrap things up, now that everything’s being laid out in the open, and Rika and Satoko are both aware of each other’s looping. They might switch it up so that they both end up teaming up to take down Featherine, but I kinda doubt that’ll happen.

I’m still hoping this is leading into some kind of new Umineko anime though, lol. That feels like it’d be the main reason for putting so much effort into this whole elaborate LambdaBern origin story we’re getting here.

I’ve heard rumors that there’s been listings for a 25th episode of Gou, so it’s possible that rather than another full season, there’s just one extra episode at the end. I’m not exactly sure what the point of doing one extra unannounced episode at the end would be, though. It might end up being a bridge between Gou and a new Umineko anime.

At the very least, if it’s just ‘Satokowashi Part 8′, it makes me wonder why they haven’t announced it yet, and why they didn’t just split that arc into two BD volumes with four episodes each, instead of having it be one big volume with seven episodes, and one random episode at the end for some reason. But if it’s more of an epilogue or a bridge of sorts between Gou and something else, with Gou’s story concluding with episode 24, then I guess it’d make some sense to do it that way.

We also know there’s gonna be a panel for Gou at a convention around when ep24 comes out, so if anything gets announced it’ll probably happen there.

Anyway, this whole episode can be summed up as “Satoko does a gay little psychological torture that pisses Rika off”, in the most morbidly entertaining way possible, lmao.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

After the Bombs Fall [Animorphs ficlet]

[Note: I seem to have lost the ask where someone requested my post-war headcanon for Alloran, but anyway here it is.]

--

Less than a month after the end of the war, Alloran applies for transfer off of Earth and back to the homeworld.  When the first request gets cancelled due to a minor typo in a sub-section of a supplemental form, he curses himself and immediately applies again.

The second application lingers in the metaphorical z-space between agents for longer, nearly two Earth months, before it gets cancelled as well.  The systems are overtaxed due to the sudden influx of Earth tourism, the form letter tells him this time, and they’re very sorry for their inability to accommodate his request.

The third time he applies, the form remains “under review” on the submission portal for half a year, even though the review process normally takes less than a day.  So he applies a fourth time, a terrible suspicion taking hold by now.  The Electorate automatically cancels both applications, and has the gall to send him a snippy comm message asking that he refrain from filing redundant claims from now on.

The fifth application gets reviewed and cancelled; the sixth one doesn’t even get that courtesy.  It just stays there, “submitted” but not yet “under review,” unwanted and ignored.

Just like its author.

Alloran considers, then.  For nearly a day he paces, watching the andalite computer and the primitive human device alike, and weighs the merits of stealing Visser Three’s Blade ship out of the impound lot.  It wouldn’t be hard; the security system is coded to biometrics.  No one but he or Tom Berenson could fly that ship now, and Tom Berenson is dead.

After another day, Alloran instead morphs human and walks to the nearest CVS.

He has to swallow an entire jumbo bag of marshmallows and three jars of tomato sauce for comfort before he can swallow his pride as well.  But the comfort food does its trick, and at the end he pulls out the human cell phone still registered under one of Esplin 9466′s aliases and enters the fifth speed-dial option.

“Hey, you.”  Eva answers immediately.  “How’s it going?”

They don’t know each other, not really.  And yet in every one of their three conversations, Eva has greeted him like an old friend.  Her voice brings a reaction to Alloran’s human morph: tightness in his throat, the heat of tears behind his eyes.

“I apologize for troubling you,” Alloran says stiffly.  “Please, if you are busy, disregard this request.”

Eva snorts a laugh.  At least, Alloran thinks that that’s what the sound is.  “I’m not busy, and I owe you a favor anyway.  Shoot.”

Alloran glances around the room, but there are no weapons, so he decides to disregard that last.  “I am truly sorry if it slipped my mind,” he says, “but what favor do you owe?”

“My kid is not in jail on some foreign planet right now, and I hear that’s all your fault.  What’s the favor?”

“The War Council would not have imprisoned the Animorphs.  That is, perhaps Aximili and Prince Jake may have been imprisoned, but doubtless the full Electorate court would have proven merciful—”

“Alloran.  What’s the favor.”

He’s stalling, and she knows it.  “It’s a bit of a complicated political matter, and I’m afraid I am not well equipped to explain it to a human, but enforcement of our travel policies is more subject to individual agents’ personal judgment than we ideally would have it be, and...”

“Hijo de puta.  They’re not letting you go home, are they?”

Alloran fills his human lungs with more air than they technically need for speech.  “It’s a complicated matter.”  Nevertheless, his voice comes out small.

“You still camping at the Sharing Community Center?”

“Yes.”  His voice is even smaller now.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, querido.”  She hangs up.

While he waits, he goes outside to run, to graze, to stare up at the stars.

He didn’t lie; it is complicated.  The Andalite Electorate is struggling to recover from a decades-long war, one that threatened the existence of their very soul as a people.  Seerow’s mistakes — and Alloran’s own decision to publicize the failings of his prince — have ensured that the whole debacle was a massive embarrassment even before the defeat on the hork-bajir homeworld.

And then...

He’s heard the word, whispered and hissed and screamed and shouted.

Abomination.

Abomination.

His face is the public face of the Yeerk Empire.  His voice is its voice.  The morph he was just using — a bald, middle-aged human male — was constructed from the DNA of a dozen human-controllers.  Everything he owns, from the black limousine parked at the curb to the press pass of a woman called Aria, was taken from the hands of murdered slaves.

Of course his people don’t want him back.  Of course not.  The quantum virus was one thing, but then he had the gall go to and get himself captured by the yeerks.  And he’d added insult to injury when he’d challenged a captain on Aximili’s behalf.

He can see it.  That’s what stings.  He can stare up at the glittering point of his home star even as he runs across a field of dull foreign grass, and at this rate it’ll never be anything but a fixed point of light in an unfamiliar sky ever again.

Eva shows up then, before he can feel too sorry for himself.

She brings a human substance known as pinot noir.

**********

“And then...”  Eva points a wavering finger at him.  Her words have gotten blurrier over time.  “And then, we just sneak it in, and bam!”  She slaps the tabletop.

Alloran leans in across to her.  “Bam,” he agrees.

“You needed a ride home?”

At the new voice, Alloran stands up sharply.  Too sharply.  He gets his two flimsy little legs tangled in the chair and almost pitches over.

Marco catches him.  “You all right?” he asks.

“I,” Alloran intones, “am intoxicated.  Tox.  I.  Cate.  Ed.  Wonderful word.  Intock.  Sick.  Kate.  Dd-d-d-d-d.”

“Yeeeaah, I was getting those vibes from the—”  Marco leans around him in an impressive display of human balance.  “Bottle of wine apiece you two’ve apparently emptied.”

Eva draws herself up.  “I did not call and request a ride home, I called and requested a ride to the Netherlands!”

“You’re right, you did.”  Marco rolls his eyes.  “Which is why I made the decision to show up and bring you home instead.”

“No, no, the Netherlands.”  Eva steps up next to Alloran.  They both regard Marco carefully.  “Not to worry, we’ve thought it through.  You call your friend with the private plane, Bradley or Bradford or whomever his name is.  We fly out to the Hague tonight.”

“Where is this going,” Marco mutters.

“Holland,” Alloran informs him.  “It is-sssss in...”

“Yeah, I’ve been.”

“Anyway.”  Eva gestures sharply, bringing attention back to her.  “We shall have a perfectly ordinary canister of table salt with us, and we shall request to visit with Visser Three—”

“Oh Jesus.  Mom.”

“The guards will not suspect a thing, for it is just an ordinary condiment.  All we must then do is create a diversion, and...”  Eva flings out both hands as if miming an explosion.

“Splat,” Alloran says.  “Pllll-lat.  Hissssss.”

“And this will accomplish what, exactly?” Marco asks.

“Making Alloran feel better,” Eva whispers to him.  However, she seems to be whispering a great deal louder than she realizes.  Humans are ill-equipped for private communication, with their sad reliance on verbal speech.  “None of the andalites want him back.”

“Yeah.  Cool.”  Marco laughs.  “Ten out of ten therapists recommend war crimes for a friend in need!  And as a guy who’s been to at least ten therapists, I’d know.”

Alloran is not certain, but he believes that Marco might be employing the human verbal quirk known as “sarcasm.”

“No one will suspect a thing.”  Eva pats him on the shoulder.

Marco sighs.  “Security will just think it’s cocaine.”

“Cocaine?” Alloran asks.  “Coke-cane?  Co-c-c-c-c-c-c-aine?”

“Something you’re never going to try.”  Marco levels a hard stare at him.  “Given how well you handle your red wine.”

“Cooo-caaayyy-nnnee.  Co-cane.”

“How did you get wrapped up in this dumbass heist, anyway?”  Marco looks from one of them to the other.

“Alloran needed me,” Eva says.

“I have no friends,” Alloran announces.  “And Arbron does not own a cell phone.  Ell.  Elffffff-own.”

Marco closes his main eyes for several seconds, massaging the bridge of his nose.  An impressive feat of daring, for a creature with no stalk eyes who relies upon bipedalism.  “Should’ve known you’d be a morose drunk,” he says.

“So, you’ll take us to the airfield, then?” Eva asks.

Lifting his head up, Marco opens his eyes.  “In the words of my wise and estimable mother: if you want it that bad, you can have it when you’re sober.”

Eva opens her mouth halfway, squinting in what Alloran would guess is the effort of remembering when she would have said that.  After a second, her expression clears.  “I was right to say it, that floozy would have broken your heart in the morning, and this situation is entirely different!”

“That floozy’s name was Jake Gyllenhaal,” Marco mutters, “and I totally would’ve gone for it when I was sober, but I never got his number.”

Eva says something in Spanish, presumably about the loose morals of Jake Gyllenhaal.  Marco’s expression would suggest that he only pretends not to understand her.

“Anyway.  The point stands.  I’m driving you home.”  Marco jerks his chin at Eva.  “And you,” he says, looking at Alloran, “are gonna morph and sober up before we go anywhere.  I’m not having you nothlited on my conscience.”

“But,” Alloran says, “the salt—”

“We’ll revisit the salt in the morning,” Marco says firmly.  “Demorph.  Please.”

Alloran considers pointing out that he is a war-prince, he does not take orders from alien children, he has his pride... And then considers whether any of those statements is actually true.

He demorphs.

Instantly, he feels both better and worse.  On the upside he’s more clear-headed now, but on the downside he’s more clear-headed.

“I’ll call you.”  Marco gives him a long look while shepherding Eva out the door.

**********

Marco does not call, but he does send several written missives to Alloran’s cell phone.  The Animorphs still have an illegal andalite communication device, it would appear, and Marco has put in requests to channels both official and not about the possibility of transport from Earth to the homeworld.

     —Ax is on it, Marco’s latest text reads.  —He’s calling an old friend.  Might take some smuggling, but we’ve got an idea.

     —Thank you, Alloran types carefully on the tiny keyboard.  —Your assistance is greatly appreciated, and undeserved.

He’s debating whether to hit send when there’s a knock on the door.

Alloran’s in an abandoned building the Sharing used to use for housing human-controllers.  There is very little chance that this is an incidental knock, or someone who wandered by accidentally.

The thought occurs to him that it’d be smarter to morph human and blend in before he answers.  But the fear of facing the unknown in a half-blind, tailless morph wins out.  He opens the door as is.

It proves to be the right decision.  The andalite on the other side didn’t bother to morph either.

Estrid stares at him in silence for several seconds.  Her expression is unreadable, all eyes ahead and carefully blank.  Alloran doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but he lets her look.

«Estrid,» he says at last, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak first.  He gestures with his tail blade, the downward sweep of greeting for an honored warrior.

«Father,» she says.

Her own sharp tail-turn puts the flat of her blade toward him.  A greeting between equals.  An insult.  Both not formal enough for an aristh to acknowledge a war-prince, and too formal for greeting a family member.

But then, Alloran went for Estrid, didn’t he.  Not Aristh Estrid-Corill-Darrath, not Estri-kala or my child.

They haven’t seen each other in over two years.  They haven’t spoken in almost twenty.

Arguably, given how young she was when he was taken, they’ve never really spoken at all.  Certainly Alloran knows little of the person his daughter has become as a young adult.  As a groundbreaking aristh.  As a brilliant researcher.

As a war criminal.

Humans have a saying, about apples that don’t fall far.

«How is Jahar?» Alloran says.  It’s what he really wants to know, and he doesn’t know how to approach any of the other minefields that lie between them.  «And Ajaht, how is he?»

Judging by Estrid’s expression, she takes this to be a standard small-talk opening instead of the deeply earnest inquiry it is.  «Mother is well enough.  I suppose you’ll have to apologize to her in person.»  She doesn’t mention her brother.

Alloran feels his tail blade drop nearly to the floor without his permission.  «Yes.  Of course.  Estrid...»

«I’m on a diplomatic mission to Earth,» she says briskly.  «Prince Aximili and I have concluded discussions with several local leaders about access to morphing technology and tourism restrictions going forward.  Therefore, I will be able to exit the planet and return home after being subject to nothing more rigorous than human security scans.»  The dismissive little flick of her tail at this last is, all things considered, somewhat warranted.  Humans have yet to devise a single effective way to detect morphers.

«Return home,» Alloran repeats.

Might take some smuggling, Marco said.  It’s sinking in: Estrid is here to bring him home.

Home.  To the wife he disgraced.  The brother he got killed.  The children who won’t even acknowledge him, a feverish pair of overachievers desperate to leave his legacy behind.  Ajaht’s tail-fighting is so legendary that, even using human channels, Alloran has been able to find scraps of news.  Estrid’s skill is not praised so publicly... but the yeerks got ahold of Arbat’s files, after their disastrous mission to Earth.  Alloran knows more about her, he thinks, than he ever wanted to.

«We’re leaving now,» Estrid says.  «My window for authorized exit ends in two-point-eight-six Earth hours, so we need to move.»

She must have been here for days if not weeks, to negotiate the way she’s describing.  And yet she came to find him at the last possible second.  Likely to minimize the time they’re forced to spend together.

Alloran doesn’t have the time or the energy to care.  «What would you prefer me to morph?»

«Something small and Earth-based.»  She barely finishes speaking before she starts to morph herself.

Alloran pauses in surprise, because Estrid morphs with shocking skill, melding from andalite to human in a mere forty-seven seconds, all without ever once losing her footing.  She even wears a normative amount of clothing when she’s finished, a sundress and sneakers and a coat overtop.

She sighs, looking him over.  «We don’t have all day, here.»

«You were wasted in Arbat’s lab,» Alloran says.

«You don’t have to tell me that,» Estrid snaps.  «Tell me, dear father, what else was a girl and a second-born and the child of a disgraced bloodline meant to do?»

Alloran has no answer.  Silently he morphs.

His options are limited — Visser Three overwhelmingly preferred large to small morphs, and Alloran hasn’t bothered acquiring much else — so he opts for snake, Lachesis muta according to a human-controller from the area.  It’s still larger than most Earth reptiles, but by coiling in close he becomes small enough to drop into the oversized pocket of Estrid’s jacket.

Estrid doesn’t speak to him, and he doesn’t ask her to, the entire way back to her fighter.  She’s under no obligation, and he won’t force the issue.

********

«We’re landing soon,» Estrid tells him, three Earth weeks and eighty-two light years later.  She’s maintained that icy formality throughout the entire journey so far, responding to Alloran’s questions — about her research, about her brother, about her morphing — with flat non-answers.

Alloran steps to the viewport to look out over the rolling grasslands of home like a child on his first in-atmosphere flight.  Is it home, really?  It’s been thirty-nine years since he left home to quell the small skirmish on the hork-bajir homeworld, forty-seven since his first offworld assignment serving under Prince Seerow.  He has seen a dozen planets, been a hundred species, since that time.  This body belonged to Visser Three for nearly as long as it did to Alloran himself, decades of nonexistence until he all but forgot his own name.

«What will you do next?» Alloran asks Estrid, still desperate for conversation.

She flicks a dismissive hand at the air.  «I have my work.»

«Even without Arbat?»

«I didn’t say it was easy.»

«And the quantum virus?»

She turns all four eyes on him.  A small part of him wants to scold her for bad form, but a far larger part of him recognizes he’d be overstepping.  «The quantum virus never happened,» she says sharply.  «And if it did, I was never informed of its existence.  This journey was my first visit to Earth, Arbat died in a lab accident, we were never involved in weapons development, and if you even think about saying differently the War Council will back my story, because all of the documentation —»

«Estrid.»  He cuts her off as gently as he can.  «I would never...»

He sees it, in the stiffening of her stalk eyes.  Hears it in the catch of her breath.  She doesn’t want a father.  Or if she does, she doesn’t want him.

«I would never dishonor the memory of my brother by raising questions about his death,» Alloran says instead.

Estrid relaxes, and turns back to the controls.

He is weary of war, weary of being alone.  The person he’d been when he first met Esplin 9466 would have been shouting by now, demanding to know what right Estrid has to consider herself any better than him.  He only deployed a quantum virus, had no hand in its evil creation.  Either she is a hypocrite... or she is just like the War Council officials who consider it a far worse crime to be enslaved by yeerks than to have murdered ten million hork-bajir.

It’s been a long war, and Alloran has missed her every moment of it.  Let her be angry; she’s here.

There is one more delicate question Alloran needs to ask, however, before they disembark on their family’s land.  «Jahar,» he says.  «I assume... She has found someone else.  To help raise you, and...»  Dark Sun, but this is hard.  «She deserves to be loved, of course.»

Eva’s mate remarried, after all.  Together they’d cried about that, somewhere between the third and fourth glasses of wine.

«Who would date her?» Estrid asks.  «Who would be seen speaking to her?  No.  There’s no one.  There hasn’t been.  There was me, and Ajaht, and that’s it.»

Alloran feels sadness and relief and disappointment and shame at his relief, all at once in a rush too complex to understand.  «I see,» he says at last.

«So go to her.»  Estrid yanks hard to unseal the fighter’s outer door; they’ve landed without his noticing.  «Go to her and—»  Another hard yank.  «Kriffing thing!»

Alloran puts his hand next to hers, pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull away.  As one they move, and the door comes open at last.

She came to meet them.  Alloran doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that, and yet...

Jahar is older, lined around the eyes and stooped in her shoulders and dull-edged around her hooves.  She’s radiant.  Transcendent.

Alloran is frozen.  Aware of all the knocks he’s taken, all the shine he’s lost.  Aware that they’ve been apart for longer than they ever were together.

He blames that last for the way his knees lock.  For the voice that freezes inside his mind, unable to form words.  For the crack in his breath and the painful squeeze of his hearts as she becomes the one to step forward.  As she raises a hand to his cheek, in the first gentle touch he’s felt in over twenty years.

--

[Note: I know that Aloth’s line in #38 about Estrid being Arbat’s niece — which would make her Alloran’s daughter — is probably not meant to be literal in context.  But the straightforward interpretation is boring, so I went with the fun one.]

[palmtreepalmtree]

Alright, this one is long overdue for an anonymous friend who really wanted me to review The Healer.  So after a short pause, here is another edition of

The Worst Movie on Netflix Right Now™

Heavy sigh.

Alright.  Let’s talk about this one.  

First off, I have to do some pretty serious content warnings, cause I know some people have been receiving some bad news recently and this review goes someplace you might not expect so, I love you guys, but please be aware that this review deals with: cancer, terminal illness, kids with cancer.  

Now back to the bullshit.

This is basically a movie about a fucking dumbass dude who has trouble making obvious decisions.  

SPOILERS AHEAD (are you new here?)

The main character Alec Bailey, begins the film as a total fuckwit.  He lives in England (somewhere about) and owns a failing electronic handyman business that he calls “The Healer” (in the most pathetic stretch of narrative bullshit, but okay) and is in deep gambling debts to the Russian mob. 

As our story begins, Alec discovers that he has a long lost rich uncle who makes him an offer: the uncle will pay off Alec’s debts if he agrees to live in Nova Scotia for a year.  The uncle will make all the arrangements: plane ticket, work visa, place to live, etc.  All Alec has to do is stay in Nova Scotia for a year.

OH NO!  WHATEVER SHALL I DO?!?  WHAT AM I GOING TO DO IN REMOTE NOVA SCOTIA FOR A YEAR AFTER ALL MY FINANCIAL CONCERNS ARE TAKEN CARE OF?  

HOWEVER WILL I SURVIVE IN SUCH A HORRIBLE PLACE?11?!?

I BETTER THINK IT OVER.

*eyeroll*

He finally makes his decision after getting chased by mobsters trying to collect on his debts.  ...like I said.  He’s a fuckwit.

So he moves into this beautiful house in Nova Scotia.  There’s no internet, which is a legit bummer, but his uncle has arranged a car for him to get to town.  Seems like a pretty good gig.  Even if it is going to be brutally cold come the winter months.  

Well as soon as Alec arrives in town, everyone seems to know and be expecting him.  He puts an ad out for his mechanical engineering services, again, under the name “The Healer.”  Well........... that goes awry in ways you would expect.  Suddenly, people start showing up requesting his physical healing services.

The thing is, the people from town seem to expect him to actually be a healer.  They keep referring to a secret and to him being “the chosen one.”  There’s no explanation for this.

Then there’s like... this whole weird interlude where Alec seems to kill the town priest, played by Jorge Ramirez (can someone please find this dude a good acting gig? my dude has decent comedic timing, he’s better than this shit). And Alec gets arrested.  Even though the priest got up and walked away.  All of this seems like a weird spinning of wheels before the actual plot.  Like why is this happening.  Why?  

Eventualllllllly......... his uncle shows back up and fesses up (in the most elaborate way possible).  People in his family have a gift.  Every other generation, someone is chosen.  And they have the gift of healing.  Based solely on being near to someone who is destined to be saved.

The gift can only be activated around their 30th birthday (if this sounds unnecessarily elaborate, that’s because it is -- and I’m even cutting shit out like the secret basement and portraits on the wall, blahblahblah).  The day after the birthday, the chosen one must decide.  They can choose to accept or decline the gift of healing.  Alec is given until midnight that night to make his decision.  WILL HE BE THE CHOSEN ONE?  WILL HE BE THE HEALER?!?!1?1

I mentioned that Alec is a fuckwit right?  

*Hagrid voice* YOU’RE A FUCKWIT, ALEC!

*squints*

Annnnnnyhow.  Alec goes to the town church where everyone is gathered at midnight (with thank you signs and a big round of applause) and he dashes their hopes.  HE WILL NOT BE THE HEALER, NO!  Even though it comes with no readily apparent downsides or costs.  And he’d be able to relieve the suffering of others with no cost to himself.  No, fuck it.  He’s going to go home.

The town takes it pretty well, all things considered.  The few people who had already been healed by being near him make speeches of gratitude.  They all wish him a happy birthday and tell him he’s welcome to stay.  Like these people are insanely understanding about him declining the gift of healing.  INSANE.

It’s worth noting that we’re about halfway through the movie at this point and we haven’t met one of the main characters of the movie.  

IN COMES ABIGAIL.  Cancer kid extraordinaire.  She is 14 years old.  Her parents have driven 7 hours to see Alec.  Their daughter is dying of terminal cancer, and all they want is for Alec to spend some time with her and give it a shot.  But she’s a pretty self-possessed kid.  She convinces the reluctant Alec to just hangout with her for the weekend to buck up her parents and give her parents some hope.  She doesn’t believe in the healing, so no harm, no foul.

And finally we’ve hit the meat of our story.  Will Alec be able to save Abigail now that he’s declined the gift?  Will he regret it?  WHY DID HE DECLINE THE GIFT!?1?

SPOILERS (really can’t discuss this movie without them)

It turns out, Alec had a brother who died of cancer.  And they were incredibly close.  In Alec’s words, “he was my everything.”  But now he deeply regrets giving up the gift.  Now he’s worried he can’t save Abigail.

You know what, man?  Same.

SO WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TURN DOWN THE GIFT!??!?

Listen.  Listen, listen.  I don’t know a single person who has been touched by cancer who wouldn’t jump at the chance to have a healing gift.  I mean, what the fuck.  Death sucks.  Losing someone you love from any kind of illness sucks.  Especially when it feels even remotely too soon.  And cancer is a particular type of FUCKING BULLSHIT.  It sucks.  

So it’s really fucking hard to understand why this FUCKWIT turns down the gift to begin with.  Death and suffering is not abstract for him when this movie starts!  So why we should feel sorry for his resulting anxiety, now that he has met someone who is directly negatively affected by his fucking BAD DECISION.

Anyhow, the rest of the movie is basically an exercise in how charming Abigail is and how much fun we can have with her before she goes off to die. Which like......... OH-FUCKING-KAY!

It should go without saying that this movie has a happy ending.  The music swells where it should.  The romance is consummated.  Abigail is healed.  All is going to be well with the world.

As a movie, this one has some weird fucking choices.  First, all of the music cues in this movie are just wrong.  “Faith” by George Michael is not a song about believing in something --- unless that something is having sex with someone who hurt you before.  And the lighting in this film is so beautiful all the time, it looks like you’re in a fucking ciallis commercial, even when you’re in the freaking police station, wtf?  

And last, the writing is just weird in places.  Like why have the love interest lie about being a lesbian through 90% of the film?  Why?  It’s not a good joke!  And  It is COMPLETELY fucking baffling to me why the good news of this story is delivered off-screen instead of on-screen.  If Abigail is going to be okay, why couldn’t she come back to Nova Scotia to tell him?  Why couldn’t she deliver that news in person!?  That’s just bad writing.  What the fuck is that?

But whatever.  

On the credit side, I think Oliver Jackson Cohen knows what he’s doing as an actor.  He’s not Oscar-worthy yet, but I believed him.  When he talks about his brother, I felt that.  And that could not have been easy in such a fucking weird script.

But as much as I’d like to end this review right here, there’s more.  Cause...

..........that’s not where the movie ends.  Not entirely.

As the end music plays, the movie is dedicated to Paul Newman who established summer camps for seriously ill kids.  And then we see images and videos of the kids all over the world enjoying activities at these camps.  

And that’s where this critique stops.  Sorta.  Paul Newman was a legitimately good person.  And his legacy of caring for sick kids carries on to this day, as was evident from all the footage.

But here’s the thing: healing as it’s depicted in this movie does not exist.  But easing the suffering of others does.  I wish this movie had been about that.  I wish it had been less focused on miracles and weird family legacies and selfish fuckwits and more about the kind of healing that Paul practiced.  But I guess that movie isn’t as fun, and it isn’t as hopeful and uplifting.

In the non-movie version of this story, Abigail Bryant died in 2014 at the age of 20.  Her obituary still appears online.  And it is still receiving comments and photos from cancer survivors and fighters, many of them who found her through the film.  And they talk about how the movie touched them.

On that level, it doesn’t matter what I say here.  It doesn’t matter that there are weird parts of this script or that healing like this is a fantasy.  This movie does its job.  It touches people.  And if it inspires just a few more people to give money to help relieve suffering, then that’s all that matters.

Ronald McDonald House Charities Cancer Research Institute Hole in the Wall Gang (Paul Newman’s org) Serious Fun Children’s Network (established by Paul Newman)

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Footie 7

previously on Footie

By the time the the skies cleared, the world warmed and shook off the rust that accumulated during the long, wet winter. Gone were the obscenely heavy and low clouds, and in their place, puffy white things lazily drifted along while the chill in the air lessened with new sunlight streaming through fresh leaf growth on winter-blown branches. 

The streets were fresh, the people alive and streaming out into them with new vigor to chase the first hints of warmth and yellow sunshine on their cheeks and faces, an entire city with their eyes tilted upwards, sighing happily and distracted from real life with moments of humanity peppered back from the dismal sorrow of the autumn months. 

It was a beautiful spring. It was going to be one for the books, with flowers filling sidewalks and spilling out from cracks in sidewalk. 

There wasn’t a set schedule, or at least one that kept for very long. But there was a rhythm to the day, even without a harmony. It was impossible to keep up with everything, but Clarke realized she was just going to have to live her life a week at a time. 

Lexa had her own routine, made even more difficult by travel. While Clarke found herself making her way to Lexa’s place between games and training and her own school assignments and workdays. 

But it worked. The timing of it all, of the season and the year and the life-- it all just seemed to completely work. And for reasons not completely explored, Clarke realized she appreciated the timing of it all because it meant that Lexa wasn’t around and she could take it slow, something her mind just didn’t think about near her. 

“She looks good out there today,” Jake nodded as he reclined, coming over a cold that left him mildly irritated by almost anything. 

If anyone was not built to grow old, it was Jacob Griffin, head coach and Hall-of-Famer. Surly and annoyed by the inconvenience of illness, he grunted and watched the game with the same vigor as someone who was still coaching. 

“She always looks good,” Clarke smiled slightly as she continued to balance her gradebook for the semester so far. 

“I mean she’s really putting work in. The team’s at the top of the board and I think they have a good enough chance of staying there to win.”

“Lexa’s so precise and focused. It’s oddly contagious.” 

“I have some good news for the Olympics.” 

“What’s that? You’re going to get the permission to come?” 

“Better. That’s the way!” he cheered as Lexa took a shot from deep, burying it deep in the net for the first goal of the scoreless half. “Hell of a shot.” 

“It’s me. I’m lucky in this jersey.” 

“That must be it.” Clarke watched her father chuckle at the notion before shaking his head and leaning forward to watch the replay a little better. Gone was the deep wheat-color of his hair and now it was replaced with a little more salt. He was still fit, perhaps more gaunt than before because of the treatment. Deep beneath it all, a bit of life still existed despite all else. 

“So what else was it? You’re coming to Tokyo?” 

“I was invited to commentate.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, seriously,” he rolled his eyes, his good mood coming around despite how he felt. “Some people still like to listen to me.” 

“I can’t relate.” 

“I can’t believe they’re going to let me commentate. I have to practice being impartial. How am I going to root for Lexa and the home team but not actually root for anyone?” 

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke scoffed. “Any chance for you to talk about soccer nonstop, and you won’t be able to shut up let alone root for anyone.”

“That’s true,” he nodded. 

“Are you going to be good to go?” 

“I think so. Other than this cold, I’ve been doing well. Plus, after the clips of me and Lexa went viral-- is that the word?” he waited until his daugher nodded. “Once that happened, I got a lot of emails with different offers.” 

“Mom’s okay with it?” 

“She encouraged it.” 

“Must be sick of you just laying around the house.” 

“Or she really wants to go to Japan.” 

Clarke found herself smiling, happy that her father sounded happy despite his annoyances. She was grateful to have a new appreciation for his love of the sport. They sat on the couch together, and Clarke leaned against her father’s side. He put an arm around her and started to couch coach well into the second half. 

In a completely different city, Lexa sprinted across the field, her footwork weaving the ball through three defenders before she got the shot off to the top right corner. With a punch to the air, she slid on the grass and was adored by teammates and cheered by the stadium. 

There was something poetic about watching someone do something that brought joy to the universe. Lexa was often the first person to diminish what she did, but she couldn’t see this part, the part that Clarke saw when she watched her father disect a play, or when the player on the field disappeared and floated, not one ounce of focus to be spared for anything else other than breathing and scoring, and even then the brainpower reserved for breathing was minimal. An entire brain worked to score, to move, to be precise and exact. 

Clarke smiled as she watched, proud of her girlfriend, proud of the girl who bashfully asked her out and now, who she was finding was awfully silly and very smart and quiet. If she wasn’t mistaken, sh might have even guessed that she loved the soccer player. 

“I’m going to meet Lexa’s sister,” Clarke muttered. “And her niece.” 

“When are they coming?” 

“Next week, for finals.” 

“Well, you’ve been dating for nearly a year now. Might as well as get it over with, right?” 

“I’ve never met anyone’s family.” 

“It’s not that bad. You’re a good person. Anyone would be lucky to have you date their sister or daughter or aunt or granddaughter or neighbor.” 

“You have to say that.” 

“I do,” he agreed, squeezing her shoulder. “But I also mean it.”

“I like her a lot.” 

“I figured.” 

“I don’t know if we’ve self-determined things, but I thought it was a joke, when we said it was fate, but I don’t know. Sometimes I think it is.” 

“Everything is a bit of fate, Clarke. At least the big things in life,” Jake explained, as if it was something he remembered he should have taught his daughter long ago. “Good or bad or indifferent. You and Lexa orbited each other, and then BAM, you can barely remember life without her.” 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

“It’s not a bad thing, to spend your life with someone else.” 

“You just really want me to date her because she’s a soccer goddess.” 

“It doesn’t hurt.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes and clapped as Lexa got a foul, righting herself quickly and preparing to take her kick, all business, hair stuck to her forehead and neck, body drenched with sweat. It wasn’t even a game she had to win, but still demanded to play. 

“They’re going to love you, darling,” the coach promised again after the shot went wide by a few inches and the camera flashed back to Lexa’s tight jaw and groan of complaint for failing to score again. 

“Thanks.” 

“Now tell me I’m going to do a good job as an announcer.” 

“You can’t ask for reassurance like that. You’re Jake fucking Griffin.” 

“You’re right.” 

“But you’re going to do great. I already know it. I can’t wait to watch you and Lexa.” 

“I have to start preparing, watching older footage, scouting players-- there’s a whole slew of things to make sure I know the most.” 

“I’m not going to help you study. I get my fill of soccer with that one,” Clarke decided as she nudged her chin at the screen. 

“Speaking of, is she going to offer me tickets to the championship or do I have to outright ask?” 

“Dad, seriously?” 

Jake just shrugged and took a sip of his secret beer, grinning to himself. In moments like this he found himself almost tolerant of cancer. Almost. Because he wasn’t sure he’d ever spent so much time with his daughter, and here they were, watching a game and talking about things of substance, of fears and frustrations and goals and victories. It was moments like that, in which he could almost respect fate. Almost. 

XXXXXXXXXXXX

“I’m so happy you’re here. It’s not even funny,” Lexa grinned, silly and happy in the beautiful day. 

There was a kid on her shoulders, hands beneath her chin, surveying the world from the perch. Her sister walked beside her, enjoying the spring sunshine and the feeling of her sister showing her around a city she’d never been to before. 

“Not because you just won the championship three days ago or because you’re set to fly back with us for training camp?” 

“Or because of the ice cream?” Mia added helpfully. 

“Maybe a little the ice cream,” she nodded and took another lick of her cone. 

It’d been a whirlwind of two weeks, and for the first time, Lexa felt as if she could finally breathe. Gone were the nerves of playing on such a large stage. Gone was the unsettled feeling that came from traveling so much. Gone was the weight of an entire city on her shoulders and it allowed her to inhale and hold it before slowly exhaling, savoring the warmth of the day and the aura of the street. 

“She’s absolutely in love with this place,” Anya observed as she watched her daughter taking in all of the sights. 

“You’ll have to come visit me more, how does that sound, Mia-Girl?” 

“I’m not allowed to fly on a plane alone.” 

“I guess your mom can come too.” 

“Are we going to watch more soccer?” 

The sun began to set behind the buildings, while a few people recognized the athlete, interrupting to ask her questions an utterly gush. It was something her sister and niece got used to being around. 

“No more soccer. You didn’t like my game? There was all the confetti and balloons.” 

“But it is so long. It takes so many minutes to play, and I get very tired and bored when you don’t have the ball or score points.” 

“You make a good point.” 

“I like it better when we go to see the castle and that fun science museum and stuff.” 

“I liked that stuff too.” 

“We miss you at home,” Anya explained as they made their way to her sister’s place, oddly proud of the beautiful place she found for herself, and more relieved with the circle of friends she made. 

“I miss you sometimes.” 

“Just sometimes?” 

“Yeah,” Lexa grunted as she pulled the kid from her shoulders as they made their way to the elevator. “But forget that. You guys can help me pack.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

Even from the hallway, Clarke could hear the noises of a family laughing from behind Lexa’s door. It was a sound she almost got used to experiencing over the past two weeks, with Lexa’s sister and niece in town. It was a much more welcomed sound that the roar of the crowd at the championship, or the people calling her name in the street when she was out with her girlfriend ever since. It was certainly better than the multiple phone calls she got from her mother fretting about her father’s deal to commentate in Tokyo. 

Naturally, Clarke was worried about her father, but seeing him come back to what he loved, even just at the game the one time, was more than enough to prove to her that he needed it more than anything else. 

Even after spending a whole game and a few trips around town together, Clarke was still slightly nervous about spending time with Lexa’s sister, as if every time she did, she waited for the inevitable call from Lexa that said she’d considered it and it wasn't going to work. Anya was stoic and tough to read. It was almost comical for Clarke to think of how Lexa seemed practically animated beside her poker-faced sibling. 

But the call never came, and Clarke had to remind herself to not be so ridiculous. It was absolutely silly to think Anya had any reason not to like her. 

And so she knocked. 

“Hey,” Lexa greeted, easy and happy and with a dish towel on her shoulder as she dried her hands. 

The thoughts were gone and Clarke remembered the girl who walked around town in the middle of the night just to talk to her and prolong a date. 

“It smells really good.” 

Clarke leaned forward and kissed her girlfriend at the door. She pushed her hand against her chest, laying it flat there while she tasted her for a moment, the wine still tart on her tongue, soft and sweet before going further into the house.

“You smell really good,” Lexa retorted with a floppy smile. “How was your day?” 

“Long, but okay. The sun is out so the kids are itching to burn off the winter energy.” 

“I can barely keep up with one, let alone a whole herd like you do every day. I don’t know how you do it, Griffin.” 

“Well, when a mediocre salary and lackluster benefits package rolls up to your door with the promise of weekends off and a pack of thirty primary-aged kids, any sane person would jump at that kind of career opportunity.” 

“When you put it like that…” 

“It was a good day, just long,” Clarke chuckled. “What’d you guys get into?” 

“Mia made me take her to the park, and we watched a puppet show, and played on the late.” 

“Don’t forget the ice cream and the shopping,” Anya supplied, sitting at the counter with her glass of wine as Clarke followed the soccer star into the kitchen. “Lexa hates shopping, unless it’s for toys to spoil a kid with.” 

Slightly guilty, she just shrugged and picked up her spoon to stir something on the stove. 

“We may have done a little shopping,” she agreed. “Nothing too crazy.” 

“We’ll see when the packages start to arrive at home.” 

They bickered in a way that Clarke didn’t understand-- sisters. It was a concept she understood inherently, but in practice was beginning to see how inept she’d been at truly learning the full notion of having someone like that. She had close friends, friends she’d give a kidney to, friends she’d die for, friends she couldn’t live without, but there was a bit of a shared history between the sisters, a legend and lore, that transcended some of what Clarke considered to be her dearest confidants. 

“Grab a glass, join us. Anya picked out a nice red on her own excursion today.” 

“A girl after my own heart,” Clarke nodded approvingly as she reached for a glass to pour a much deserved drink. “If those two were left unsupervised, what did you get up to today?” 

“Just a little bookkeeping,” Anya murmured over her glass as she flipped through a stack of papers. “My sister is hopeless at any of this stuff and refuses to listen to anything her agent suggests unless I read it first, like I have some kind of law degree or something--”

“You could and should,” Lexa interrupted. “She has better instincts than I do. I love Indra, but at the end of the day I’m a collection of numbers and commas and dollar signs. I trust Anya to give me her hoenst opinion.” 

“Because you don’t pay me.” 

“Exactly. If I paid you, then the integrity of the process would be ruined.”

“Can’t have that,” the oldest sighed and flipped and drank.  

“She acts like she gets annoyed, but the moment I make a decision without asking her, and all hell breaks--”

“Don’t you start! You signed a deal to move across the entire world. That warranted a bit of a freak out--”

“That was one time and it turned out okay. It truly is a great opportunity, and you even admitted it--”

“You got lucky and I still don’t like it. Someone breaks your heart and you key their car, not impulse trade yourself--”

“It wasn’t impulse. You knew it was an option for months.” 

Like a ref at a tennis match, Clarke looked at each of them lobbing facts and histories at the other. None was bitter, and in fact most seemed almost comical to them as they argue the finer points of indignation. Clarke took a large gulp of her wine. 

“As I was saying,” Anya ignored the rebuttal and explained it to Clarke as her little sister went back to the stove. “We have a system in place for a reason.”

“If you could not trade yourself to another continent, I would appreciate it,” Clarke muttered, earning a grin. 

“I don’t know, this offer to come back home doesn’t look so bad.” 

“I just won a damn championship and unpacked the last box. I think I’m set,” Lexa shook her head and held a spoonful for her girlfriend to taste. “Plus, what do I need money for? My sister works for free.” 

“I’m going to bill Indra my hours as a freelancer.”

The squabbling remained at the same level, but Clarke began to hear the love woven throughout, and as much as Lexa couldn’t admit it, sparring with her sister was her love language, and Clarke was almost certain it was the same for Anya. The only question now, was how did she survive it.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’ll clean up in the morning,” Lexa offered as her sister began to pile plates in the kitchen.

“Oh, I know you will,” her sister grinned, her cheeks slightly tinted with the drink they’d gone through during dinner. “It was nice to see you again, Clarke.” 

“Good to see you, too.” 

“I’m going to check on the ki and head to bed. Tomorrow we’re going to the art museum and I need to start to taking naps to keep up with a first grader.” 

“And I’m taking them to that diner we like by the station.” 

“Get the potatoes. You’ll love them.” 

“I’m going to gain seventy pounds visiting this damn country,” the oldest complained as she made her way down the hall with a wave over her shoulder. 

The dining room seemed a little more empty all of a sudden, slightly quieter now that the third of the dinner party was gone in search of sleep. Lexa smiled and sipped her wine before looking at her girlfriend, the first time they’d been alone in what felt like months. 

The eyes never changed, Clarke realized, as she adjusted slightly in her chair, pulling a leg up and balancing her cheek on her knee. Quietly, they looked at each other. Neither speaking with words. 

“You look beautiful,” Lexa offered, cocking her head slightly as she played with her glass. 

“You look like a champion.” Clarke earned a chuckle and slight blush. “Your sister was so proud. And Mia was screaming. I wish I had it on video. They’re very proud of you.” 

“Anya loves you, by the way.” 

“I don’t know about that.” 

“She does. She was worried about me falling for you. I think she might be ready to beat you up if you break my heart, but she likes you.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

Lexa nodded, dreamy and mildly intoxicated from the food and the wine and her beautiful girlfriend and her wonderful family and the fact that she had a championship ring on the way and the fact that she was going to represent her country. 

“I should head home,” Clarke sighed after looking at her phone and sliding it on the table. 

With monumental effort she pushed herself up and stood while Lexa refused to move except to take another sip. She made it a few steps before a hand grabbed her wrist. 

“You should stay.” 

“Your family is here.” 

“I miss you.” 

Puppy dog eyes followed and Clarke allowed herself to be pulled down into a lap. She missed her girlfriend’s smell, she realized. She missed how she felt and looked at her, and as much as they’d seen each other, it felt almost new again, a comfortable kind of same that was just renewed. 

“You’re a busy lady.” 

“You’re my favorite way to spend time,” Lexa promised. “You’re just so… so… I like you.” 

“They leave in a few days, and then you’ll be gone.” 

“I’ll see you in Tokyo,” she promised. 

“I know.” 

It was a little bit of a lie. Clarke was aware of the schedule after getting her hopes up to see her dad when he was in tournaments as a kid. But she knew Lexa would be busy for most of it, and it wasn’t about her. It was about support, as much as it killed her to not scream for more. She’d never dated an actually talented soccer player before, but she knew the role. 

“Stay tonight,” Lexa whispered again, kissing her shoulder. 

“You have plans tomorrow morning.”

“Come with us. I need you tonight.” 

“You’re just tipsy and needy right now.” 

“Yeah,” she shrugged, her lips half pulling up in a mischievous grin. “I need you tonight.” 

Clarke moved her hands, rubbing them up her girlfriends chest, over her shoulders and to her neck. She ran her thumbs along the corner of the soccer players jaw, staring at her lips before meeting her eyes, debating what to do. There really wasn’t much to think about because they both knew what she was going to do. 

“I need you to take a week off so we can celebrate all of your accomplishments.” 

“There’s never enough time. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I’d like--”

“I knew what I was getting into, somewhat.” 

“Once you realized who I was.” 

“Yeah, after that.” 

Clarke sighed and leaned forward, tenderly kissing her girlfriend, savoring the feeling of the quiet and the night and the world when they were allowed to exist together. She hadn’t thought about anything else on the planet except for them, together.

“You going to make it worth my while if I stay tonight?” 

There wasn’t much of a word uttered, but Clarke got her answer.

NEXT

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Don’t Do Sadness || Morgan & Deirdre (feat. Ruth Beck)

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Houston, Texas

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan flies back to Houston to pick up Agnes’ bones. But there’s other family who need her attention first. 

CONTAINS: Mentions and discussions of past abuse

By the time the Houston trip finally rolled around, Morgan booked and planned their stay around her old hangouts in an autopilot haze rather than any eager sentiment. Thanks to modern technology, they largely avoided customer service desks and transitioned from plane to car to hotel without having to ruin anyone’s day. Morgan even put in a delivery order for her once-favorite Vietnamese restaurant from her phone and had it brought up like room service, with just a knock at the door and a quiet ‘thank you’ called into an empty hallway. There was little to say, since the gritty smog didn’t reach her nose and the lo mein she got for herself was soaked in soy sauce and sriracha before she could get a hint of any flavor aside from the brains she’d picked up on the way to the hotel. Morgan hadn’t even liked sriracha when she was alive. At the end of the night, they left the TV on (Titanic was playing on TNT) and laid down holding each other. Morgan thought of all the things she’d once imagined showing Deirdre, the cemeteries, the magic shops, the food, the landmarks. With crazy, non-existent zoning laws, high rises rubbed elbows with tire shops and mom and pop burger joints. There was no such thing as a ‘generic’ street until you were at least thirty minutes to an hour outside of downtown. But those were Alive-Morgan’s plans. This one just prayed that after they dug up what she needed tomorrow, they could bubble themselves up and forget all about White Crest and everything they’d left there on their last full day before they had to go crawling back.

But before they could dig up Agnes Bachman’s grave in the dead of night, Morgan needed to scope it out. And before she could do that, she owed her dead their respects. Sunrise seemed best for the visit. No one would be there except for the workers, the humidity was too intense, and morning traffic on the freeways was already in a gridlock. People would want to be anywhere but Washington Cemetery. Morgan reached for Deirdre’s hand as they passed through the gates, taking a second to appreciate the vastness of the sky. Houston was a flat swampland; from the right place, you barely had to tilt your head back to see as far as the human eye could see. The sky stretched above them like a golden purple dome, not a flash of wings or shadow or teeth in sight. The grass was patchy, but mowed even, so you could hardly tell the weeds from the rest. Flat headstones tiled the area in a perfect grid, so orderly you could play checkers on it with pieces big enough. Her parents were off to the side, near the roar of traffic and mumbling drifters. Every time she visited them, Morgan feared she would forget the way and get lost, but as soon as her feet met the pavement, she knew just where the next turn should be. “Agnes is kinda here by chance actually. When the older cemeteries got condemned, they split up the bodies to be re-homed or whatever, and some randos got the fancy cemetery next door, and Agnes and her kids got this one. They did some random algorithm or lottery thing, and apparently  it made my grandmother so mad that she would have to share space with her. But it’s really not that surprising, with our run of luck.” She winced. “I know it’s not…as pretty or anything as what we have back home. Not sure what Texas has against standing tombstones. Maybe it’s all the hurricanes? At least markers don’t drift off course when they’re nailed flat to the ground.” That didn’t sound how she wanted to either. “I’m sorry, what I’m trying to ask is, how do you like it?”

Deirdre would not let them drown. For all the sadness that congealed around them, for every shred of darkness that pleaded to be accompanied, Deirdre would be stronger, louder. For all the pain that weighed down her love, she would carry it in herself, and lift her free. Months ago, a trip to Texas together would have read like a happy occasion—they’d spent nights tangled together swapping stories of their homes. She knew Texas through Morgan’s eyes. The smells, the heat, the thick and sticky air, were not new to her mind, only to her ill-equipped body. Though Morgan moved like she wasn’t so much coming home as she was walking to her death, Deirdre held a measure of excitement about everything, despite everything. It was magical to be in the place that once only existed in the stories she loved. There were the trees Morgan described, and while not those ones exactly, they were just as important for Deirdre’s slowly filling image of Morgan’s life. Their hotel held a beautiful view, and a large, lush bathtub perfect for soaking off the Texas heat. Morgan couldn’t see it, she realized, which is why she pointed each detail out with a smile. It was fine, anyway, love didn’t need to be hundred to exist. Whatever tar was intent on dragging her girlfriend underneath, she would be the life jacket. She could love enough for the both of them; be enthusiastic as if she carried two minds and care as if she were born of two hearts. And, of course, Vietnamese food from such fame as Morgan’s stories of sad nights eating it alone, was just as good as she described it then. Titanic, played in low quality on some choppy basic cable, as featured in tales of Morgan’s viewing it, was just like she said it was. And the side-of-the-road cemetery was just like she heard it might be.

“I love it here,” she breathed, happily leaning over to stare down at each name they passed. Loving it here, was not entirely accurate. She’d complained about the sticky heat already, waltzing around in a thin summer romper and still feeling like her skin was melting off. And she always liked cemeteries, so much so that it wasn’t even a question worth asking. It was being here, in the places that Morgan walked, in the home that she knew, that Deirdre loved. It felt like she had a place in those stories too, in her life. “As if pretty matters...” she breathed. “Oh my love,” Deirdre turned her attention away from the names she didn’t recognize and smiled at her girlfriend. “Don’t worry about that.” She paused and drew her into her arms, picking her up for a quick spin and kiss. “I love you. Do you know how exciting it is to be here? I finally get to see the grass that you did, smell the scents that you did, see the—“ she gestured at the sky “—everything that you did. It’s like...being a part of you. Knowing you. And you—“ she grinned and pressed another kiss to her girlfriend. “—are my favourite thing to know. I would never tire of it.” Even if it felt like Texas was trying to dump hot glue on her. “Tell me more,” she asked, brushing Morgan’s hair back before she settled her hand on her cheek. “Show me more, whatever you feel like. It’d be impossible for me to hate it.” She turned her attention to the cemetery and chuckled, “were you worried about me not liking a cemetery or are you concerned about your touring skills?” Deirdre turned back with a smile. “I think you’re doing a wonderful job, and this isn’t the only time we’ll come back here—we can take a thousand trips, if you wanted them. So...don’t worry; I always enjoy myself when I’m with you. And you’ve got more important things to keep your mind on.”

Morgan’s eyes welled as Deirdre poured all her affection on her at once. She knew she was loved unconditionally, that whatever else came up, Deirdre would care and care and care as long as Morgan let her, but with the air beneath her feet and her banshee’s strong arms around her body, it all pierced her shell and rushed in as a flood. She had burned to give Deirdre pieces of her no one else in town, no one else alive possessed. She had kept them up for hours some nights, talking about how good, how interesting and exciting for all its mundaneness Houston was. The murals, the galleries, the roadkill, the sprawl, the smell. Now they were here and she felt so weighed down by herself. The air, so eerily imperceptible to her new body, felt like it was pulling her into the ground.

I want to be here, Morgan reminded herself. I need to be here.

She clung to Deirdre for a moment, anchoring herself in her body. “I love you too,” she murmured into her shoulder. “After this I’ll show you anything you want. We can go anywhere, I’ll take you to a play at the last minute, they have one with skeletons and murder in it. Or this Italian restaurant my mother would insist on going to that does brunch, or the little one my dad would take me to sometimes that’s not as fancy but makes the best fettuccine and you can have fresh scooped gelato there, and this giant chessboard, and the Rothko chapel, it’s all in black and the skylight is beautiful, but it’s always a little cold in a good way and you can pray to any being in the universe there, and…” The list tumbled out of her in a rush, even if her voice didn’t quite lift to the occasion. Half of the words on her lips were impossible to recapture the way she was. Fresh tears came to her as she parted with pieces of each memory. The awkward silence as she and Ruth scraped their forks at Birraporetti’s, running out of things to say about the ballet only twenty minutes after the show. The mess she made on her shirt with the gelato in Rice Village, the dangerous thrill of buying a new shirt at the boutique next door instead of mending it with magic while her dad lingered outside for plausible deniability. Having something new, and whole, and secret. And there were hours singing loudly in her car, sloppily slathering sunscreen on her forearms too late because she’d gotten so caught up in the escape of the moment.  It was all over and never coming back, as permanent as the ache her parents left behind.

Morgan breathed slowly and wiped her eyes, flashing Deirdre a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she said. “I know everything is so awful back home and I’m trying to shake it off, but I am so glad of you, and so relieved. This is everything I want right now, even if it doesn’t look like it. I...stars, I hate not having anything to do after this visit most years, and now I do, and I’m not so painfully alone.” She jumped on her tiptoes and kissed her again as best she could. Wrapping herself against Deirdre as much as she could, Morgan led her around the next few turns along the path, guiding their steps by intuition and distant memory, until she saw two ghostly figures clustering by the fence.

Morgan stopped short. She couldn’t make out their faces, but she knew who her parents were. Somehow, even with all the Agnes drama, it hadn’t occurred to her that she might see them. Certainly not her dad. “Oh, stars…” Neither of them moved. Maybe they didn’t see her yet. “You see them, right? They’re really here, it’s not a trick this time. Shit, I can’t even…Deirdre, it’s my dad.” His face, from this angle, was whole and warm, and he did see her. He was just watching as serenely as he’d watched everything in life. His head tilted to one side, like he was working out how to parse a line of poetry, and Morgan burst with a laughing sob of recognition. He had the same ugly Hawaiian shirt he’d died in, and from this far away the sick on his shirt looked more like a food stain. It was so normal, so silly and safe and unlike anything in her life now.

Morgan didn’t know what to say to either of them, if they would be proud or even like the person she had become, but even having a fight in front of her girlfriend didn’t seem so bad right now. “It’s real, right?” Deirdre’s eyes could see them, if she tried. It wouldn’t be like before. How could it be, with her dad here? “We have to—he’s gonna love you, come on! Now!” She tore herself away and pawed for Deirdre’s hand, running for the spot so fast she nearly lost her shoes.

Deirdre leaned down to press her lips against Morgan’s neck, laughing in a warm flutter against her cold skin, afraid if she kissed her anyplace else, she might interrupt her. Her mind drifted as easily as Morgan rambled, she pressed nipping kisses in response to each point: a play would be divine, Italian sounds great, I’ve always liked fettuccine, what does a giant chessboard even look like? Houston held so many memories for Morgan, and just as many for Deirdre to learn. As well as she knew her girlfriend, there would always be some things that came new, and she could think of no greater delight than to know them. There was another feeling she didn’t know how to explain, something about life at her fingertips, a world under her lips. She loved their bubble in White Crest, but the earth was vast, and it could be theirs. Houston, Austin, whatever part of Texas Morgan wanted to show off—that was a new world for their taking. Was it so wrong for her to want more for them? To share in everything life had to offer, and then some? To love Morgan in White Crest, in Houston, on every inch of land they set their feet upon? Deirdre lifted her head from where she’d nestled it and smiled warmly. “Don’t apologize, my love. You don’t have to be chipper all the time, excited to show me restaurants and parks all the time….I just want to be with you, in whatever shape that takes. That’s always what I want. And if you want to do something after this, we can. And if you don’t, we can do that too. I’m really just happy to be here, and share in all of this with you….it means so much to me. Thank you, for letting me do this with you. Nothing will rob me of my excitement to be here. I love you, my Morgue, I always do.”

She held Morgan tight and careful, praying that her words might carry the power to soothe some worries. Visiting family graves was no easy task in general, there was no need for her love to be plagued by other thoughts. While the Dolan catacombs were a dark place of pride and worship—there was no sadness in death, after all, it was the greatest show of servitude—Deirdre imagined that Morgan, whose entire family was buried here, would find a visit heavier than most. She was prepared to hold her extra tight, even closer, kiss harder and love louder. She would not allow the sheet of sadness to smother Morgan. It was natural, then, that when Morgan happily yanked her along, Deirdre was shocked. She hadn’t even processed the information that Morgan’s father was a ghostly presence before she was running alongside her.

“W-wait! I’m not ready!” Deirdre yelped, laughing. She hadn’t expected to be meeting her girlfriend’s ghostly father either, and so she had no charming quips prepared. Should she have brought an offering? Did she call him Hector or Mr. Beck? Would he know what a banshee was? Was it appropriate to mention how rich she was before or after she explained the lengths at which she loved his daughter? “What am I supposed to say! All I know is that he likes musicals! I didn’t brush up on my musical knowledge!” She grew sweaty from anxiety rather than the heat, for once, blinking rapidly as her eyes spread into darkness and oh Fates, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Of all the shirts she pictured he must have died in, that one wasn’t it. His face was soft like Morgan’s, and he tilted his head just like her and—Deirdre shook her vision back to normal and tried to think. She needed to ready herself. At this rate, her eyes would be glued to his questionable fashion and that’d just be rude. Did humans still do that thing where parents had to be asked before their daughters could be courted? Why was it that she suddenly couldn’t remember basic manners? They ran to a halt and Deirdre doubled over trying to collect herself. She huffed and tried nervously to straighten out the wrinkles in her dress. “What if he hates me because I forgot to bring flowers?” She mumbled to herself, deciding finally on a simple ‘hello’. She took Morgan’s hand back in hers for emotional support and as her eyes darkened, she rehearsed her introduction. Hello, Mr. Beck, so nice to meet you, I love your daughter so much I’d burn the world down. No, that was too strong. Howdy, Hector, lovely ghost weather we’re— “My love, I don’t see him.” Deirdre blinked her death-vision away, turning to her girlfriend. “...Morgan?”

Morgan only looked away for a second. It was too good to see him laughing to himself, beaming and shaking his head like he’d just figured out something wonderful and obvious to turn around every time she said, it doesn’t matter, it’s fine, you’ll be great. But she looked back once so Deirdre would know by her smile just how true it was, and when she turned to the grave where her dad was waiting for her again, he was gone. Morgan stopped short, staring at the empty space. There wasn’ anywhere for him to hide in all this open space. And he wouldn’t. He’d never played those kinds of tricks on her. She searched the sky, and the roof of a plain mausoleum across the way, the still-fluffy top of an oak tree, but he was gone.

“What the fuck…” she whispered. She had seen him. It hadn’t been in her head, she’d really seen him, and he’d looked at her. He’d been happy. He didn’t know anything about the choices she’d made since her last visit, but he’d been happy and he’d wanted to see her. “Where did he go? I don’t understand.”

“Oh, and what am I, chop liver?” Ruth Beck demanded.

Morgan was too hurt to hide her pained grimace. This wasn’t about her mother, at least she’d gotten to practice speaking to her once before. But she hadn’t had a conversation with her dad since she was eighteen, a stupid kid in over her head. Why hadn’t he stayed to talk to her? Why didn’t he want to meet her again? Morgan continued to stare at the emptiness over his grave, mouth trembling.

“They don’t bring you the metaphysical manual for ghostly rules and behavior, Morgan. You don’t seriously expect to be handed a tidy little answer to make you feel better, do you? It’s fine; I've known all along how much you two care about me.” Her tone cut with bitterness. “I knew he wouldn’t stick it out with me forever, but I’ll give him this, I don’t think it was an entirely conscious decision. Whatever you took or whatever spell you cast to see us like this, it scratched his itch and now he’s signed off and done.”

Morgan stiffened. Nothing her mother said felt untrue, exactly, but it all sounded so twisted and awful, like her dad had betrayed her by crossing peacefully or like Morgan should be sorry for missing him after having a second chance dangled in front of her. She could never just be; Ruth always demanded her due. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she mumbled, trying desperately to keep her tears in. “I am happy to see you too. I should have said so.” She swallowed, forcing her body to remember breathing. “Are you okay?”

Ruth scoffed, unimpressed, and turned her attention to the woman with her daughter. “Who’s this? She’s taking you talking to the air pretty well. Should I be concerned?”

She knew it. It was her ruffled romper or tousled hair that did her in. Or the sweat, maybe it was the sweat. Hector took one look at how sweaty Deirdre was and vanished out of disgust. Or maybe it was that she’d taken so long to introduce herself, she should have ran up with her greeting instead of standing around waiting for her chance to do it. Deirdre frowned, turning to Morgan to apologize when another voice cut across the air. Deirdre couldn’t see ghosts without summoning her vision, but she could hear them perfectly fine. And she remembered then, hearing this woman and her biting remarks, that she’d seen two figures—the now-gone Hector and someone who was unmistakably Ruth Beck. Out of politeness, she tried not to look angry. She knew Ruth Beck better than she did Hector, not because Morgan loved Hector less, but because Ruth controlled her life even in death. Her painful, complicated memory could not be shaken. Deirdre knew Ruth by way of tearful retelling, shaky explanation of locked rooms and denied love—and the infuriating hypocrisy of her journal, left behind as if to taunt her daughter. And she knew her now, by the sharpness of her voice, and the burden shuddering down Morgan. Eventually, politeness was dammed, and Deirdre’s face twisted with displeasure. She drew Morgan close to her, and then—though she knew it wouldn’t help anything—shifted their bodies so she stood between Ruth and Morgan.

Deirdre let blackness spill across the whites of her eyes again as she looked up and stared Ruth down. She had Morgan’s brilliant blues, and lips that might’ve looked like her daughter’s if they weren’t pulled thin. Her sour expression was different both from Morgan’s transparent emotions, and the pictures Deirdre had seen of Ruth’s past. There were a thousand things she wanted to say to Ruth. She blurted just one, the thing that burned on her tongue, pulled her brows together and her lips down. “Your daughter is dead.” Couldn’t she see it? Feel it? Was it really so important now to be thinking about anything else, when the life of her blood was a zombie? She’d wanted to ask about the locked rooms, about why her husband could find peace in seeing his daughter but she could not, about why she loved Morgan so poorly, or if she remembered being in that cursed coin at all, but Deirdre’s confusion stuck out instead. She’d known Ruth was a questionable mother, but hearing her more offended about a greeting than noticing her own daughter was dead, was something strange. “I’m Morgan’s girlfriend; Deirdre. I’m sorry your husband’s vanished so suddenly. I wonder how terrible that must be for someone who hasn’t seen him since he died. It must be exciting to see someone after that long, don’t you think? Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time remembering that there is no competition here that you forgot your own manners.” Deirdre didn’t know what she was saying, exactly, the words tumbled from her mouth freely. Unlike their forgotten meeting on the beach, Deirdre knew the kind of woman Ruth was now, and she wasn’t so eager to impress her. It would be nice for Morgan, she knew, if her mother approved of something she held dear for once. And perhaps Deirdre should have taken more care for her manners, but Ruth’s words were needlessly petty, and Deirdre didn’t care to make either of them listen to it. She stood straight, stern, breaking her stance only to attend to Morgan, and lend her strength where she needed it.

Ruth had to do a double, no, triple take at her daughter to see if this strange woman was telling the truth about her daughter. She had assumed that sentimentality had gotten the better of Morgan and she’d taken some drug or commissioned some truly powerful magiks to see if her talking to the air all these years amounted to something or not. But she looked, and even with this Deirdre woman blocking her full view, she understood. Then, of course, the woman kept talking, offering her opinion on things that weren’t any of her business. How could she know that Ruth had been looking forward to seeing her every November? Or how much it stung that when granted her ghost-sight, Morgan hadn’t said, it’s my mom and dad, it’s my parents. Only her dad, the one who had coddled and endangered her with his stubborn sensitivity, and then marked himself as a damn saint when he died just four months after Morgan turned eighteen. And this Deirdre couldn’t know how much she’d tried to shuffle off this god-forsaken coil, or how it felt to be left alone, for good this time, by the only person in her miserable life who had been stubborn enough to stay in the first place. No one knew. Even in death, Ruth Beck was certain she remained cursed. When she was sure this Deirdre was quite finished, she looked at the fluff of hair poking out from the woman’s arms. “Is this true, Morgan?” She asked.

Morgan let Deirdre whisk her out of sight, if only so she could compose her face and gasp out the few sobs that wouldn’t be swallowed away. She should probably be happy that all her dad wanted was for them to really see each other again, or maybe see her happy and loved. But her mind was still circling that one second. She could’ve squeezed out an I love you, or a hang on. Just hang on a little fucking longer, enough to meet my girlfriend, enough to know that I’m teaching at a real university, I’m going to make Constance pay for what she did to you, I miss you… but all those possibilities had evaporated in an instant.

But Morgan couldn’t evade a direct question from her mother, no matter how Deidre tried to shield her. Morgan lifted her head and nodded, still holding onto her girlfriend. “Surprise,” she said, breath shaking. “The curse got me, just like you said.”

“I told you,” Ruth began. “On our last phone call, I told you, Morgan--”

“Yeah, well I tried anyway!  And actually I got kinda close, but…you were right and I was wrong.” Morgan shrugged, her smile pulling into a pained gash on her face. “So now I’m this. Sad zombie lady. About seven months and counting. And it’s the worst, but I have at least a couple of friends, and Deirdre, who loves me, and who you would probably like if you weren’t spending so much time scrutinizing her like she’s a science problem. She’s insightful, and clever, and curious. She loved me even before I was like this, and she’s still here. So I can’t say I truly regret any of my actions, because I don’t want to know where I’d be without her. But I know that doesn’t sound like good news to you, so I’m at least partially sorry for that, I guess.”

Morgan changed the topic by way of reaching into her bag and fishing out a now partially crumpled bouquet of flowers. “I was gonna split up the bunch in two, but I guess they’re all yours now.” She held them up for inspection out of habit, before realizing that Ruth may not be able to take them for herself and so knelt in the grass to cram them into the bronze vase welded to the gravestone for this purpose. As she arranged the mess, the real news she wanted to share burned on her tongue. But some habits were hard to break, and she was too stiff with ritual fear to begin without first asking, “Are you really okay, Mother? Is there something I can do for you?”

Ruth Beck didn’t say anything for a good long while, but stared, just barely holding her heartbreak at bay. “Oh, pumpkin. I told you going to White Crest would only bring you more suffering,” She sighed. She looked over at Deirdre, defiantly transparent in giving her a critical once-over. “And what are your thoughts on this nonsense? If you’ve been with her through death, you’ve had to learn about our little family sickness eventually. Has she told you what happens to nice, loving girlfriends yet? I’d give you three guesses, but you just saw one of them disappear. And just how are you perceiving me, exactly? I don’t think you’re the one responsible for granting Morgan an extra half-life, but the exorcists and the wannabes who come out here don’t generally get ink in their eyes when they look at me.”

Morgan bowed her head as she worked, visibly cringing at the exchange. “Please be nice to her, Mother,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Deirdre had been expecting more bite, perversely, she had hoped for it. Not for Morgan, but onto herself. She hoped, perhaps, that if her annoyance shifted someplace else, Morgan could be freed from it. Yet, as she had been learning about Ruth, the woman could not make herself easy to hate. Complicated was less like a descriptor and more like a way of life. Even Deirdre, who had no intentions of conceding to Ruth, slumped a little when her bait wasn’t taken—embarrassed that she tried it in the first place. But she shook the sensation away and watched Ruth carefully, listening with an attentive ear. If that bite ever came back, she’d swallow Morgan up in a hug again and stand between them...but if she could be gentle...Deirdre shifted, releasing her high wall of protection for a sturdy one of support. Though she felt a little more like a guard dog, ready to snap if anything came too close. She anchored herself to Morgan’s side, even as she moved, as if stuck there. She hadn’t been expecting, either, that Ruth would address her again. She thought one angry comment was enough for her to ignore her, but Ruth was, as Deirdre supposed, terribly complicated. All she had really wanted to say to Ruth was how dare you and if she had some corporeal body, she might have settled for one dramatic slap. She knew Ruth by her failures as a mother, and as someone who loved Morgan as well, she was the harshest critic of the woman. Just as, she imagined, Ruth was in turn harsh of her.

“I love Morgan very much,” she began, though speaking to Ruth, she smiled warmly at Morgan. “I’ve loved her for a long time. If you’ll let me be dramatic to say it, maybe since I’ve met her. I intend on loving her for a longer one.” She turned to look at Ruth, her smile colored by confusion. Surely the woman who loved, and started a family, understood why Deirdre stayed, so was she testing her? Or did she really not know? “I always have. I’m not so afraid of death, that I would refuse to live. You and your husband have had a good life, wouldn’t you say? She has told me what happens, it might have been the first real thing she told me—and even if it wasn’t, you and I both know that Morgan wears her emotions freely.” Deirdre tilted her head to the side, withholding remarks about how terrible it would be to stamp that away. Or that she couldn’t understand how Ruth would know how badly her daughter wanted love, and then deny it. And if she could understand it, then she certainly couldn’t grasp how a mother would do that, and then expect that her daughter might still be excited to see her. She either played the villain and accepted it, dealt her tough love and recognized what it must have done or...well, she was the standing example of what happened when someone didn’t. “In a good way; in the best way,” she added quickly, nearly in a hiss. “I thought it was noble of her to want to fight fate, silly maybe, but the spirit to fight is a commendable one. How could I not want to be by her side? Maybe we would have had five years, or a few good months, maybe she would have won and freed herself...all I knew then was that I loved her, I wanted her to be happy, and if I could be there too...maybe we could make something together. Pain is unavoidable for anyone, death is equally as demanding, but somethings are worth it, aren’t they?” She had more to say about risks and love and much she knew that death could take prematurely, but that she was always ready. It never was so much the length of time, but how well it was spent. That she knew, better than the average person, just what fate she might have agreed to, and that she didn’t care. She loved Morgan more than letting fear rule her, or them.

But she realized quickly that Ruth was not as endeared to her long speeches and Morgan was, and left it there. ”I’m a banshee,” she explained simply, pressing a kiss to Morgan’s forehead. “And you didn’t answer her question: how are you?”

Ruth’s face remained impassive as the woman, the banshee, spoke. She understood a great deal, though how, Ruth didn’t know. It hadn’t been from Morgan. It would have been nice if she had been able to put those desperate puppy eyes Morgan seemed to have for her to good use and stop her. Keep her alive. But of course she hadn’t. The only way to get Morgan to do anything she didn’t want to was to make her. “I can see why she likes you,” Ruth said. “You’re a romantic fool as much as she is. More common sense, but…” Not enough to keep her in check. “In a less cursed lifetime maybe more of what you said would be true. Maybe wherever the heck you come from, it is. I guess I’m glad she stopped being a liar long enough to tell you.”

“Mother—“

Ruth continued as if she hadn’t heard Morgan’s interjection. “You seem kind, Deirdre. Enough to deserve better than whatever being attached to us is going to bring you. Everything is a bargain, Deirdre. And sometimes the universe cheats. And if she’s gone and made herself a zombie and made this mess last until some dumbass with a sword comes along, I’m not sure if you can know what you’re signing up for.”

“The curse is over, Mother,” Morgan said, hand clenched in Deirdre’s. She feared what looking away from her mother would do, if she would be left dangling and abandoned again or if her mother would read something cruel into it, so she only held onto Deirdre, tight, and hoped she understood that her love was keeping Morgan from falling apart. “I didn’t break it, but it’s done with me. And there’s more, something good and more I want to tell you, but for the mother of earth, I wish you’d just tell me anything about how you’re doing or what I can do for you.”

“I’ve been about as well as you can be after three years being a specter in this place. Neither of you want to know how well I’m really doing.”

Morgan exhaled stiffly. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t—I died too, okay? I ‘m not a ghost but I do get something about how awful—

“Don’t say that like it’s something I want,” Ruth’s voice managed to cut without raising to a scream. “If you had just listened to me, if you had accepted for once that I know what I am talking about and I’m not some evil gorgon bent on ruining your life, maybe you wouldn’t.”

“I am trying to tell you that I am taking our power back, Mom!” Morgan flinched to hear the way her voice snapped with anger. She always took the bait, no matter how long it had been or how much she said she wouldn’t. And realizing this made no difference. She couldn’t stop herself from going louder, more determined. “I found the miserable little witch who cursed us. I ripped her out of the ether to make her confess and after she came back to finish the job she started, I found a way to make her pay. She is going to suffer as much and as long as a ghost can for what she did to me and to you and your mother before you and mother before her. I am doing that. Me, Mother! I am taking control of our lives and if there is some miserable little Bachman descendant out there, they aren’t going to have to suffer another cursed year when I’m done with her! I am as free as I am ever going to be, and when she is ground into nothing but floating particles, she is never going to be able to cast her shadow over me or you or anyone. That’s what I wanted to tell you.” She smiled sadly. “I thought it might make you happy. I may not be doing what you wanted, but I am doing something right.”

“Morgan—”

“I’m not finished. I know you lied to me about going to White Crest. I met Nisa and her kids. I found your stuff. Everything you kept from me about your time there. I know, Mom. Everything you pretended you never were.”

“White Crest was a mistake. If you knew, it would only give you hope, it would encourage your outrageous tendencies to reach for something that’s not yours to have. I wanted to keep you safe, Morgan. Are you trying to say that’s a crime, now? Clearly I didn’t do a good enough job teaching you or protecting you, but now I’m a demon for even bothering?”

Morgan hung her head and wondered why she bothered.

“I’m waiting,” Ruth murmured.

Somehow her quiet tone hit Morgan worse than the rest. The words on her tongue started to dissolve. The questions she had for her drifted away like so much dust. What had she really expected? What could there have ever been to hope for? Morgan didn’t have it in her to hold back her tears. Everything went into keeping her voice even. “Maybe the way you tried was. Maybe…” Maybe it should have been.

Deirdre grimaced, pulling Morgan in so she could be tucked tight against her chest. It would have been wholly inappropriate to throw salt at Ruth, but that didn’t stop Deirdre’s hand from inching towards Morgan’s purse. “Hey,” she cooed for her girlfriend’s ears only. “You’re okay; you’re doing good.” She wrapped her arms around her tighter, just the way she liked, like the two of them were the only people who existed. She pressed her lips to the top of her head, hard as she could, and turned to look at Ruth. “It’s a terrible crime, actually. To let fear masquerade as love.” She pulled back just enough to lift her hand up and thumb Morgan’s tears away, as covertly as she could—not that the tears themselves were shameful, but because she understood the desire not to lend any more ammunition to an angry mother. “May I say something?” She asked Ruth, having no intention of listening to her answer anyway. “It’ll be long, so bear with me. But if anything, maybe we can let it serve as a breather for this conversation. I ask you, Mrs. Beck, do you love your daughter? Is there an answer to that you can admit? I would assume you do, and if so, there’s just something I don’t get...let me try and understand you a little better. Correct me where I’m wrong, but let me take a stab at your life.” Deirdre breathed in, drawing her attention away from Ruth so she could care for Morgan. There were tears to wipe, and strength to work back into her bones. Look at me, she was saying, don’t think about your mother, look at me. And like that, she began. “You hate the way your mother raised you, Mrs. Beck. It was cruel, and unfair, and I’m sure she must’ve justified it to you—if your life was suffering, if you loved nothing, there would be nothing to take. Or maybe she just didn’t care, she didn’t want a child anyways. But you grew up, and you got away, and you lived your terrible, tragic life until you found your way to White Crest with hope. But your curse, and the pursuit of its end, hurt people or it would hurt people, eventually. Good people, kind people, even yourself. Maybe the guilt was too much to live with, maybe you tried and tried and there really was no end—not without something too drastic even for you. So you left. And then you met your husband. And he, like you’ve called me, was a romantic fool. Stubborn, I bet. What did he say when you told him about the curse? That it was okay? That he would stay with you anyways? That he didn’t care?” Deirdre looked up at Ruth, smiling softly. “So, he finally convinces you and you two get married. And then you think, or maybe he gets through to you, that there might just be a life around your curse. If you’re smart, and careful, maybe you can make something good. And then you start a family, maybe by plan, maybe by surprise, it doesn’t matter how just that it did. And you have a daughter. And you realize that you can’t raise her like you were, so you try to be better. You don’t tell her about the curse, because the curse only brings pain, and ignorance can be a powerful thing. Either that’s your idea or it’s your husband’s, but that doesn’t matter either. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. But his love is open, yours is not. And how could it be? You know the dangers of love better than anyone else. You’re smart, and careful. And so your daughter wonders, tragedy after tragedy, what’s wrong with life. But you don’t tell her. And ignorance isn’t enough, she needs to be more careful, like you. You try to teach her how not to laugh, love, look forward to things. But you know it’s not working, despite your best efforts, because your daughter is like her father, in that regard—open. And then he dies, and there are some secrets you can’t keep alone. And suddenly all your daughter’s self-hatred has another place to go, and you know what happens next. You’ve lived your life, you know what it does to hope and argument. You try to tell her that she can make a good life with her curse, a smart one, a sensible one. You did it, after all; for those few years. And then you die, and she goes anyways, and you wait for her every year like clockwork. But you see, what I don’t understand with this story is how? How did you ever expect her to learn how to be happy in between the years when you taught her to fear happiness? How are you so blind to the fact that you hurt your daughter? How can you claim to know her so well, and yet speak with such ignorance? How is it that you can love your daughter, and yet never say it? She wasn’t wrong to go to White Crest, just like you weren’t. It’s a courageous act. How do you not know that? Her recklessness, her naïveté...none of those things are bad. She hopes, she fights, even when her odds are impossible and to do so doesn’t make her wrong, it means she was able to do something you couldn’t. How are you not proud of her? Morgan is the strongest person I know, strength she learned not because of you, but in spite of you. How can you think so lowly of her, that you don’t trust that she understood the risks? How?”

Deirdre shook her head, sighing her speech away. “You know what effect you have on your daughter. I know you see it. The curse is gone now, and even if it wasn’t, you’re both dead. You don’t have to keep this up, Mrs. Beck. I know you want to be a good mother, there’s nothing stopping you now. I ask you again, do you love Morgan? And are you sorry, for the role you’ve had to take in her life? Or do you want to float there and justify it to us like your mother might’ve?” Deirdre offered another smile, small but not but less sincere. At least, if everything she was saying was wrong, she hoped Ruth could see that her love for Morgan was true. And if she really cared about her own daughter, then they’d be two people on the same page. “Why don’t we try this conversation again, Mrs. Beck? Maybe listen to Morgan a little better, for once.”

“You don’t know fear,” Ruth tried to interrupt. Whatever airs this woman put on, she didn’t understand what it meant to be a mother, or what the cost of their existence truly was. She didn’t know how much of the banshee myths were true, but she couldn’t know enough about the universe to know when you were pinned down and doomed. “You don’t know me--” But the woman wouldn’t be stopped, and Ruth fell quiet. For the first time, she began to believe that Morgan had figured some things out. She had at least figured out enough for Deirdre to connect most of the dots. She didn’t have enough to make the spell work, to see Ruth as she truly was. Her affection for Morgan, blasted and cursed and biased, was too strong for that. But it was more than Ruth had expected. She couldn’t help but be stricken by it.

The only thing that kept Morgan from turning into Deirdre’s arms and hugging her was the pull of her mother’s face. The more Deirdre went on, so gently and kindly and with so much confidence, the more Ruth seemed to crack. It probably wasn’t visible to Deirdre, but Morgan had scrutinized her mother’s face for years searching her mother’s face for approval, for forgiveness, for a shadow of affection. She could transmute any scrap of tenderness into just enough to hope for. She knew the widening of her eyes, the way the edge dulled in her jaw or her frown slackened, there was something there. Some feeling that was for her. Morgan wished then for any passer-by to wander past them so her mother could borrow their body for a second, just long enough for Morgan to throw herself into her arms and beg and drag that feeling out of her.

“Mommy--” She whispered.

“It was a mistake.” Ruth said, clenching her airy fists. “I didn’t want to bring a child into this world with my problems, my curse. I am aware that I lack the typical temperament people look for in a good mother. And besides that, I wanted to be the end. And my one job above all else was to protect you. Not to be your friend, not to coddle you--”

“Mommy, please.”

“You need to understand.”

“I do! I do understand why you hurt me! I know you tried and I know you were afraid of loving me because of Constance’s fucking curse, but that doesn’t mean it was okay! And you can’t throw me into a room anymore just because you’re afraid that I’m having too many feelings for you to handle!”

“I wasn’t afraid of loving you, Morgan,” Ruth said, more quiet and stiffly controlled than ever. “I was afraid because I already did. I took one look at you, doughy and red and screaming and I loved you. And say all you want about chemicals and hormones in the wake of a pregnancy, but I couldn’t shake that love no matter how stubbornly you disobeyed me or how miserable you tried to make me. A love like that could only mean it would find you sooner rather than later. So I protected you.”

Morgan’s face crumpled with tears. She had waited her whole life to hear her mother say she loved her and now she wanted to scream to drown it out. “You hurt me. You didn’t even want me and you hurt me.”

“I changed my mind about wanting you as soon as I saw you.” Ruth said.

“That doesn’t matter. Like what, if your mother was here and she said she loved you, that would excuse how she destroyed you? Everything she took and burned and beat out of you?” Morgan stared wide-eyed at her mother, daring her to challenge what she said. “She turned you into someone capable of locking your kid away all day. Someone who would try to yell at her out of a fucking panic attack. Someone who would rather gaslight her child into hating herself to the point of danger than admit the truth. Someone couldn’t say I love you for her whole life. Is making you capable of that okay if she loved you? Love isn’t supposed to hurt like that, Mother. It’s not anything a person should want or be giving if it’s giving out licence to be cruel too.”

“Sometimes, pumpkin--”

“No. Not with love. Other reasons, fear, jealousy, anything else. But not that.”

“Then what is it you want from me, Morgan?”

Morgan had to think. She couldn’t touch the thing she wanted, not if it came with accepting all those miserable years, all that misguided bullshit, the skewed equations that meant her self-hatred was worth this so-called perfection and calling it love. She clung to Deirdre’s arms, fastening her tight to her back. It had been a difficult autumn, but what they had was never cruel, never calculating. Their mistakes and lapses were honest. They told each other what was wrong and what they needed. They were honest. They were sorry. Morgan threaded their fingers together as she cried. She tried to breathe with her, steady and confident. “I want you to apologize,” she said.

“I did the best I knew how. I swear to you, no, you--” she pointed at Deirdre. “If I am holding back even a little truth, I will vanish from this cemetery and haunt somewhere else for the rest of my days. I swear--”

“Don’t, Mother,” Morgan said softly. She let go of Deirdre and slipped away, coming right up to her mother until they were face to face. She needed to do this much on her own. “You don’t have to swear. I get it. This is hard for you. And you just want to feel like it was all worth it. All those mistakes, those shitty choices, all of that pain you made both of us carry. You want the exchange for what you sacrificed. But the spell isn’t what you thought it was, Mommy. You got it wrong and it’s not going to bring you what I feel like you’re asking me for.” She sniffled and tried to cup her hand around the shape of her hand. If she could just squeeze it, if she could hold even a piece of her for a second-- “Now, I’m going to destroy the person who really started this. Because you used to be just a sad little kid like I was and none of it was ever going to be fair and you deserve to know that she’s going to be punished. I’m gonna do that for us. Her soul will be nothing and she will hurt as much as we have the whole way. But I can’t get rid of what you did by destroying her. If you want something back from me, you have to at least tell me--” Morgan shuddered as her resolve crumbled one word at a time. “Tell me you’re sorry and you know now it was wrong. Just tell me that much.”

Ruth didn’t say anything for a long time. She could not bear to look at her daughter’s face, unnaturally pale as she began to sob. Morgan always grew red so quick. She forgot how to breathe, it was like she was so ready to run from any suffering, she’d try and take herself into the ether to hide from it. How she made Ruth panic when she hyperventilated. Her eyes would grow big she’d wheeze so helplessly, expecting Ruth to simply know the antidote. “I love you, Pumpkin,” she whispered, just for her daughter’s ears. Then she leveled her gaze at Deirdre. “My vow still stands. I swear I shall not haunt this place another moment again if I am holding any lies or doubts in my heart. I was wrong. I was wrong and I’m—I’m—”

There was a terrible pause before Morgan saw her mother dissipate. She had expected the trick as soon as the words had begun, but there was no bracing herself for the silence that claimed her mother’s voice and in the farthest, saddest parts of her, she thought she screamed just so she didn’t have to hear it.

There were several reactions Deirdre expected—anger, acceptance, sorrow. But for all she expected, Ruth was undeniably hard to read. She reminded her of her own mother in that way, as if her only emotions were anger and pride. Deirdre had yet to see the pride though, but she imagined it would come. And she hoped, as anyone who loved Morgan might, that it would be the right kind. She watched her intently, knowingly. Ruth had an answer delivered to her on a plate in two courses; an admittance of love, and an apology. She knew one would be easier than the other, but as Morgan had taught her, she hoped for both parts. And she waited. And she listened and she cut her ears through all of Ruth’s filler. And she waited. “I don’t accept that,” she mumbled, rejecting her vow. How could she? Neither of them were asking Ruth to leave, only to accept the truth all of them knew. There was no reason to swear to her, and Deirdre held no desire to humour her game. She would stand there and she would be honest on her own merits. She would listen to the sound of her own voice for once. And so she waited. The love came strangely coated in guilt, before her attempt at bolstering a fae bind, but at least it came. As Ruth continued to speak, Deirdre realized her vow was some manner of a performance. She had been withholding the truth from the start, hadn’t she? And now she wanted her exit, and freedom from Morgan. How would her daughter ever find her if she haunted some other place and she had no more magic to search? The hope she had, little as it was, shrank. Ruth revealed herself to be many things: a liar, a coward, and a bad mother. “I don’t accept,” Deirdre mumbled again. She wanted to ask her what it was this time, fear or guilt? Which did she let disguise itself as care? But she was gone soon, perhaps realizing Deirdre hadn’t created any promise between them, and she needed to be away from any more ideas she didn’t like. Deirdre turned her gaze to the cemetery gates, half expecting to find Ruth there, tip-toeing her way out with her bag of stolen goods over her shoulder.

Satisfied that Ruth wasn’t lingering behind some tree, Deirdre blinked her death-vision away and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to pull Morgan against her, “I’m sorry.” As it was, even trying to show how much they understood of her—how much her daughter, the very woman she didn’t think understood much, knew—and how she had no more places to hide, she still manufactured her own escape. “I’m sorry your mother is...like that.” She surrounded Morgan with her love, affection that would not leave, and hoped it could make something okay. “I didn’t accept her promise, by the way. It didn’t seem right to let her have that. But I suppose she just left anyway.” Deirdre sighed, and tried to meet Morgan’s eyes. “How are you, my love? Are you okay?”

Morgan whipped her head around, one side, then the other, searching for where her mother had gone. How far could she have gone? Where was she? Her chest burned and she clenched her fists to keep herself together. “You coward!” She screeched. She strained her eyes on the horizon, hoping to see her silhouette, even a vague Ruth-shaped blip nearby. How good could she be at this after only three years? “You don’t love anything, how dare you!” She kicked the bronze flower holder, over and over until it bent and the flowers spilled over. “You don’t want to talk to me, fine!” Her voice broke and she slumped in Deirdre’s grasp, weeping and gasping. “I should’ve known, I should’ve known she would never--” She grit her teeth and shook her head. “I heard you, and I knew you would never, you wouldn’t take her from me…” She shuddered, choking on sobs. “I don’t want you either!” She screamed to the sky. Maybe she was hiding there, or in a treetop, or behind a car. “I don’t want anything from you until you can tell me that, you coward!” She screamed again and buried her face in Deirdre. “I should’ve known she wouldn’t ever--” Change. Be different. Be better. She had died cruel and now she was determined to be that way. All that fear, all those stupid horror stories and bad memories-- Morgan sobbed and sagged against her girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” she said, still gasping. “You shouldn’t have had to put up with her, and what she tried to put on you.” At least she had run away on her own terms, if that could even be counted as a bright side. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess at least I don’t have anything left to say to her,” she laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. I wanted her to be better. If she was here, I was hoping she would...be someone who wanted to be better. I thought if I just understood…and I do, I do understand her pain. But she couldn’t…” Morgan shook her head and let it fall onto Deirdre’s chest. She was tired, and she wanted to be somewhere else.

“It’s not so bad—not so wrong—to hope.” Deirdre hummed, holding her girlfriend close, arms weaved around her as tight as she could manage. “I did too. I really thought she would—“ Deirdre swallowed, sighing the rest of her sentence away. It didn’t matter so much now that they had; Morgan wasn’t at fault for expecting her mother to...be a mother. Deirdre breathed her girlfriend in, pressing her lips against her jaw. There was much she didn’t know about motherhood, or family itself, but she had hoped that Ruth loved Morgan enough to face herself. She couldn’t imagine any other feeling being stronger than love. “It’s okay,” she kissed her cheek now. “Don’t be sorry to me. I’m okay.” She reached her hands down, and felt around Morgan’s purse for a pen and a tissue. “Let’s go back to the hotel, okay?” She kissed her again, pulling back and clicking the pen. “And we don’t have to do anything else. And if you’re feeling up to it, we can come back for the bones tonight like you planned, or we could do it tomorrow, or I can get them, or—“ Deirdre smiled softly. “Let’s just go back, and we can figure out the rest from there. We always do.” She scribbled carefully on the tissue, showing its contents off to Morgan when she finished. “Our address,” she smiled, stuffing it under the bent flower holder. “In case she wants to be civil for Yule. If not, I can throw salt at her. Ghost mothers are convenient like that.” She stepped back, her eyes drifting to the small note she left in the corner “if you want to try it differently”. Deirdre took Morgan’s hand in hers. “All good?”

Morgan rested in Deirdre’s arms, barely standing at all. There was something so counterintuitive and strange and gratifying about knowing Deirdre had hoped too. Even with all she knew of the world and all she knew about Morgan’s mother, she had it in her to hope. Morgan hiccuped another harsh sob and squeezed her girlfriend tight. “I love you,” she mumbled. “And I never, never want to hurt you the way either of us were. I love you and I want our life to be better. And I don’t need anything she has if it’s not going to fit with that.” She just wanted it. Or rather, she wanted her mother to learn to give something she could keep. Just one thing. One nice thing. Morgan hadn’t been able to give her peace with anything she had to say and she had nothing left in her to offer. She clung to Deirdre’s body as she fiddled in her bag and scribbled on the tissue. The rawness in her throat eased as she saw the note, the hope Deirdre was determined to carry for her, for both of them. She felt like a discarded pumpkin, hollowed out and too soft to stand. When Deirdre had finished her work, Morgan squeezed herself flush against her body again. “Thank you,” she said. “I...really like that. I guess when she can choose different…” Morgan shrugged, even as her trembling lip gave away the lingering pain.”Maybe she’ll be at peace. Maybe we both will.” Because that ache was still in her, the one cut by the girl she’d been, banging on her locked door and begging her mother for another chance, for her love. Morgan told the ache to hush, and wait, and have hope. She breathed slowly, trying to make her body still again. If it worked at all she couldn’t tell, but with Deirdre’s hand in hers, it didn’t matter. She nodded and started walking back toward the parking lot. Morgan cast one more glance at the cemetery, watching the shadows and the ripples in the short grass. Was she here? Was she watching? Was Agnes? But there wasn’t a soul to be seen, living or dead anymore. Morgan tucked herself into Deirdre’s side, murmuring, “I still want today to be good. I just need to lay down with you for a little bit, in our world. And then we’ll do all those things we said. And when we come back for Agnes--” She cast one more look back at the cemetery, lingering on her mother’s grave before turning to the spot where she knew Agnes was buried, too much in the shadow of the mausoleum for  the grass around her to grow even, her placard probably weathered down to nothing. Morgan squeezed Deirdre’s hand to signal that she’d be back. She scooped up the fallen flowers and ran them over to Agnes’ neglected grave. It was so old, it wasn’t even granted a bronze vase with the others. Who was alive to care about her? Morgan laid the flowers down as neatly as possible and ran back to Deirdre’s arms. “We’ll make things good for Agnes too. If she’s still around here, we’ll help her too.”

“I love you too.” Deirdre said, marveling at how right those words always felt tumbling from her lips. Like breathing, she thought, and couldn’t imagine how anyone else thought they could be so hard to say. She nodded her agreement to Morgan’s words; they would be good to each other, as good as they possibly could be; they would be kind; they would be honest; the hurt they had endured would never be the hurt they left in the world. She could understand Ruth’s fear and cowardice, but only where it had come from, not why it needed to be clung to. She would not emulate her, and she knew Morgan wouldn’t either. It felt so simple then, holding Morgan in the cemetery that held her family, that they could be good. But as she had started to learn, simple did not mean bad. “Are you sure you want to—?” Deirdre swallowed, nodding. “Okay.” She watched Morgan with fondness and curiosity melded into one soft smile and head tilt. As she had also begun to learn, “good” was not some looming branch, fruit too far above to be plucked, it was smaller than that. Seeds, perhaps. Old roots, maybe. It took many shapes, just as evil did. Good was, sometimes, flowers for a neglected grave, dirt brushed off an old name. It was listening to a girl who knew far more about the world than anyone gave her credit, even her own mother. It was life’s discovery, one day at a time. It took the shape of people, or of arms wrapped around. “Yes,” she breathed, leaning down to kiss Morgan finally, fiercely. “We can make it good for her too, even if she isn’t around, even if she is.” Good was not one thing, once, but many things, all the time—shifting. It was choice. And there was no one who knew choice better than Morgan Beck.

[willykappymarnsmatts]

Wrong Direction: Chapter 2 (K. Kapanen)

@moriellymakesmesoft

“I just got off the phone with Max,” it's been two weeks since I've moved into Will’s place, my stuff still in boxes all over the apartment.

“Oh?’ William responds, tossing me a smoothie from the fridge as we get ready to go to practice. I still go to sleep in tears and wake up with puffy eyes, but Willy makes me feel like everythings going to be okay, if not today then someday soon. “How is he?”

“Good,” I tell him, scratching at the back of my neck, refusing to look up at him knowing what comes next. “He asked me to come stay with him. Well, he didn't ask. He's kinda forcing me.”

“Oh,” Will says. He turns around and faces me with a look on his face of a mix of betrayal and hurt, and it makes me want to burst into tears. “Um, well, are you gonna go?”

“I have to, babe. He's my brother, and he said that if I don't come by myself he'll pack my things for me the next time he comes to Toronto.” I feel bad, but I do miss Max.

Willy just frowns at me. “When are you leaving?”

“Uh, tomorrow. He said he'd buy me a plane ticket.”

“To Montreal?! I could drive you!”

“I know, its okay. He’s the one paying so I don't really care honestly. Don't we have to get going?’

“Yeah,” he giggles, glancing at the watch on his wrist.

On our way to the arena, I take deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart and shaking hands. Seeing Kasperi this often still hurts just as bad as seeing him in bed with that girl. But the whole situation has given me a lot of inspiration for a new song that i've been working on, bouncing ideas off of Will day and night.

He notices my agitation and reaches over to grab my hand. “After this, you won't ever have to see him or me ever again.”

“Hey, don't say that,” I pout. “I'll be back and i'll move back in with you, if you let me, in a couple months. I just need a break from Toronto. Everything I know is laced with memories of him. I can't even enjoy your games because he's there.”

Will nods without looking away from the road. “You're always welcome at my place. We’re all still really pissed at him, you know. Mitch hasn't spoken to him since that night, and you know how Mitch is. Auston doesn't even look at him, and Zach’s only talking to him because he feels bad that everyone is making every effort to ignore him but me. The whole fucking team loves you, Y/N. Oh, and Derms took a slapshot at his ankle the other night and he had to sit out for an entire period.”

My eyes are brimmed with tears and I have to look up at the ceiling of the car to keep them from spilling over. “Can you let the guys know i'm leaving? I'll obviously talk to them, but I don't want to be the one to break the news to them.”

Will nods. “Of course.” he smiles at me then and looks away from the road for a split second to wipe away a tear.

•••

I sit in the third row to watch the boys’ practice and try to continue writing, but the yelling and pucks hitting the boards constantly is distracting, so eventually I give up and watch them skate. During a water break, I catch myself watching Kasperi. All he does is take a few deep breaths, but watching him like this, as if nothing ever happened, makes my heart shatter. Before I can look away, he looks up at me and I watch his entire face fall. He stares at me and I stare back. He studies me, as if to memorize me. I can't look away, and he refuses to skate away. He continues forward, until he's at the boards and we’re a few feet away from each other. Neither of us can pretend we weren't looking at each other. He stops, and so does my heart. And we just watch each other. Just stare. My heart is breaking with every moment that passes, and my stomach hurts, because he was my everything.

A whistle blows. Kasperi whips his head around. The sounds of the rink come back into my ears, and we’re both taken out of the world where we were the only two people who existed. He skates away, glancing back at me once before never looking back at me again.

•••

“Y/N,” Willy says as soon as I answer his facetime call. I've been in Montreal with Max for about two months and I released my song about a week ago. Wills is driving back from practice, which is when he gives me a rundown on how “incredible” he was and how he's gonna kick ass at the next game. But today he looks anything but confident, his forehead a mass of worry lines and his mouth turned down into a frown.

“Y/N, your song is saved on my playlist, and I got the aux this morning. After practice, it came on. Most of us were singing, and I glanced at Kap, and he was just sitting there in his stall. He wasn't moving. Just staring straight ahead.”

I sit up. “Woah, slow down. I thought Kasperi and I were finished.” When I moved away, after the day at the rink, Will told me that Kasperi stopped seeming to care. He was out with a different girl every two days, bringing random girls home every day of the weekend. It still hurts, but it hurt more to realize that our entire relationship meant nothing to him. But if Will is telling the truth, which I don't doubt he is, it makes everything a whole lot more confusing.

“I thought so too, but listen. I think that it was your voice at first, Y/N. He hasn't heard your voice in months. And then he heard the rest of the song, he listened without moving, and as soon as it ended he got up, in just his slides and shorts, and fucking left the room.”

I'm silent, letting Will talk. “The rest of us didn't know what to do, so I tried to follow him. I found him in the weights room, and he was in tears.” Will flicks on the turn signal and turns onto his street, then glances at his phone to see if he should continue the story. I nod at him, holding my breath to keep from breaking down at the thought of Kasperi.

“I went to him and sat with him, and he just cried. I haven't seen him cry since he thought I was getting promoted to the bigs and he wasn't. But he was sobbing. So I sat with him, and eventually he calmed down enough to choke out that he misses you. He told me the girls were a front, and that he hasn't been able to sleep ever since that night. And, Y/N, I dont think he's lying. His eyes always have huge bags under them and he's so shaky. So I asked him why he did it, but he didn't have an answer. He said he missed you and he felt like you didn't love him anymore because you were always out doing stuff for your album, but I told him that was bullshit and he said he knew it. He told me he can't breathe without, and that he hates that he hurt you. So I told him to talk to you, and he said he'd try to text you later today.”

“Damn,” I respond, not sure how to feel. “I want to love him again, but I don't know if I can trust him.”

“You don't have to. He knows he hurt you, and that he has to work to get you back, but I am asking you to please just try to talk to him, because fuck, Y/N, if there’s a such thing as soulmates, it’s you guys. You're both in so much pain. Take your time, keep your walls up, but just talk to him.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.”

“Thank you, beautiful best friend. I'm home now, so I'll call you back in a couple hours?”

“Yeah, that’s cool. See ya.”

He ends the call and I'm left in silence. Then my phone dings with a text notification in my hand, and my heart picks up speed. I know exactly who it is, and I don't want to look at it, not right away, so I throw it across the couch with a pillow on top of it.

I put my head in my hands and try to slow my speeding heart by taking a few deep breaths. “Fuck!” I yell, then silently thank Max for going out a few hours ago. I wipe my face with my hands and sit straight up.

I stare at the pillow my phone is sitting under, knowing without ever checking that there is a text from Kasperi Kapanen waiting for me. My phone dings again and my heart jumps. I stand up and rip my phone from under the pillow.

‘wrong direction huh’

‘i miss u’

I cover my mouth with my hand and my eyes brim with tears. I sit back slowly onto the couch and read over the messages two, three, four more times before unlocking my phone and tapping on the text bar.

‘Dang, how'd u know it was abt u?’

I smile slightly as I type out the message and hold my breath when I hit send. I don't have to wait even a second before the three bubbles come up on the screen.

‘no idea’

‘ig im just tht good’

I laugh and type out another response.

‘Imyt. How r u?’

I bite my lip when the text bubbles come up, and a few seconds later his response comes.

‘could be better tbh. can’t sleep @ the apt nymore so i spend the nites b4 games @ 1 of the guys places’

My breath catches at the words. Then another message pops up.

‘im so sry 4 everything’

I bite my lip and close my eyes, taking a breath.

‘Thx. I havent stopped thinking abt u’

‘me neither’

I take another deep breath. Kasperi was my favourite person, my person, for so long. It's scary how easily we can fall back into simple, comfortable conversation, as if nothing ever happened. So I decide to be straight up and honest with him, and if he really does still care about me, he’ll understand.

‘U broke me, Kasperi. I never thought tht u would hurt me, and u literally broke me. I miss u more than nything and it hurts so bad to b without u, but seeing u in bed with another girl, tht broke me. It felt like our whole relationship was built on lies, and tht u never actually cared abt me. So yeah, i cant stop thinking abt u, and i want to b able to love you again, but u broke my trust and idk if ill ever trust u like i did before.’

I hit send and feel like I'm going to be sick. Everything I type I’ve told Will and all the other guys, but after the day I left the apartment, I never spoke to Kasperi about anything. The three bubbles come up on the screen and I hold my breath, then they disappear. They come up and disappear a couple more times, until a message finally pops up on the screen.

‘i wish i could take back everything i ever did 2 hurt u, but ik its not tht ez. i rly do want 2 fix this, tho. would u b down to ft l8r?’

I can't breathe, but I manage to type out a response without screaming.

‘Sure. Just text me when ur ready’

I take a deep breath and click my phone off. I'm about to get up when my phone dings again. I glance at the message and it makes my chest feel like it's going to explode.

‘ok i will <3’

I smile down at the screen and go to plug in my phone so it's charged when Kasperi wants to call. I really don't know if I'll ever be able to trust him again, but the least I can do is give him a chance to apologize. He's already broken me so badly, even if he lets me down again nothing will compare to the amount of hurt I’ve already felt.

[faemischief]

Those Who Beat the Odds Will Call It Fate

Warnings for major character death and a quick mention of suicide:

Logan knew that the foreign words in his mind weren’t in any language he knew. There were three distinct languages; he knew one was Portuguese another was German and the third was, French, he had done research. He took classes in all three languages but the voices didn’t show up until he was sixteen, so he would never speak the other languages perfectly and they likely weren’t understanding his own Japanese for a long time. He learned when he could and for a long time the voices in his head were his reprieve from the kids at school who never wanted to talk to him. He was going to meet them and they were going to be happy if he had to spend more time studying. He had always loved reading anyway. 

Roman was going to meet his soulmates someday, he didn’t know where any of them lived and he did not know what they were saying, but he knew how to act happy and confident enough to not worry his family. He just needed to make enough money to keep his mother alive and learn about three new languages. That wasn’t hard. He could do that. He had to.  All he knew was the French seemed to be on a similar schedule to him and if he had to guess he would say they were Canadian. The German was always seeming to try to start conversations on anything they could understand. The Japanese alway was working to learn the other languages, to be fair so was everyone else, but he had a gift for it. Roman hardly knew them and he loved them to the ends of the Earth. 

Patton would do anything to even be able to communicate for a couple of minutes with his soulmates in any language. He had had bits of a conversation with Logan, his Japanese soulmate, but Patton’s rapid German had gotten too fast and they hadn’t gotten much further than names. Virgil, his French-speaking soulmate, had also only talked a few times, when he had time. Roman, his Portuguese-speaking soulmate, always tried to talk to them but he hadn’t managed to communicate more than that he lived in Brazil. Patton had been so excited when he finally got a sign that his soulmates existed and, for the smallest amount of time, he had hoped that two of his soulmates were in the continent. He was wrong. He had never had a depressive episode quite as bad before, but he needed to keep face for his family and for his soulmates. 

Virgil had only known his soulmates for a few months, but he was already trying to meet them. He, of course, had gotten his soulmate identifiers the latest of anyone in his entire class, and it was one of the rarest forms. He never really wanted to tell anybody because he was so tired of being the odd one out for the whole of his life. Eventually he told his family and they were the kind of surface supportive that he never brought it up again. Nothing hurts quite like realizing the people you thought loved you forever would potentially turn on you if you weren’t careful. He wasn’t going to be able to meet his soulmates for years. He wanted to though. He would do just about anything to get the ability. He supposed he loved them unconditionally and forever. He worked as much as he could and while also staying alive and learning three languages. Money was a serious problem when your soulmates lived so very very far away.

Fortunately for the four of them language learning is so much easier when you have voices in your head constantly. Fortunately for the four of them Logan is a genius who managed to get a scholarship to Germany. Patton was ecstatic for good reason. Logan got on a plane a month before he and started school with plans to meet Patton at a park. Logan’s plane never landed in Germany. Nobody on the flight survived the crash. Part of their brains went a kind of quiet that never really goes away and they knew almost immediately. 

They had to keep going though. They got better at language until they could communicate almost fully. The three of them cried when they finally got good enough to talk in any of the four languages. Things were finally looking up and they might finally have been able to meet,  when Roman was tested for the genetic illness that had killed his mom the year before. He had a fatal case and he broke down immediately and his soulmates were there for every minute of his pain. He lived another six months. They were twenty when a second part of Virgil and Pattons was quiet for good.  

Virgil and Patton mourned and were never the same. They had to keep going though, they reassured each other of that everytime Patton had another major depressive episode and everytime Virgil’s anxiety got the better of him. They had to be positive and be there for each other was something that Patton would say in even the darkest of times. He was always an optimist. Patton was on his way home one night with the best news he had in years. He was finally going to be able to fly out to meet Virgil. Money had been tight for so long that they had never gotten the chance to meet in the real world. He died in a car crash on the way home. The other driver was drunk. They were twenty five. Virgil’s head was quieter than it had ever been. 

Virgil never recovered. Languages dug into wounds so deep they would never heal. He stopped talking for good, and he couldn’t manage to make it a full day without something causing him to cry again.  He never saw his twenty-seventh birthday. 

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 55

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @ocfairygodmother​

They arrive in Mumbai at three thirty in the morning. Checking into a hotel just on the outskirts of the city; a simple and unassuming place owned by an ‘informant’ of Anil’s. An inside man with access to both Mahajan and the higher ups temporarily in charge of running his business and carrying out his dirty work. While their true identities are known only to the owner and a handful of his most trusted staff, they register under the fake names given to them prior to boarding the plane. There is to be no trail leading back to them and who they really are; using cash only for all purchases, given different cell phones with unlisted and untraceable numbers to communicate amongst each other with, signing the passenger manifesto before the flight with entirely different monikers. Assured that everything during their stay will be kept low key to avoid any suspicion from ‘the wrong crowd’; two guards in casual clothing assigned to the lobby, monitoring everyone that comes through the front doors. Granted use of the establishment’s personal conference room for all planning and strategic meetings, and for Yaz to set up his command post.

Anil’s money and influence are quite prominent; his dealings and interactions with those he comes across are always friendly, but remaining professional. He’s well liked. Respected. And perhaps more than a little feared. A man that presents himself as calm and level headed but whose tone and facial expressions never leave a doubt that he’s not to be crossed. There’s an edge to him; a grittiness just under the businessman in designer clothes and linen suits and silk ties that suggests a tough and checkered past. Tyler has done his research; digging up some of the truth behind Anil’s departure from Special Forces. It isn't as cut and dry as he led them to believe; it isn’t just vengeance for his brother that saw him and the military parting ways.  Multiple complaints of ‘excessive force’ against apprehended criminals -most drug and human traffickers- leading to an honorary discharge and no access to a pension. He knows there’s more to it than that; through his own experience with the SASR  and the tales of others who’d served in various branches of the military world wide. Most war machines and police forces turns a blind eye to roughening up -and even killing- more hardcore offenders like child molesters, traffickers, and terrorists. But the further he dug into Anil’s past, the most questions he walked away with. His search for the full story only led to heavily guarded military pages that even all the tricks Yaz had taught him over the years couldn’t get past.

He doubts it’s anything serious or scandalous. His money on involvement in missions kept under the radar and out of public knowledge; most likely involving top officials in the Indian government. He’s worked a handful of those jobs himself; everything kept on the down low, his true name and identity kept a secret; nothing more than a ghost or an urban legend behind a high profile assassination.

The room is far more spacious and inviting than the bland and sparsely furnished front lobby. Two queen sized beds and a large walk in closet, burgundy walls adorned with paintings encased in thick, highly polished gold frames, natural wood furniture and a small table with two chairs nestled in the corner by the balcony doors. It’s twelve stories up and he pauses momentarily to look out at the city in the distance; brightly lit skyscrapers and the glow of random lights in apartment buildings, the flashing red of stop signs.  The last time he’d ventured to Mumbai, Millie had been just turned two and a half months old and they were a week and a half away from finding out they were having another baby; staying in Mahajan’s cold and pretentious mansion, discussing how they couldn’t -in good conscience- leave Ovi behind.  They couldn’t -and wouldn’t- allow him to be raised in such a sterile and unloving environment; no one to protect him from his father’s enemies, never feeling the touch of someone who truly cared for him. It was inhumane; expecting any human to live like that, never mind a scared and impressionable kid.

They hadn’t even had a home themselves.  A situation beyond their control making it impossible to return to that small, two bedroom apartment just outside of Sydney.  But they’d made the best of it, taking Ovi with them when they’d headed for Colorado with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and whatever money was in their bank account.  

For now, this is home; no telling just how long he’ll actually be there. All that really matters is that there’s a bed to sleep in and hot, running water, and a toilet that actually works. The rest is just window decoration; needless trimmings and frills that he’ll either never touch or even acknowledge. Living on the job is the best way to do things; no true comforts, nothing to distract you from the seriousness of the mission. And he thinks of Dhaka and how well things had done there, until they didn’t. That squalid hotel room with its dirty walls and cold water and view of the crowded and chaotic street. As desolate and dreary as it had been, for five days it seemed like a paradise. The outside world -and the job at hand- ceasing to exist the moment they locked themselves inside. It seems like forever ago. He’d been a different person then. So had she. Both fractured and damaged, bonding over their empty and meaningless lives.

He’s unsure if his exhaustion is mental or physical. Or if it’s perhaps a mix of both. But the five hours of restless and pain filled sleep he’d managed during the flight has done little to ease the head to toe weariness. Feeling as if his body is running on autopilot as he completes even the simplest of tasks; locking the door, toeing off his boots, placing his own stash of weapons and ammo and other tactical gear in the closet and securing them with a heavy chain and padlock. He feels  numb. Empty. As if the emotional well has been bled dry and there’s just nothing left to give. The Tyler that existed before he stepped onto the plant almost gone; replaced by a darker, more savage and vengeful version. His finger longing for a trigger to pull; that long simmering rage finally reaching its boiling point. It's all he DOES feel now; the desperate seeking of revenge and carrying it out through whatever means necessary.  Pushed to a near breaking point and determined into something useful; the feel of blood on his hands and the terrified, haunted look on another’s face as he stands over them and watches them die.

It should bother him. Wanting to kill. Enjoying the thought of it and knowing he’ll get satisfaction out of doing it. He’s never felt that before; a want and a need to take a life. Before killing had always been a means to an end; a way of securing his own survival. Now it’s a longing. A way of proving two things. That he’s more capable of chaos and violence than Mahajan ever expected, and that even a reformed and changed man will go to any length to protect what’s his.  

It’s justified. The things he needs to do. And it will be easy. He won’t have a guilty conscience. He’ll experience no shame. No regret. No remorse. He’ll feel nothing but relief and satisfaction. And IF he manages to survive, he’ll go on with his life; not once thinking back to things he’d been forced to do in Mumbai.

He checks the time on his phone before tossing it onto the nightstand between the beds. With the four and a half hour time difference between India and Australia, it’s peak insanity time for getting the kids ready and out the door in time for the school bus.  And just like that the feeling of emptiness...and nothingness...briefly lifts; a sudden tightening in his chest and throat and the bitter sting of tears. Actually missing -despite often grumbling about it- that morning routine; the race to get lunch pail paced and stuffed into backpacks, the madness that ensures when three kids all attempt to find missing shoes in the disaster that is the hall closet, often finishing Millie’s hair while standing in the driveway while the boys sit on the curb and watch YouTube videos on his phone. Those moments that most people would take for granted yet he always feels so lucky to even be experiencing. Almost seven years ago he’d been on the brink of death; only to be snatched back and given a second chance. To do something good with his life; one again be a husband and a father but this time get it right.  Experience the ‘boring’ and the ‘mundane’ instead of nothing but danger and self sacrifice. Instead of taking jobs and checking into cheap, shitty hotels, spending his night on the couch with his wife; suffering through her love of reality television while they eat ice cream straight out of the carton.

THAT was supposed to be his life. It’s what they had planned on when they decided to uproot the kids and move back to Australia. Be just another ordinary family; just a mom and ad raising five kids and enjoying their own slice of paradise after years of stress and worry and fear brought on by the job. And he thought he’d be happy with that LIKE that. But the past always finds a way to sneak up on you; reminds you why you’d ever got into it in the first place and convinces you that you aren’t complete without it. The adrenaline, the fast pace, the unpredictability. He’d somehow let himself fall prey to all of that. Once again going back on every goddamn promised he’d made; ruining every good intention he’d started out with.

If one thing has accompanied him to Mumbai, it’s the guilt. It’s deep and it’s painful and it makes him feel physically ill. That he would ever willingly get back into the game when he has so much to lose. The job is draining. Soul crushing. An unfair existence to spouses and children.  Yet he’d brought them into it. He’d gotten close enough to someone to trust them -with his life- and had fallen in love with them and had desperately hung on to her when everything should have been telling him to push her away.  And then he’d brought kids into it. Innocent little beings that are totally dependent on him for their survival and who would be the ones to suffer if anything happens to happen.

It WAS selfish; his reasonings behind not forcing her out of his life and back to Colorado. IT was the first time since Austin...since he’d made the terrible decision he had...that he felt alive again. That he actually allowed himself to feel. Finding someone that was equally as broken and damaged; connecting with them through their experiences with the job and their tortured pasts and horrendous life choices. He hadn’t wanted to lose that. He hadn’t wanted to lose HER. Even though it should have been painfully clear that her life would have turned out so much better without him in it.

He forces those thoughts out of his mind. Concentrating instead on the pain inhabiting his body and the need for a hot shower. Maybe even something to eat. It’s been close to twenty hours since he last ate, and he can feel the pang of hunger that accompanies the guilt and regret and gnaws at his stomach.  And he strips off his clothes as he heads for the bathroom. Letting them fall where they may, planning to gather them later; wincing at the agony that accompanies even the simple task of removing his shirt.

Like the sleeping quarters, the bathroom is spacious; clean and modern with its subway tiles and infinity tub and a glass enclosed shower. And the water is hot...almost punishing...when he stands underneath it; pressure pounding and stinging. A form of self flagellation; punishing himself for both the selfish choice he’d made almost seven years ago and for feeling that way in the first place. Eyes closed, chin dropped to his chest and his palms flat against the tiles. Losing the battle against the threatening tears; allowing them to trickle freely down his cheeks and the sides of his nose, the droplets mixing with the soapy water that gathers at his first before swirling down the drain. It’s the first and only time he’ll let this happen; the open expression of emotion, the loss of control.  It can’t happen again. Not on this job. He can’t allow it to. Not when there’s so much to lose.

His body is still damp damp and a towel is wrapped tightly around his waist when the confusion first hits. Distinctly remembering where he’d dropped each item of clothing on his journey to the bathroom; shirt having been the last item abandoned, left just on the threshold.  Yet it’s no longer there. The door is cracked open to allow some of the steam to escape, and he can hear the sound of the tv -a laugh track for some shitty sitcom- drifting through the suite.  He knows for a fact that he didn’t turn it on. And that he’d shut the bathroom door long before stepping into the shower. It isn’t a threat; no one is going to break into his room and gather up his dirty clothes and watch some television before attempting to kill him. Yet he still moves cautiously towards the door; years of being in a job where you have to expect the unexpected.  Bare feet quiet against the tiles and then the dark, plush carpet. A scowl spreading across his face when he rounds the corner of the wall that separates the sleeping area from the bathroom and finds Koen sprawled out in the middle of the spare bed; clad in just a pair of boxers, hands behind his head as he watches tv.

“Just what in the fuck are you doing?” Tyler asks.

Koen nods towards the television as a form of response.

“Why are you doing it here and not in your own room?”

“Figured you wouldn’t mind having a roomie.”

“Actually, I do mind. So…”

“I picked up after your lazy ass. Were you born in a barn? Or are you just too used to someone picking up after you?”

“Why are you here? And how the hell did you get in here?”

“Front desk gave me the spare key card. Everyone is bunkin’ together; I thought why not the two of us?”

“Have you ever thought I like being alone?”

“You spent way too many years being alone and miserable,” Koen reasons. “Now I know I ain’t as pretty as who you’re used to sharing a room with, but…” he looks up at Tyler limps past him. “...well holy shit…” he drawls, and issues a low whistle. “...I think I’m questioning my sexuality.”

Tyler doesn’t respond; dropping down onto the edge of the bed closest to the window and digging through the old army rucksack for a pair of sweats.

“I could tell you had a pretty good rig under all those clothes, but I didn’t think you looked like THAT. Now I see why she doesn’t leave you. Or is the real reason she doesn’t under the towel?”

Tyler smirks, then shoves his legs into the sweats, towel still around his waist when he stands and pulls them on the rest of the way.

“Don’t be shy on my account. Be proud of what the good Lord gave you. Must be something extra special if your ugly mug manages to keep such a good woman around. Ain’t you ever worried about breaking a tiny little thing like her in half?”

“Fuck off,” Tyler grumbles, then yanks the damp towel from around his waist and tosses it at his friend.

“Humble, are we? I already know what it looks like, remember? How many times did we have to piss standing next to each other when we were in Kandahar?   I’d be lying if I said I wasn't a bit jealous. Still don’t understand how you don’t hurt her, though.”

“I’m not discussing my sex life with you.”

“Never shied away from it before. Used to tell Rata and I all about your lady ‘friends’ stashed all over the world.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not that guy anymore, am I. And this isn’t just some piece of ass. This is my wife. So if you don’t mind…”

“Easy, tiger, easy. I know how defensive you get when it comes to her. And I don’t blame you; I don’t hold the overprotectiveness thing against you. I mean she’s cute, she’s tiny, you’ve almost lost her a couple times already…”

“Thanks for reminding me for that,” Tyler snarls, snagging his phone off the nightstand. “As if I haven’t been thinking about that every second of every fucking day since this Mahajan shit started.”

“...but she’s a grown woman with children and she knows how to take care of herself.” Koen finishes. “Ever think of easing up on her a bit?”

“You ever think of fucking off?”

“All I'm saying is that you don’t need to worry about her so much. She’s more than capable of handling things; taking care of herself and those littles.”

“Not against someone like Mahajan she’s not. And why are you even here? I don’t need company.”

“Hell you don’t. You gonna call home? She’s probably worried about you.”

“Get off my ass and go back to your own room.”

Koen ignores him. “You know this place has twenty four hour room service? We’re a far cry from eating army rations, ain’t we? I took the liberty of ordering both of us a little something. They didn’t have vegemite for your steak,though. What kind of savage bastard does that to a steak?”

“The kind of savage bastard that might kill in your sleep if you don’t fuck off and leave him alone.”

“Nope. Can’t do it. You’re stuck with me. No getting rid of me. Unless you DO kill me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Call home. I know you’re missing her. It’s  okay to admit that; that you need to hear her voice. You’re a lucky bastard that you have a voice to call and help ground you. Don’t take shit like that for granted. Treat her right. ‘Cause there’s probably a lot of guys willing to take your place on her dance card.”

“How about you leave giving relationship advice to someone who is actually in a relationship?” Tyler retorts.

Koen smirks, then gives him the finger before he slides open the balcony door and steps outside.

****

“Job Tyler” is quick to assess his surroundings; considering what could go wrong and how he’d carry it off if he was the one targeting someone. If Mahajan’s people have been tipped off that he’s in Mumbai and they’re either keeping an eye on him or have been sent to take him out, the only way they could achieve it is from the apartment building to the right. It’s nothing but one story single family homes and empty lots in the other directions, and with  his room being on the twelfth floor, there is no possible way even the best of snipers could manage a decent shot from that angle and distance. So instead of standing at the railing and possibly giving someone a chance at him, he stays behind the cement partition that separates his balcony from the one belonging to the room next door.

What a fucking way to live.

It’s nine in the morning in Australia; the kids will have already arrived at school leaving her with just Declan and Addie. It’s easier this way; not calling when the three oldest are around. It will only make things harder on them. And him.

She answers on the third thing; both dogs barking in the background, along with the faint sound of waves.

“Hey,” Esme greets, and her surprisingly cheerful voice brings a smile to his face. “I was wondering if you’d fallen asleep on me,”

“I wanted to wait until the kids were at school. Didn’t want to make things harder on them. They’re okay?”

“Better than they usually are when you leave. Millie and TJ are all about going on a trip and seeing where Ovi came from. Tanner…well you know Tanner...he’s so intuitive and so sensitive and he’s become so close to you since New Zealand. He’s having a hard time. But I knew he would. He’s so much like you. More than anyone...even you...realizes. He feels so deeply and so powerfully.”

“He’ll be alright.” Tyler assures her. “He’s got a pretty amazing mom loving on him.”

“I don't know how amazing she is. She puts herself at mediocre.”

“Well tell her she’s delusional and she’s a fucking rock star and her husband worships the ground she walks on.”

“Her husband sounds like a very smart man.”

He grins. “He has his moments. You okay? What’re you doing?”

“Declan and I are down at the water with Saju and Mac. Kyle’s in the house with Addie. I’m okay, I guess. I’ve been better. I feel...I don’t know...like I’m in some kind of daze or a fog. Like I’m just going through the motions. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. But are you? Okay?”

“Not really,” she admits. “It’s real now. Not something we just talk about or plan. It’s so real and I’m worried and I’m scared and I’m trying so hard not to be. And I miss you. Already.”

“I miss you, too. So much.”

“You usually wait a couple days before admitting it,” Esme teases, and he can’t help but smile.

“Well I’ve gotten used to being around you all the time. Six months of just being about you and my kids. Hits a little deeper now. A little harder. Being away from home.”

“I’d gotten used to you being around all the time, too. I know sometimes I bitched about it, but I really DID like it; having you here THAT much. And I like my brother, don’t get me wrong, and he’s a huge help, but he’s not you. It was weird waking up and you not being there. I’ve been spoiled, I guess. I took it...you…for granted. I hate myself for that.”

“Don’t, baby. Don’t ever feel like that. We’ve both done it. Not just you.”

“I did wake up to four little ones in the bed, though. I don’t know how they take up so much damn room. And Declan is freaking tall and so heavy!”

“Kid’s a tank. Gonna be six seven and weight three pounds and be solid as fuck.”

“Even with the red hair, he looks more like you every day. You have some seriously strong genes, Tyler Rake. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you really okay? Or…?”

“I’m okay now,” he says. “Now that I’m talking to you.  I needed to hear your voice.”

“And you say you’re not sappy,” Esme chides. “There’s a lot of people here. That Anil has sent. It’s making me even MORE nervous. And they’re not subtle. They're armed. Heavily. And they’re not making an attempt to hide it.”

“How many?”

“A dozen so far. There’s two of them watching Declan and I right now. We DON’T need this. This isn’t helping.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Tyler reasons.

“Our kids aren’t stupid. They notice everything. And they’re going to notice them and they’re going to start asking questions and they’re going to get scared. Can’t you get them to scale it back? Just a little? I don’t want the kids stressed out. I’m stressed out enough for all of us.”

“I’ll talk to Anil,” he says. “See if he’ll tone things down.”

“The kids do not need to know what’s going on. You know what Millie gets like when she thinks too much about you going after bad guys. She gets anxious and panics and then we’ll have a six year old that will start sucking her thumb and wetting the bed again.”

“I’ll talk to him. You’re right; there’s no need for all of that.”

“Do you think something’s happened?” she asks. “That maybe the threats have gotten worse? Or maybe Mahajan’s people are on the move?”

“What I think is that you need to NOT think so much. I’ll take care of it. And you guys are leaving tomorrow, so…”

“I wish you could be there,” she sighs. “When we arrive.”

“So do I, baby. Nothing I wouldn’t give to be there. But…”

“I know. I know it’s not safe. It’s just me being selfish and wanting to see you. It must be really late. Or really early.”

“Almost five.”

“You should rest. You sound tired.”

“I am,” Tyler admits. “I’m going to have something to eat and then try and sleep. There’s nothing to do until early afternoon. Just a team meeting to go over shit. I’ll call later. After dinner, your time. So I can talk to the kids.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself, please.  You NEED to.”

“I know. I’ll talk to you later. Give Declan and the baby a hug and a kiss from me. Tell them I love them.”

“I will. We love you. Your little peanut misses you most of all, I think. She wouldn’t settle for her feed this morning until I wrapped her in one of your t-shirts from the dirty laundry basket.”

Tears prick his eyes, but he manages to hold them back. “Why would you do that to my little peanut?” he teases. “Traumatize her like that? That thing probably stinks.”

“It smells like you. And that’s the best smell in the world. I miss you. So much. And I can’t wait to see you. I hope it’s sooner rather than later."

“I hope so, too. I miss you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Tyler. Take that with you, okay? Wherever you go, whatever you get mixed up in.”

“I will,” he promises. “Talk later.”

“Be safe. Please. Be smart. You’ve got this. I know you do. You’re strong and you’re tough and nothing Mahajan throws at you is too much.”

“You’re good for my ego, you know that?”

“I’m in your corner. No matter what. We’ll talk soon,”

“We will,” he confirms, then waits for her to disconnect the call before hanging up himself.

****

“Well?” Koen asks when he steps back into the room. “Everything good on the home front’?”

“Best it can be, I guess.”

“Felt good, didn't it? Being able to talk to her. Hearing her voice like that?”

Tyler smirks, dropping his cell onto the bedside table.  “When the fuck did you get so sappy?”

“There was a time where I did love all my ex wives, you know. When I liked hearing their voices. Now all I feel is a cold chill if I hear even the slightest peep from those three hens. Nice seeing you this way. All head over heels, a fool in love for someone. Considering I know what you were like when you were with Sarah. Back when you THOUGHT you were in love.”

“Do we have to talk about her? Nothing good ever comes from talking about her.” He stretches out in the middle of the bed, pillows behind his back as he leans against the headboard. “When is the food showing up? I’m fucking starvin’.”

“Soon. And all I’m saying is that there’s a huge difference between the guy you were with Sarah and the guy you are with Esme. Back then, you thought you were in love. Now you really are. It’s written all over your damn face. Every time you look at her, it’s right there. How you feel. And you can’t tell me you don’t see the difference. FEEL the difference. Between the two.”

“Of course I do. It’s night and day.”

“You two are still so loved up on each other. I know I complain that it’s nauseating and annoying, but it’s actually really nice. Seeing you like that. Loving someone; them loving you. You deserved it. Finding that. Finding HER. It’s changed you. SHE’S changed you.”

“For good or…?”

“Of course for good, don’t be a dumb ass. She’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you.  Her and those kids. She made you a daddy again. You ask me, she deserves you worshipping the ground she walks on. And you’re a good daddy. A damn good one.”

“I’m just doing whatever I can do to make up for the shitty I mess I made the first time around.”

Koen frowns. “Don’t do that, mate. Don’t compare those kids to what you lost. They’re not a replacement for Austin. Don’t talk like they are. And don’t treat them like they are. They deserve better than that. You did a crappy thing; we all do crappy things. But that’s a long time ago and you’re a different man now and them kids aren’t holding the past against you. You’re doing that all on your own. You have this uncanny ability to fuck your life up without even trying. Those kids don’t care who you were back then. Just who you are now.”

Tyler sighs. “You talk a lot of shit, you know that?”

“I’m talking the truth.  You just hate hearing it for some reason. You hate when other peoples’ narratives don’t match your own. When they don’t see you as the shitty human you see yourself as. Knock that shit off. You’re better than you think.”

“Maybe,” Tyler agrees. “Maybe I am. But sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing. If I should have forced her to leave; when I woke up after Dhaka. If I should have found a way to get her to take off.”

Koen scowls. “You’re taking shit and you know it.”

“I was selfish. I wanted her to stay. I liked the way she made me feel. Not just the sex part of things. I mean everything. I liked having her around. I liked hearing her voice and seeing her smile. I liked how she looked at me. She didn’t look at me with pity or disgust. She looked at me like I was worth something. Like I wasn’t just a big fucking mess.”

“She saw the potential.” Koen reasons. “We all saw it. Just took her to get out of you.”

“But I kept her there for me. I didn’t think about what it would do to her; being mixed up with someone like me. And I should have. I should realized I’d only make her life a big fucking mess.”

“If she wanted to leave, she would have. You didn’t force her to stay.”

“I didn’t make her leave, either. And I should have. Especially after she found out about the baby.”

Koen’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck you going on about?”

“She would have been better going back to the States and having the baby on her own and  never bothering with me again.”

“That’s horseshit and you know it! You really think you could have lived like that? Knowing you had a kid out there? Yet never knowing if it was a boy or a girl or even their name or what they looked like? You wouldn’t have been able to live like that; knowing you had blood out there So quit talking crazy. Look at that little girl. Think about her. How much she loves her daddy.”

“I’m a selfish fuck,” Tyler insists. “For getting married. Having kids. Dragging them all into this.”

“You didn’t drag anyone into anything,” Koen argues.  “Esme stayed. She chose to be with you. And no matter what you could have said or done to push her away, it wouldn’t have worked. Her mind was made up. She wanted to be with you. For some fucking reason,”

“She deserves better than this. So do those kids.”

“Those kids wouldn’t even exist without you! They’re just as much yours as they are hers. You know what they deserve? They deserve to be on this earth.  They have a mom and a dad that love them. That take damn good care of them. You know what’s selfish?  You thinking FOR them. You’re their daddy. And you sit here talking about them like they’re mistakes?”

“I never said that.”

“You might as fucking well! You deserve a normal life. A wife and kids. People that love you no matter how big of a mess you think you are! And you know what? Fuck you for questioning that. Questioning their existence!”

“I never…”

“You’re the luckiest fucker I know,” Koen continues his rant. “I’ve seen you at your lowest. I’ve seen you in the gutter, practically. And this beautiful, selfless woman comes along and gives everything of herself to you. Gave up her old life to have a new one with you. And that’s how you think of her? Just to hell with the last seven years? To hell with five kids? All you think is ‘I should have pushed her away’? That’s what she gets after everything she’s done for you? Fuck you, mate. Guys would kill for what you have. Stop looking at what’s wrong and look at what’s right! You have a great life. That you deserve. So get your head out of your ass and appreciate it before someone comes along and does it for you. Yeah, you're a selfish prick, alright. Not even thinking about what pushing her away would have done to her and the baby she had in her belly. How none of those kids would even exist. THAT makes you a selfish prick.”

Silence descends on the room; Koen’s harsh words and accusations hanging heavily in the air. He’s right, of course. Even if Tyler hates to admit it, even to himself. Had he pushed her away, he would have spent the rest of his life drinking himself stupid and dwelling on what could have been and thoughts of what his kid turned out to be; what they looked like or what their name was. Did Esme give them his last name or did she just go with her? Was she with anyone? Did she ever think about him and those five days in Dhaka or did she hate him enough to never think of it...or him...again?

How would her life have turned out? Who would she have  ended  up with? Would she have been happy? Or would part of her always be back in Australia? His child serving as a bond that would always keep them connected. Millie would exist,but none of the others would. No TJ with his fiery temper but a propensity to love with his entire heart and soul. No Tanner with his dad’s old haircut and his huge emotions and his sensitive, old soul. No Declan with his red hair and his strong, solid build, so affectionate and loving. No Addie; impossibly tiny with a headful of dark hair and those enormous dark eyes. And that’s a reality he’d never want to face; a life without any of his kids.

“You love her, yeah?” Koen speaks up.

“Of course I do. With everything I am. Everything I have. What..?”

“You love her and that’s enough for her. And she loves you. Or she wouldn’t have stuck around after Dhaka or after any of the shitty times. She’s given herself willingly to you. Given you five kids and a damn good life. Don’t ever talk about her or those kids like that again, or  I WILL beat you ass. Understand me?”

Tyler nods.

“No that we’ve got all that worked out,” Koen sighs. “Food’s gonna be here soon. You gonna eat?”

“I could definitely eat.”

“Gotta take care of yourself. You’re no good to anyone if you don’t. What do you wanna watch?” He gestures towards the tv with the remote. “Probably got some good adult channels on here.”

Tyler smirks. “I am not watching pron with you in the room.”

“I ain’t gonna like while you’re jerking off if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You’ve got issues, mate. Why are you so obsessed with my dick?”

“Gotta be a reason she sticks around, I figure. I’m just trying to piece together what it is. Something’s keeping her happy. Unless…” Koen’s eyes narrow. “...you’re a giver and not a taker, aren’t ya. You’re going above and beyond down yonder to get your woman happy.”

“I already told you; I’m not talking about my sex life with you.”

“That’s it, isn’t it. You’re spoiling her THAT way.”

“My wife has no complaints. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Atta boy! You’ve your priorities straight! You must be something right; she sticks around.”

“Have you ever thought maybe she just loves me? That’s all it is?”

“No doubt in my mind she does. But I’m proud of you; doing what it takes to make her happy. She reciprocating or..”

“Mate, we are not having this conversation.”

“Just give me a sign that she is. Some kind of hint. Give me a thumbs up if she’s doing her bit, too.”

Tyler smirks, then gives two thumbs up.

“You fucking bastard!” Koen snarls. “I don’t know whether to be jealous or you or hate you right now. Maybe a bit of both. No wonder you always got that goofy grin on your face whenever you’re around her. You’re getting yourself some. On a regular basis.”

“Probably get more in one week than you get in six months.”

“Now THAT’S harsh.”

Another silence descends on the room. This time far more comfortable. And Tyler lays his head back against the pillow behind him and closes his eyes. He feels better now. Slightly, at least. Koen’s tough love and hearing his wife’s voice and picturing her down at the water-with the sun capturing the natural red highlights in her dark tresses and that little burn she always gets on her nose and under her eyes- doing wonders to alleviate the guilt and regret. Loosening some of that tightness around his heart.

“You’ve got a good thing,” Koen says. “A good life. Don’t fuck it up.”

“I won’t,” Tyler vows.

But the confidence is lacking. It isn’t himself he doesn’t trust. He has the skills and the strength to complete the tasks at hand; his instincts and abilities strong. HE isn’t the problem. It’s everything...everyone...else around him. There’s no control over the situation . He’s at the mercy of his environment; unfamiliar surroundings working as a weakness. His kryptonite.

Mahajan holds all the cards. And it’s time to take them away.

[goodhypnoboi]

Ahaha. Full disclosure time. I follow/unfollow blogs as I feel comfortable.

I’m not gonna shut this down, but I’ve come close to deleting this blog. I’m not someone big in the community- if my measly 200 followers has anything to say on that- and I’m also one of the youngest participants, having only reached 21/22.

My experiences date back to when I was a minor, getting involved in kink.

This can and might be triggering, I suggest you click off from here if passive mentions of abuse trigger you.

Recently there’s been allegations (a majority having backing) against gaming youtubers I happen to enjoy. Unfortunately rape, and other aspects, horrify me, and can be highly triggering.

It has been and I’ve struggled with it. I’ve been impulsively doing + agreeing to things but I’ve also been more hurt by things. Recently someone said they saw me as someone knowledgeable about the community and went on to mention disillusionment after I had offered to assist in finding content they came to me, to ask about.

I had also mentioned I was going through a rough time.

That’s, not okay to say. I don’t care how highly you see another person, or how much you see them as a pillar to the community, everyone has different tastes and the community is vast and scattered,

It also places a larger burden on me I was definitely not ready for.

I was 15 when I first got into erotic hypnosis. Coming OUT of an abusive relationship with an adult predator, who considered me intelligent and a pillar of the community.

My “tips” are things I’ve passively learnt from other blogs consisting of subs and hypnotists, as well as tists who guided me through that time into a safer environment.

This is why I don’t deny minors from my educational posts, I never want someone like me existing because I’ve pushed them away, and there’s going to be someone like me who didn’t listen to warnings.

This also infuriates me, because, I’m not knowledgeable as a pillar of the community. I know how bad things are BECAUSE I suffered it for months until I stopped when I was 17 years old.

I went on Omegle and found people who hurt me, I didn’t take precautions and I got burned badly. I was a minor and I was hurt.

When I officially became comfortable enough to engage with the community again, I made this tumblr, albeit I had been on the side lines.

After making it, I’ve had five full conversations with people in direct messages, one of them coming to me for help and then lashing out because I have issues with wording due to my autism.

I’m not a “pillar” of the community, I’m on the side of it, I’m actively outspoken, but I’m not a pillar.

And I’m so young too, don’t make me into a hero that’s above people, it’s terrifying, and it directly ties into abuse I’ve faced.

I’m so done with the idea, I’m someone that takes care of people. I’m a sub because I enjoy being taken care of, but I want to HELP people.

I’ll do my best to help people.

Being blown off in such a way is insulting.

It’s demeaning and belittling to how I offered to help.

I’m a young trans dude, who identifies with autigender, trying to live his life.

Most of the time I don’t interact with the community.

I have followers and mutuals- who might not know my main and follow me back on there- as well as friends that I trust in the community. But by no means am I a pillar.

People who would be more of a pillar are people like WrittenByNath and SleepingGirl-H (I think that’s her user). Both of which are more integrated and more apart of the community, and even still they’re living people who can make mistakes or not know something. It just comes with the territory.

As well, people are resource textbooks. We need time to figure things out, and I for one spend more time outside the community than in it. Precisely because a) I’m trans, b) I’m fucking traumatized.

Just because I want to help and make resources for help, doesn’t make me any less of a young, scared, struggling adult. I’m not in a good place in life right now, being on disability and having so many issues financially because I am the only one with income.

This entire post was made because I’ve been having CONSTANT breakdowns recently. I’m a mentally ill + neurodivergent trans man with heavy trauma. I’m not some higher power.

If you worship me or see me as someone better than what I am, stop. Just stop. I’m a human being, who struggles in life and hardly interacts with the community.

I’m so tired. I’m stressed. I’m come to on other blogs because I’m smart and know things. I’ll let you in on a secret, the things I know come from trauma, research or listening to others. None of my information actually comes from wisdom or networking, rather I’m silently there picking up on shit.

I’m so fucking tired of this, man.

Just, next person to act like I’m some kind of saint is getting blocked. Treat me like a young adult who is a human being, thanks.

I sparsely post here but I might actively take a break from the community due to breaking down and other mental health issues, not to mention I literally have a trip for my partner’s surgery happening sometime in the next week- either by plane (can’t afford it) or by vehicle if we can.

I’m tired, stressed and just... not alright. I’m actively in a bad mindset.

I made this post on a whim out of anger, and likely due to a breakdown, I’m not naming who came into my DMs, and I still plan to reach out on their behalf. I don’t blame them for acting the way they did, because I completely understand where they came from.

[sparklyjojos]

CARNIVAL recaps [1/13] These will be full recaps of Carnival, the JDC book between Carnival Eve (recapped here) and Carnival Day (will be recapped as soon as this one is done). It's necessary to know the events of Cosmic, Joker and Carnival Eve before tackling this one. (The Saimon Family Case isn't ultra necessary, but it certainly helps.)

Carnival on its own has 26 episodes, each one spanning a week. They’re told completely out of chronological order. A note at the beginning encourages the reader to either experience them in this weird sequence (“the reader method”), or use the list provided to read them in chronological order (“the writer method”). The recap follows the reader’s way.

This and the next book are intentionally written to be VERY confusing and will constantly jump between places, times and characters. There are dates at the beginning of chapters, but they won't necessary mean a chapter happens exactly in that timeframe. There are tons and tons of characters. GOOD LUCK.

As for content warnings, there will be suicide, a lot of death and grieving in general, mental illness, a global virus pandemic, poorly handled Nazis, and also the author can’t write gay people.

Today’s recap: Christmas on Easter, S-detectives galore, broken gaydars, and the author letting you know early that he won’t hesitate to kill major characters.

--

[PART 1 — CARNIVAL ACT]

--

ONE

23 Nov 1996 — 29 Nov 1996

EASTER ISLAND

--

Now that it's been over three months since the Crime Olympics began on August 10th, the estimated death toll has reached over four hundred million.

Each Saturday a great tragic incident happens somewhere in the world at exactly 1 PM local time. A mysterious terrorist organization RISE announced that it’s the doing of the Billion Killer, an omnipotent being with no tangible form.

While the Billion Killer is fearsome, most of the deaths happen due to other causes. RISE’s “Invisible Soldiers” (IS for short) are stealthily killing people, and the global crime rate is on the rise. Some call it an Invisible War. There’s also a new disease called Alive [or Arrive? can be either word] spreading around and killing people in droves with its extremely low survival chance.

--

Christmas Mizuno has recently been staying on Easter Island. While there, he makes friends with a blind girl called Joyeeta, the daughter of the owner of the inn that Christmas is staying at.

Before he came here, Christmas had assisted Ryuuguu Jounosuke in investigating one of the Billion Killer’s cases in Peru. While they were there, Ryuuguu suddenly collapsed in fever brought on by the Alive disease, but had the extreme luck to recover after a short period of coma. But after he woke up, he seemed… different, and in an unusually brash way told Christmas to basically fuck off and try to find any clues on the Easter Island.

Christmas was confused by the sudden change in Ryuuguu, but at least glad about him surviving. So much has already been lost in the Crime Olympics. The JDC building’s explosion in August killed close to 300 out of 350 members of the organization. Christmas’s beloved Kasumi Fuyuka was dead, and they couldn’t even find Ajiro Souji’s body in the rubble.

--

When Christmas and Joyeeta are riding around the island, she suddenly says in her poor English that “a giant bird is falling”, and immediately afterwards they hear a rumbling sound and feel vibrations like that of an earthquake. Christmas assumes a plane has crashed and they speed up towards the beach.

It turns out the Moai statues have suddenly fallen over and killed a lot of tourists. Between the bodies lies the sixteenth skull of the Billion Killer; these are strangely glistening skulls made out of yet unidentified material, that so far are suspected to be symbolic “medals” of the Crime Olympics, one skull being left on each crime scene of the Billion Killer.

One of the dead tourists managed to draw a dying message in the sand: a simple image of a flying bird (?) and the letters NAS next to it.

When they return to town, they discover Joyeeta’s father had died around the same time the statues fell, stabbed with a yet unknown weapon in a pool full of other people. Christmas thinks a lot about how the impact of this one death is lost next to the more flashy Billion Killer case.

Joyeeta believes that “the bird” may have been brought here by her dead older sister Tierra as revenge, and that it killed their father. Tierra had been once attacked by a guest, pushed him in self-defense and accidentally killed him, which made the enraged father beat her and kick her out. Tierra was found dead on the beach later.

Despite being fed this entire sob story, Christmas already suspects that it was Joyeeta who killed her father, but leaves that be.

He can't guess the trick behind the Moai case. What did the bird and NAS mean? The Nazca bird drawing? Or maybe a NASA space shuttle crashed near the island? Unable to figure out much, Christmas eventually goes back to Peru to reunite with Ryuuguu and investigate the Nazca lines just in case.

After he leaves, we the readers learn that the blind girl named Joyeeta was the one who had died, and Tierra was just pretending to be her. After Joyeeta’s death, Tierra had found a dagger on the beach and prayed to the Moai asking for her father to die somehow. When she checked the beach later, the dagger wasn’t there—and now it seems like the Moai heard her wish.

--

Thinking again on how Joyeeta's father could have been killed, Christmas reasons out that he was stabbed when everyone’s attention was focused on the rumbling and noise. It’s like that saying about “the magician's left hand”—an illusionist distracts the audience with his right hand while really performing the trick with his left.

If something had enough force to topple the Moai statues, maybe it would also be able to fling a knife into the victim somehow. Or maybe Christmas is just rambling again, but hey, wandering around in confusion until he bumps into a solution is his reasoning method after all.

--

TWO

30 Nov 1996 — 06 Dec 1996

NAZCA LINES

--

When Christmas arrives in Peru a week after the Moai case, another weird incident has already happened: the terrain inside the eye of the Condor of the Nazca lines was burned in a pattern resembling a crop circle, yet another skull of the Billion Killer found in the center. There were no victims of the incident.

Christmas, Ryuuguu, Jouka (dressed completely in white which complements Ryuuguu’s black nicely) and the local guide investigate the scene.

Ryuuguu really changed after going through Alive. While he still has all his quirky mannerisms, he acts colder and Christmas gets the unsettling feeling that his usually friendly colleague now hates his guts. What’s more, Ryuuguu recently proposed to Jouka, which came completely out of the blue for someone seemingly as uninterested in relationships. Almost like he’s a whole other person.

Ryuuguu eventually leaves them to board a Cessna with the guide so they can examine the Nazca lines from above. Christmas talks with Jouka. She also noticed the change in their fellow detective, but accepts that nobody stays the same forever.

--

The Cessna crashes.

The guide survives for long enough to explain the accident. Something weird happened to the engine and made them crash. Up until the last moments Ryuuguu encouraged the guide to escape while staying calmly in his seat. His last words were:

“So this is fate… nothing can save you from it… Ryuuguu Jounosuke dies here...”

Detectives aren’t exempt from death. Four million people die every day in the Crime Olympics, Ryuuguu and the guide being just a tiny fraction of that number. Accidents happen. Christmas knows this, but the shocking news are still too much to handle. Jouka starts wearing black.

Christmas thinks that maybe it wasn’t a complete accident. Maybe Ryuuguu was aware of how much the disease changed him and gave up on life. It’s been confirmed that he showed up at the plane’s checkup that day, which someone with his talent for breaking machines would never do to avoid touching something important by accident.

Jouka believes it could have been murder, but can’t guess the details. She says cryptically that she’s certain that “Jounosuke died, but Ryuuguu is still alive”. Christmas desperately wants to believe this means there were TWO Ryuuguus present, one of them a disguised stranger. The real Ryuuguu caught on and sabotaged the engine, thus killing the imposter.

But no matter how hard they hope and investigate, they have to accept that the person who was at the checkup and who died in the crash was the same original Ryuuguu Jounosuke, and he will never come back again.

The only thing they may do is to turn away from the unchangeable past and focus on the future.

--

THREE

24 Aug 1996 — 30 Aug 1996

STONEHENGE

--

Hikimiya Yuuya was lucky enough not to be in the JDC building when it exploded, but it still had a giant emotional impact on him. So many people died, Ajiro Souji went missing, and some like Kirika Mai are still fighting for their life in the hospital.

The Billion Killer struck once again on August 24th, this time causing pieces of the famous Stonehenge to fall over and kill some tourists, the mandatory glistening skull found at the scene. On the same day a similar case happened in France: over a hundred people were killed when the famous Carnac Stones somehow fell on their heads, as if they had been teleported high into the air.

Hikimiya is staying at the Paris headquarters of the international detective organization DOLL, which occupies a large building complex surrounding the Place des Vosges. He’s tasked with assisting one of only seven S-rank detectives in the world. Seven may seem like very few, but it’s actually a lot; often there was just a single S-detective in existence for years, and having more than four at once was unheard of until the last few decades. In comparison, there are over five thousand registered A-detectives.

JDC isn't looking too good in the rankings. They do have two S-ranks (Ajiro and Juku) and one A-rank (Yaiba), but Kirika is C-rank, Jounosuke and Nemu are both D, and poor, poor Hikimiya never rose above an F.

The book gives us a handy list of S detectives, all of which will be highly relevant later. (In order: name — official DOLL title — less official DOLL nickname)

Zerofini Roi — Armchair Leader — Madame Alpha (from France)

Lemuria Sullivan — Knight in Night — Herr Omega (from Spain)

Desert Colosseum — Deus Ex Machina — Frau D (from Germany)

Ronely Queen — Whodunnit Magician — Mistress Queen (from USA)

Souji Ajiro — Philo Sphere — Mister Dick (from Japan)

Firannu Meiruneshia — Locked Empress — E-Mail (from Italy)

Juku Tsukumo — God of Detectives — Jukebox (from Japan)

[I still can’t believe it’s spelt Ronely Queen, and I have long given up on trying to find the correct way to romanize Meiruneshia's name. And I know that Ajiro’s nickname probably comes from “detective” just like Dick Gumshoe, but. MISTER DICK. Who’s responsible for this.]

A person chosen to be an S-detective stays listed as one until their death is confirmed. They will still be considered S-detectives even if they’re kicked out of DOLL (Lemuria Sullivan apparently was, but that's a story for another time).

Strangely enough, all of the S-detectives (aside from Lemuria) can speak fluid Japanese, the official explanation being that Firannu is a giant nerd interested in Japan and infected everyone with enthusiasm towards learning the language.

--

Hikimiya and Desert Colosseum / Frau D are both experts in data analysis. Their work room aside from the traditional shelves full of files also hosts a giant supercomputer, which is affectionately called Egg Mac because of its egg-shaped dome that the operator enters to access the interface.

Despite the nickname, Frau D is a guy. He’s a heavy corpulent man with a charming round face and a weird hairstyle that makes Hikimiya think of a plant (cut short in the back and sides, the rest grown into a slightly green tuft). He has a fastidiously kept thin moustache and skin that’s way too nice for a dude in his early thirties. He’s strangely fashionable too. Really likes chewing gum and popcorn.

Hikimiya has several problems with the man. One, Frau always calls him the equivalent of “boy”, which feels condescending, even though Hikimiya really is like a decade younger and pretty naive. Two, Frau loves stupid pranks like pretending he’s dead, and it’s hard to tell whether he says something seriously or in jest. Three, he changes the number lock to their work room all the time, so Hikimiya has to sit outside and painstakingly figure out the new code.

Frau states that Hikimiya is the one who should mature, learn how to keep cool, and examine the situation carefully instead of relying on preconceptions (and so falling for something like that death prank). He thinks Hikimiya may already be an E-rank detective, maybe even a D-rank, and Frau just wants to help polish his skills.

It’s true that Hikimiya now needs barely an hour to break the number lock instead of half a day… but it’s still insufferable.

--

Hikimiya also meets DOLL’s leader and the single best detective in the world, Madame Alpha. At first sight she seems to be a pretty normal friendly lady. She looks a lot like Angela Lansbury in Murder She Wrote and has that particular calming mom energy.

Hikimiya is a little awkward with introductions, which makes Frau poke fun at him, to which Madame just advises Hikimiya to never take anything Frau says too seriously. (“But I’m always serious~”, Frau responds.)

Madame states that she already found the culprit of the Carnac Stones case, talked with him, and he promised to go to the police station and turn himself in. (Frau criticizes her naivety, to which she responds like “it’s my case, I do what I want”.) But Madame already knows that it's not the case that Hikimiya wanted to ask about—rather, he wants to know if Ajiro Souji really died in the explosion. As expected from the greatest detective in the world, it's like she's reading his thoughts.

Madame’s unique and for now unexplained Zero Reasoning tells her that Ajiro Souji is still alive.

--

Later Hikimiya admits to Frau that he was surprised about Madame actually being a woman, considering that Frau is a man despite his nickname.

Frau explains that the nickname comes from the fact that in a way, he’s the actual Desert Colosseum's "wife" (Frau D = Frau Desert Colosseum). You see, Frau on his own is simply a talented A-detective. The one called Desert Colosseum is actually the advanced AI of the Egg Mac, and when Frau uses it for data analysis, together they reach the power equivalent to that of an S-rank detective.

--

FOUR

31 Aug 1996 — 06 Sept 1996

CAPPADOCIA

--

Hikimiya meets up in a cafe with two of his colleagues who have just arrived in France to investigate the Carnac Stones case (Madame found the culprit, but the trick itself has yet to be explained). It’s Tsukumo Nemu and Ryuuguu Jounosuke, who have been investigating as a great duo lately.

Jounosuke and Nemu had been lucky enough that they were leaving the JDC building at the time of the explosion, so they came out pretty much unscathed. Nemu still worries about Kirika, but Jounosuke as always is good at putting others at ease with his words. Perhaps it’s because he treats words and languages as dear friends, and always takes great care using them. ...but then he also has all those mannerisms like talking about himself in third person, or calling everyone with a gendered suffix -shi or -jou instead of the expected -san.

Jounosuke gets persuaded to try the local sweet apple tea instead of his usual coffee. The waiter still accidentally brings coffee, and Jounosuke even dumps a bunch of sugar into it on reflex before they have it taken back. Hikimiya says that the tea is already sweet and doesn't need sugar, but Jounosuke's sweet tooth is a hard enemy to defeat. They exchange friendly banter, then Jounosuke out of nowhere tells Hikimiya a riddle, and when surprised Hikimiya can’t find the right answer, Jounosuke triumphantly adds just a tiny amount of sugar into the tea, because hey, he won, he deserves it.

Hikimiya enjoys the stupid banter, but still can’t fully relax because of something that happened the previous day...

--

When he and Frau were at work yesterday, they got news about a new case, this one in Cappadocia. The Billion Killer had somehow managed to instantly burn down the entire rock monastery together with a movie crew, so that only the rock base and yet another skull remained. Frau asked Hikimiya to gather data about the place in the library.

Cappadocia is a quite popular and mysterious tourist spot. There are even wacky theories about the underground city having been an ancient nuclear shelter. Apparently, naturally formed ancient layers with glass have been found in many deserts, and some theorize they had been created by the heat of ancient nuclear explosions. Hikimiya thinks this ancient nuclear war theory is as interesting as it is depressing. Maybe humans really don’t change.

Hikimiya was pretty upset with his day and with Frau, but at least he was looking forward to meeting Nemu and Jounosuke again.

As expected from a detective said to know even tomorrow's news, Frau D already knew about his protégé's future meeting and asked if Nemu was Hikimiya’s girlfriend. When Hikimiya said she wasn't, Frau casually asked if Jounosuke was his boyfriend, then, because from what Frau could see, Hikimiya’s utterly happy expression probably meant he was about to meet with a loved one. Hikimiya sputtered and insisted they’re all just good friends. [Oh Hikimiya, if only you knew what your pixiv tag looks like...]

Frau was still looking at him seriously, so Hikimiya just tried to give him the data on Cappadocia that he had asked for. But Frau then stated he didn't need it, because he had already investigated the topic by himself in full—he just wanted Hikimiya to learn how to use sources instead of blindly accepting information from another person.

Hikimiya’s frustration with his own helplessness and the world hit a peak at this moment, and before he could blink, he was already rambling out completely irrational angry nonsense, like “then why are you keeping me here if I'm so useless, oh I get it, you’re gay and only chose me as an assistant from the DOLL database because of my looks rather than my skills”.

Hikimiya himself wasn’t sure where the hell this line came from. Maybe because he was often perceived as gay despite not swinging that way at all [here described as “being normal”, fuck off], so he was just subconsciously directing any self-doubt away from himself. Or maybe he was afraid of people targeting him for his body or something.

...and also because Frau had once taken him to a place widely known for its gay clientele. That happened too. [Hikimiya, honey, I'm sorry to say this, but if it took you this long to realize a guy who invited you to THE Club Banana Café on a go-go night was gay, then I question your detective skills.]

Frau was at first shocked at this outburst, but then calmed down and asked, “How did you know that I’m gay?” [What do you mean how, you literally took him to- you know what, let's just settle on both these guys being absolute dumbasses.]

--

...so even now when he’s with his friends in a cafeteria Hikimiya can’t fully relax, because he’s still dreading the possibility that oh god, what if the man he’s currently stuck working under really just wants him for his body? Frau told him not to worry, sexual harassment was not at all his thing and he wouldn’t force anyone into a relationship, BUT WHAT IF. [Are we really doing the predatory gay trope? Are we really? Sigh.]

Anyway… they talk about the Crime Olympics some more, and Hikimiya and Jounosuke continue to banter like brothers.

Suddenly there’s a commotion. The waiter that served the detectives’ table stumbles over towards Jounosuke and vomits blood before falling dead.

Jounosuke takes it upon himself to investigate the death. He talks to the chef to learn what happened, then comes back to his friends with a weird expression.

He discovered that the spoon in the sugar bowl at their table didn’t have any fingerprints on it. Of course neither Hikimiya nor Nemu used it (the sweet tea didn't need sugar) and Jounosuke as always had his gloves on, but it’s weird that other patrons who had been sitting there earlier didn’t leave fingerprints.

The only explanation is that any fingerprints were wiped away by the murderer while he was adding poison to the sugar. The waiter probably accidentally poisoned himself with the sweetened coffee he took back to the kitchen. The incident likely wasn’t even a murder attempt directed specifically at the detectives, but just another one of the thousands of everyday chaotic crimes of the Crime Olympics. Jounosuke was incredibly lucky to have used only a little bit of the sugar for his tea. Hikimiya unwittingly saved his life.

Jounosuke can't stop blaming himself for the waiter’s death. Hikimiya knows that this feeling of guilt is partially born from the memory of that time in Geneijo when he couldn’t protect Souya. Hikimiya wasn’t even there at the time, so he has no idea what to say to Jounosuke to cheer him up. Just like every day in the Crime Olympics, he’s just left cursing his own helplessness.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[teatitty]

Rogues Lore

First of all I want to thank @schweeeppess for letting me spam her with Rogues lore 2 months ago cuz it made this post so much easier to type out when I can just copy-paste everything and then edit it to be more cohesive lmao

Second this is under a read more because it is A Lot

Leonard Snart AKA Captain Cold

He grew up with a super abusive father and his only refuge was when he would hang out with his grandfather in his grandfather's ice truck. When the grandfather died, he grew tired of his dad's abuse and set out to start a criminal career and moved to central. 

(He's the one who started the rogues!) 

He found blueprints for a "cold gun" which he ended up making from scratch (it’s also canon that he knows the gun so well he can remake it out of scraps in about 30 seconds to a minute) and had three main rules in his group: No Killing, No Harm To Women Or Children and No Drug Use. His cold gun is capable of interfering with the speedforce cuz it can reach “absolute zero” which is even colder then Mr Freeze's tech. 

He's also the only cold-based villain capable of mastering this temp. In New Earth he was described as an "adversary" but in Prime Earth (same backstory as before mind you) he's described as being a straight villain whose only rule in the group is "no killing" (which seems to be a pretty flexible rule these days cuz DC has made him more, well, down with killing). He's also much younger here then he was in NE. 

In Flash 2016 #17 we see another upgraded version of his gun that's capable of separating the Flash from the speedforce directly and, in doing so, causing Barry excrutiating pain. Generally, he and Barry had more respect for eachother in NE, to the point that Len even considered him family. In PE, though they have teamed up now and again, Len is far more hostile towards Barry, sometimes even being written in a way that suggests he wouldn’t mind if Barry died.

Sam scudder AKA Mirror Master (the first one!) 

He was a simple convict who just really wanted to learn how to get inside a mirror's reflection. He practiced in a hall of mirrors and, once he succeeded, became Mirror Master. He was a frequent foe for Barry and, during Crisis on Infinite Earths, died around the same time Barry did.

 He was the one who discovered the "mirror world". At one point he got himself trapped there and hated that the mirror world could just get him whatever he wanted instead of him stealing it so he got Barry to bust him out. He could also use mirror's to mind control ppl (dont ask) and this intrigued Barry. 

 On PE he's dating Lisa Snart (Len's younger sister) and is the only Mirror Master to exist. In N52 he, Len, Lisa, Mick and Marco all got fused with their weapons for a while and given meta-human abilities which I. hate because it took away what made them all so cool (I'm fine with Marco tho and you'll find out why in a minute) he's also a really big attention seeker lol

Hartley Rathaway AKA Pied Piper

Alright most of Hartley's info is from NE so: he was born deaf to wealthy parents who got him very high-tech hearing implants. He became obssessed with sounds and started experimenting with sonic technology. Bored of his rich life (and sometimes it's implied he had ableist and/or homophobic parents too) he took to a life of crime after learning how to hypnotize people through music (Pied Piper ayyy). 

He was the first person to ever successfully break out of Iron Heights and did so because he befriended the rats there and used them to help himself escape, adding more to his whole Pied Piper thing. After Barry died he gave up crime and started working to help the poor and underprivelaged (I'm not saying he quit specifically bc of Barry's death buuuuuut most of the Rogues did so). 

He struck up a close friendship with Wally and came out as openly gay! On PE all that we know for certain is that he's a "reformed vigilante" who's the conductor for the Central City orchestra. He used to share an apartment with Barry (yes for real) before he moved in with his bf, David Singh (also Barry's director in the CCPD). Lisa was the one who convinced him to come out to the Rogues, and they were all chill with being gay, their problem came when he started dating David who is, you know, a cop.

He has a pet rat called Moon (cute, right?). Also in pre-N52 canon (cant remember if it was NE specifically or older) Hartley once had a nervous breakdown after Barry arrested him so Barry took him to get help at a mental health hospital :')

(Some artists draw him blonde, some brunette and others go more for reddish-brown it’s kinda confusing)

Marco/Mark Mardon AKA Weather Wizard

On NE he's a two bit criminal called Mark Mardon (he's also white and yes thats important to note) but one day, after escaping from a cop van, he ran to find his brother, Clyde, who was a scientist only to discover his bro had died of a heart attack (however, there's implications that he actually murdered his brother and simply blocked out the memory). 

He then found Clyde's notes on how to create a wand to control the weather and made it for himself. The worst he ever did on NE was imprison a town in winter and after Barry's death he went into semi-retirement (told you the Rogues all did this)

On PE however! He and Clyde are Latino and are the heirs to a huge cartel! Clyde takes over the cartel and Marco wants nothing to do with that life. After their father dies, Marco runs away and eventually becomes Weather Wizard. 

He comes back when he hears his brother has been murdered and gets accused of the crime. He finds out it was Clyde's wife, Elsa, who orchestrated the whole thing and, in a fit of grief and anger, kills her with lightning. He also tries to kill himself at the same time but it doesn’t work. After her death, he curls up into a ball and starts crying because he feels like he hasnt got any family left but then Lisa shows up and is like "yo the rogues are still here for you bitch"

His emotions affect the weather in this continuity and I’m a weak bitch for that but that’s 100% my bias for Ororo Munroe showing itself lol

James Jesse AKA Trickster (the first one!)

James Jesse was born to the Flying Jesses, famous circus performers. He, however, was afraid of heights, and preferred reading stories of Western criminal Jesse James. 

He invented air-walking shoes to get rid of his acrophobia, and this led to his fame as an aerialist at the circus. Buuut he wanted more excitement in life and became a conman instead! He had a lot of wacky gadgets like exploding teddy bears and, after Barry's death, moved from Central to Hollywood and started working in special effects. 

Like Hartley, he even attended Barry's funeral. He once beat the devil, Neron, at his own game and eventually started using his skills for good, collecting weapons of incarcerated villains so they couldnt fall into the wrong hands. He eventually died protecting Hartley during Final Crisis. Deadshot was the one who got him. 

On Prime Earth his parents were straight up neglectful and, instead of creating his own boots, he stole them from STAR labs instead. This version of him is also WAY more fucked up and murdery then NE to the point us long-term Rogues fans got really upset at how much DC had changed him 

On NE his real name is “Giovanni Giuseppe” (swear this is, like, the only italian name DC knows) and on PE the Flying Jesse's were a deliberate rip off of the Flying Graysons

George “Digger” Harkness AKA Captain Boomerang

The illegitimate son of an American toy-maker, W.W. Wiggins, and an Australian woman, Betty Harkness, George Harkness was raised in poverty in the small town of Kurrumburra, Australia. His stepfather, Ian Harkness, hated the boy and made his life miserable. (Like canonically Ian was an abusive alcoholic and even abused Betty who was too ill to defend herself or George. The reason George goes by "Digger" is cuz that's what his mom used to call him before she died; it's aussie slang for "soldier") 

In school, Harkness crafted a boomerang. He discovered he had great skill with the aboriginal weapon and often used it for mischief with his best friend, Mick Wentworth. He further honed his skills while spending some time hiding from the law in the Australian bush. 

When Digger was eighteen, he and Wentworth robbed a general store and were able to make their escape with the aid of Digger’s boomerang. However, this incident caused Digger’s stepfather to kick him out of the house. 

His mother gave him a plane ticket to Central City and told him to get in touch with Wiggins. Wiggins had been searching for a spokesman for W.W. Wiggins Game Company's latest product, a toy boomerang. Under the alias "George Green", Digger auditioned for and got the job. Wiggins outfitted him with a costume and gave him the name "Captain Boomerang."

Ridiculed by the audience, he took to a life of crime instead.

His story is pretty much the same on PE. The only diff being there was no childhood friend and Digger made boomerangs in an attempt to impress his absentee father. Also he has a habit of making up fake stories about himself lmao 

The only one's he really doesnt stab in the back are the Rogues and Harley Quinn but everyone else? fair game. In Flash: Rebirth he and Barry even exchange favours for info and it’s implied this is a regular thing for them

Roscoe Dillon AKA The Top

He technically appears on PE but he's one of Thawne's acolytes so lets just. Skip that and focus on NE instead

Literally his whole thing is that he was obssessed with spinning tops as a kid and taught himself how to spin fast enough to deflect bullets. He became a criminal, tried to blackmail the entire world once, and was Lisa's first boyfriend! 

He was also her ice-skating coach and taught her how to spin super well like himself! He has a very confusing characterization tho cuz sometimes he was written to be all about revenge and killing but other times he was just like the other rogues; a blue-collar criminal who stole things because he liked to. 

He died eventually which I'm not going to try to explain cuz it's...yeah. There's also this whole thing where he could possess people after his death but this was in the silver age and that shit just happened sometimes so whatever 

In short: Roscoe has a really cool concept to him but nobody really knew how to write him so he ended up all over the place

He also has a Spinning Top shaped satellite in space where he stores all his loot (dont ask)

Mick Rory AKA Heatwave

Mick Rory has pyromania! Very severely! He was born on a farm outside of Central and, as a child, was very fascinated with fire. This turned into an obssession and he ended up burning his house down. So fascinated by the flames, however, he never ran to get help, watching his whole house burn down (and killing his parents inside) and he ended up living with his uncle after this. 

On a schooltrip, his schoolmate stuck him in a meat locker as a prank where he gained Cryophobia (fear of the cold) so in retaliation Mick locked the boy in his house and set the thing on fire (again, pyromania). He ran away again and ended up becoming a fire-eater for a circus. That didn't last long either because, surprise!, he burned the place down. 

Desperate to find a way to help his obssession, he happened to see the Rogues operating in Central and decided to take up villainy. At first he and Len got into a few altercations with eachother due to Mick's fear of the cold but eventually they settled their differences and Len officially brought him into the Rogues. 

Mick kinda relies on them to keep his pyromania in check basically. There was a time where he was, briefly, reformed and gained a close friendship with Barry (even being roommates with him. By then he'd already known Barry's real identity for a few years) and used his pyro knowledge to become a fire-fighter consultant. At one point he even worked for the FBI

His backstory is practically the same on PE the only difference being that he never expressed regret for burning down his house, and actually says he wishes he’d burned down the whole neighbourhood instead

Lisa Snart AKA Golden Glider

When I say her NE version is leagues above PE I mean it. 

Like Len, she suffered abuse under their father and escaped it by becoming a figure skater under the name Lisa Star for the Futura Ice Show! Her fame came from her very fast spins, a trick she was taught by Roscoe. When Roscoe died while fighting Barry (brain complications though there’s more to it, but again I’m not going to get into that) Lisa turned to villainy, blaming Barry for her lover's death. 

Her attempts on Barry and Iris' lives were always foiled. She used a pair of ice skates that created their own ice flow, and had many gadgets that caused hypnotism. She also stole Len's gun once but retooled it into a twirling Baton. 

When Barry died she renounced her feud with him and attempted to go straight again with her brother. They created a company that recovered lost or stolen items. Eventually she returned back to a life of crime, went through three boyfriends, all using the name Chillblaine (she named them that iirc), until the fourth Blaine killed her. Len got revenge on that one 

On PE, however, Lisa had a brain tumor (it got cured later) and was a tag-a-long villain for her brother and her boyfriend, Sam Scudder. This version of her never became a skater and is instead murderous just for...the sake of it. She also has this thing about wanting to be the leader of the Rogues instead of Len, and when she's in charge of them for a while the Rogues’ morals change and killing is suddenly fine so. Whatever. NE Lisa is the best (also her whole outfit? Stunning)

Roy G. Bivolo AKA Rainbow Raider (not technically a Rogue anymore but he was a member for a while)

He appeard on PE as Chroma but gets murdered by Grodd so we only have NE canon to use (they did my mans dirty) 

He was a wonderful painter from an early age but was born colourblind. His father, an optometrist, was determined to create a device that would let him see in full colour. Toy didnt get the device until after his father's death but unfortunately the device didnt let him see colour. 

Instead, the goggles could project beams of light that could become solid objects, make him invisible, blind his opponents, or affect the emotions of his targets. Angry that he couldnt pursue an artistic career. he decided to become a thief and primarily stole famous artwork. He was eventually killed by Amunet Black

Evan McCulloch AKA Mirror Master (second one)

Evan was born to rich parents Louis and Carol Erikson who gave him up for adoption because they were too young to be responsible parents. He ended up at the McCulloch orphanage. 

At age 8 he was molested by one of the older boys there and, in self-defence, ended up drowning the him. At 16 he left the orphanage, taking on the name of the woman who raised him and moves to Glasgow (he’s scottish btw) 

He found that it was super difficult to hold down a job but, needing to make ends meet and constantly breaking the law anyway, he turned to a life of crime and became a hitman and then a professional assassin.

One day he got hired to kill his birth father but was unaware of who his target was until after he took the shot. Grief-stricken, he attended the funeral and tried to work up the nerve to approach his birth mother. By the time he had, she'd committed suicide and he turned himself in for his crimes. 

Either the Scottish or US government gave him Sam's old Mirror Master gear and hired him to be a mercenary. 

His first job was scaring Animal Man into stopping his activism, but he failed because of Animal Man’s wife. Refusing to actually kill the wife and children (thanks to his own morals) he gets fired and helps Animal Man seek revenge.

He continues to work as a criminal and supervillain-for-hire, even working out of costume as a mercernary in Britain.

Eventually he found his way to Central City and joined the Rogues, taking over as Sam Scudders official successor. There was a time where he had a Cocaine Addiction which caused friction between him and Capt Cold because of Len’s rule against drug use. 

Throughout all of this, Evan made sure to donate a portion of all the money he ever got to the McCulloch Orphanage

Axel Walker AKA Trickster (second one) 

On PE, Axel was recruited by the Rogues early on in his career. He messed up during a heist and they kicked him out (they'd never do that but w/e) 

He worked for Mob Rule as a henchman for a bit then went freelance when MB was arrested. He saved Cold's life cuz he felt he still owed Cold a debt. When Grodd took over Central, Axel tried to join his side but Grodd tore his arm off from the bicep (ouch) and left him to die on the street. Axel got himself a cool sleek robot arm and returned to crime anyway. He got accused of murder, Barry cleared his name, but he still got sent to Iron Heights for other charges. 

The Rogues, hearing about this, went to bust him out and were like "okay fine u can hang with us" and he stayed with them from then on

In NE canon, while Jesse was working with the FBI, Axel stole all his gear and ended up working for Penguin in Gotham. Penguin gets attacked by Tarantula, Axel fails to stop her and a few days later he gets caught by Robin (Tim) for causing trouble in Gotham. 

He moves on to work with Amunet Black, but after her defeat is offered to join the “new Rogues” by Capt Cold and accepts the offer. Some stuff happens, he fights the OG Trickster who leaves him in a dumpster and tells him never to pick up the gear again, then Axel answers an ad from some college students asking for a trained hero to teach them some things, he has dinner with them and then kills them all. Neat.

When Jesse died, Axel redonned the Trickster gear and started operating his own crew out of an old Rogues hideout. When the Rogues returned to Central, Axel found out they were gonna retire and go underground. He rejoined them to help them get revenge on Inertia for manipulating them into killing Bart Allen, and he stayed with the group henceforth. 

Evan explained to him that joining the Rogues wasn’t a matter of him wanting to be one, but why he needed to be one

In short: Axel is a punk kid who wants to fit in with the big boys and the Rogues are the only ones who really gave him a chance, acting like his older siblings. It’s worth noting that canon never mentions any relatives for him so, as far as we know, crime is all he’s ever known

And that’s all of them!

[marveling-chrisevans]

What If - Walk of shame

What If - Walk of Shame 

Chris Evans x OFC

Chapter six - 1932 words

Part One | Part Two | Part three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six 

Warnings: uh swearing maybe? 

Summary: What if. What if you out of the blue and on an impulse applied for a contest, and what if you won that. What if you met someone who didn’t know you existed, and what if you asked them for a drink after.  What if this impulse changed your entire life.  ** note I didn’t win so I don’t know how all this would go down but this would be how I would have loved it to happen.. the first chapter completely happened.. the texts might not be the same. But it happened**  

 Tag List: @smoothdogsgirl​ @torntaltos​ @patzammit​ – If you wanna be tagged just make a comment below and I am happy to do that or just DM me, whichever

This story is fully caught up and posted on AO3 and Wat pad. I am going to be combining chapters to catch Tumblr up. but if you would like to read everything right now then go ahead. Also please 

https://www.wattpad.com/story/184900452-what-if

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506152/chapters/43856086

Faith woke up in a daze, she was laying on her side as she slowly opened her eyes to the sun streaming into the room. She saw the view of Hollywood from the hills, She was confused at where she was. The last thing that she remembers was that she was in a car on the way back to the hotel, then everything went kinda blurry. She looked around the room, and smelled food. She was extremely hung over and wanted some food.

She got up and wrapped the sheet around herself cause she didn’t have any clothes, and couldn’t find her dress, that she wore last night. She got up, walked toward the door that was closed and then walked out into the open lay out of the room. You could see the living room to the kitchen, seeing Chris was standing behind the island of the kitchen talking to what looked like his sister and his mother. She quickly backtracked into the room.

She didn’t escape unseen. Dodger jumped up and barked slightly as soon as she disappeared behind the door. She pushed it closed but didn’t get it all the way there as dodger pushed it all the way open. Faith Grabbed her phone and escaped onto the on suite bathroom and found her way into the tub..

Faith looked at her for the first time in most likely 12 hours, and saw that she had like 9 missed calls and texts from rose, and one from her brother. She slide into the tub as dodger jumped up to join her in there and started licking her face which made her laugh “hi puppy, can you stop?” She wondered as she called rose..

Rose answered the phone “Well fuck thank god your not dead, where the hell are you! Ive been worried sick!”

Faith laughed slightly “currently in a bathtub, with a dog, dodger actually in Chris’s Bathroom.. uh naked.. we had sex last night. Apprently, I mean I remember most of the night but then it gets fuzzy..”

Rose gasped on the other end of the phone ���how was it, I want to know everything don’t leave out a single thing, oh my god.. I knew it.. MY SHIP IS ALIVE”

Faith pulled the phone from her head “hungover” she angry whispered in the phone “and I don’t remember much of it. Like I said fuzzy, but I can tell you it was the best sex I’ve ever had.. Oh god I hope he used a condom” she said back into the phone

“i did” Chris replied with a smile on his face. Faith looked up to where the voice came from “it was really good for me too”

“i gotta go rose I uh, gotta go uh ill be back in a little bit” Faith said and hung up the phone sliding further into the bathtub to hid which made dodger thing that it was okay to start kiss attacking her again.

“Dodger out” Chris said as dodger then stopped and put his head on the side of the tub looking at the owner “Glad to see you are awake.. I put your clothes on the bed, I washed them this morning. Also there is some coffee in there, I have to go do something with the avengers. I also put my number in your phone. Take as much time as you need, shower do whatever my family just left to go to the beach so you are the only one here” he replied to her

“and where is here so I can uh summon an taxi” She asked looking up at him trying not to make this all awkward more than it already was. Because its be honest it was really awkward for her “also just so you know I didn’t mean for this to happen.. I got way to drunk and I don’t do this, and oh my god did I say, ‘im feeling it now mr. Krabs?” She wondered looking at him

He nodded and laughed slightly “you did and Faith its alright, you are an amazing girl, and like I said last night id love to get to know you more.” He said “i gotta go but can I see you before you leave tomorrow?”

Faith answered her phone as it rang “yes this is Faith Young, Wait what? Are you serious yeah I can be there for an interview tomorrow morning” She smiled “yeah also that would be cool have always wanted to attend one, yeah two tickets. Thanks” she said back to the person and then looked at him and bite her lip as she pulled herself out of the tub making sure the towel was wrapped around herself “uh I guess not, I have an interview tomorrow, for my dream job non the less. So uh maybe? If its later today” you replied “but maybe not? I don’t know” She smiled “maybe we will just have to leave at it as what it is. A winners trip to Meet Chris Evans at the Premier of EndGame” Faith said back to him as he nodded

“I hope that isn’t the case, I have a feeling we will run into each other again” Chris replied as he walked over to her and kissed her one last time before he left the house

Faith closed her eyes when Chris kissed her and wished It would have lasted a little longer. The linger feeling of his pillow soft lips against hers. She stood there a while longer with her eyes closed wishing he never left. She heard the door close and dodger come back in and looked at her.

Faith got up from hiding in the tub, and went out and found her dress. Like he said it was laying on the bed. She wasn’t about wearing that home for the walk of shame. She went and showered in his shower, then raided his dresser and found a basic t shirt and just some smaller looking sized sweatpants.

She then called herself an Lyft. Headed back to the hotel she couldn’t believe that she just slept with her celebrity crush. The one guy who would have been on her exception list when she got married. She took a deep breath as she waited on the street for her ride. She had managed to get out of the house without running into his family. She thanked whoever was listening for that.

On the drive back to the hotel she made basic small talk talk with the driver. Once getting to the hotel she thanked the man and Gave him a cash tip as she had some from the night before, knowing that these drives prefer that over the tip in the app so they can use it right way.

Riding the elevator and going into the room felt so basic compared to her last 12 hours. She came in the room and flopped down on the bed next to Rose.

Rose sat up from where she was on her phone in her bed and looked at Faith “So are you going to spill the tea or are you just going to walk of shame?” She wondered looking at her friend “also are you in Chris’s clothes, because we could get serious money off of those

“Rose I swear if you keep yelling or talking loud or whatever I am going to punch you in the face. Also its not a walk of shame if you're not ashamed it happened?” She questioned back before she kept talking “Also we are not going home tonight, You know that job I told you applied for about a month ago for my jobs tv program, to be a project manager, well apparently I got accepted and They want me to go there for the keynote program tomorrow to show me off or something, give a presentation. I am not sure as I stopped listening when I heard I got the job.” she said back to her with putting her face into the bed sighing heavily ignoring the last comment about eBay comment.

“it can still be a walk of shame..” Rose countered back

Faith got up and walked over to her suitcase shaking her head, “remind me when we finally get home to look at my Lyft pick up history to send these back” She said to rose knowing she wouldn’t remember because she was going go from one project to another and just throw everything in the laundry

Rose smirked “ not gonna do that, but before we hop on another plane I do wanna go to this event at the Chinese theater I heard about, also the walk of fame is over there.” Rose replied knowing what she was asking and what was going on. Faith listened to her talk as she flung on some leggings and a flowing crop top that just showed a little of the top of her midriff. Running a brush through her hair. “okay fine let me take something for this headache and along s we stop at a coffee place I don’t care” Faith replied fixing her make up touching it up and throwing on a pair of sunglasses grabbing her bag “lets go”

The two walked out of the hotel stopping at the first coffee shop for Faith, then finished there walk to the walk of fame. Looking at the stars, stopping for the ones they loved posing and stopping at a few stars as they go. They were across the street from the Chinese theater as faith looked at it confused “what did you say was going on here?” Staring at the arch with the original six in it “Rose if this is an avengers event I don’t wanna be here, I embarrassed myself and then slept with one of the stars.. uh no”

The announcer started to announce the actors as they came out one by one and the producers. Faith of course started to try and hide behind the Camera people and taking a few steps back to be more blended into the crowd

Rose smirked “oh its not like he is going to see you standing in the crowd” she replied back as She went back to cheering as they came out. Faith kinda just tired to blend in and not bring attention to herself. Making sure her sunglasses were firmly in place. Faith hid the best she could till he looked out in the crowd. Even tho the both of them were wearing sunglasses, your eyes connected. You quickly turned your head to look at something else. She could feel his eyes linger at her.

Chris lingered his eye on her, it was the same girl he was with last night. He knew that hair and those lips anywhere. He felt it in his soul. Someone said his name which caught his attempting which made him loose her in the crowd. That could have been because she quickly went and hid behind the building.

Faith took a deep breath as it felt like her heart was in her throat she didn’t know what to do. She went and sat down on the bench that was near by and texted rose her location, and waited for her to come to her. After the ceremony, Rose Found faith and they did the rest of the things tourists do when they are in LA, before going back to the hotel getting their stuff and flying on the plane to the next location in California, this time for Faiths job.

[penofdamocles]

14 22. 39 50 57 68

100 Random Character Development Questions

Detail one secret shame your character feels. 

Dozens of times, in varying situations, Madison’s upset his friends in the normal way, that friends do, when just by being themselves they rub the wrong way with someone who isn’t exactly like them. The problem is that he takes these mistakes extremely seriously, blames himself for not knowing exactly what they wanted and acting accordingly, and feels a need to fix himself in order to never upset the given person again in the future. Whether his friends are actually upset and about what is a grey area that he’s constantly drawing assumptions from, and said friends might disagree with his assessment, but in every instance, willing to do anything to keep them all from giving up on him or hurting him to make him go away, as he believes he deserves, Madison promises to do and be better in the future.In his own eyes, he’s broken this promise dozens of times over. All the things he promises to change or stop are neutral elements of his personality and mental illness twisted into unforgivable flaws inside his own head, or inherent urges written into his angel programming that he blames himself for not being good enough to bypass. The fact that he repeatedly makes these “horrible mistakes” and then is incapable of successfully changing or erasing the part of himself that “caused the problem” is seen as a huge flaw in its own right, inherently selfish that he “refuses” to alter his thought processes to make someone he cares about happier. His friends like him the way he is, of course, and rarely seem to take that promise seriously, but Madison knows that he lied to everyone at some point, and the self-hatred and shame from being built of flaws that he seemingly doesn’t care enough to get rid of, even when they hurt those he loves, has eaten him for a long time. The unkeepable promises just add to that; though he’d never remind anyone he made them.

What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?

Mads hasn’t seen a lot of things, and would call a few different unrelated events equally “the most beautiful thing”, including his first sunset, his wife, his ward’s birth, the storm he flew into, most of his friends and their neat abilities, he thinks lots of things are beautiful, stuff like that. But one thing always stuck with him, and though he wouldn’t admit it since it seems self-absorbed and arrogant, witnessing his soul’s healing ability activate for the first time, in the context it did, would rank at the top. He didn’t know it existed at all before the power was urgently needed to save Seculus, but the clouds of colorful buzzing light that surrounded them, combined with Sec’s visible improvement and the knowledge that Madison was the one doing this, that he was finally capable of helping his friend (and finally good for something); that stuck with him. Though, he would say that Sec’s look of joy and relief was the most beautiful thing in this situation.

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?

Oof! Oof!! In Madison’s professional opinion, robbing a person of their free will and ability to choose is bad enough, but the worst thing is going further, taking their memories, and identity, planting desired patterns of thought and mental blocks and traps to keep them from so much as thinking about specific inconvenient things without pain, conditioning them to have certain feelings toward certain things or maybe none at all, punishing them with temporary nonexistence and reinforcement of this programming for every hint of rebellion, pressing and shaping them into the preferred shape until they’re incapable of functioning whatsoever without being controlled and directed. Until they’re something completely different, empty but conscious, molded into a subhuman tool by whoever thought they had the right. Essentially, the worst thing he believes can be done to a person is to make them not a person anymore, without killing them. He gets very strong feelings whenever he sees a situation resembling this, and if it sounds familiar, it should; it’s a thorough description of brainwashing, and word for word what happened, and is still happening, to Madison himself. Of course, he doesn’t see this as ‘the worst thing’ in his own case; he’s not a person, after all! (The depressing irony is lost on him.)

How does your character feel about their own mortality?

Now this is an interesting one, because technically, Madison can’t die again; voices don’t age or get sick, and Madison’s healing ability prevents him from being killed violently unless every spark of his soul were destroyed at once. Even when voices do die, their soul lingers without form as a highly functional but extremely lonely ghost, for the eternity they would’ve had otherwise. However, a recent discovery revealed that if a voice goes for a little longer than a month without visiting the astral plane, they begin to disappear entirely, without the energy of their home plane to sustain them. Without intervention they’ll simply vanish like they were never there. Madison’s been thinking about this latter scenario a lot. The concept of forever, potentially spent alone, scares him, especially with the knowledge that his family is in an afterlife he’ll never have access to, and with each wave of overwhelming hopelessness, the idea of doing absolutely nothing until he completely disappears has tempted him more and more. The hateful growth taking up residence in his head until recently has made matters much worse. He used to have an intense fear of anyone choosing to kill him at any time, and though that was irrational in the first place for several reasons, that anxiety’s gone now. If Madison were mortal, he’d have probably left a long time ago; he’s died before, what does he have to fear from doing it again?

Has your character ever killed anyone?

No he hasn’t! Not even on accident. Madison’s had a pacifistic mindset since he was with his ward, it’s one of his core principles to never resort to violence when angered or upset, even in small amounts. That said, he’s not exactly capable of murder even if he wanted to, with his poor fighting abilities and anxiety around blood, not that he’s had a chance or desire in the past. Even now that he’s learning to use a proper weapon, he’s intent on only using it in defense of himself and others, and though he’s wished death on several people’s abusers at this point, there’s been no need for it yet. Mads believes that it’s his fault directly that the people in his place of work when he died were killed along with him, however, though there isn’t solid proof of that, and if there were, it would have been unintentional and impossible to predict the outcome when it happened.

How strong is your character’s sense of responsibility? What kinds of things trigger it?

Stronger than any other sense he has, that’s for sure; too strong, in fact. Between what he was built to do as an angel in supporting and helping a person with his whole being, his own intense instincts as a parent and friend, and the extremely high standards he holds himself to, Madison takes responsibility for everyone else’s problems and then some. It’s a consistent, unshakable mindset that when he sees someone struggling, he has to help in whatever way he can, or sometimes ways he can’t, which he then puts responsibility on himself for not being capable of. 

Madison when first introduced to the world was wildly inconsiderate of anyone’s wants, feelings, or concerns outside of his ward; he learned how to care about people from Seculus, another angel with a really bad self-sacrifice problem, and he saw her as such a kind person that aer unhealthy tendencies were taken as law. It took so much effort to get to the level of decency Mads has reached now that any sort of dismissal of others’ pain is interpreted as a huge step backwards into the cruel person he was before, that he needs to immediately make up for. His feelings may differ, but whether it’s familial, romantic, ward-esque or empathetic, he offers up everything when someone has a problem of any sort, especially emotional, and if there’s no fixing it, takes responsibility for its very existence, taking on their pain like this makes anything better. This in itself is ironically self-absorbed, though at the same time the only responsibility he takes for his own issues is to claim that he doesn’t matter enough for them to be a concern to himself or others. It’s irresponsible to worry others with his own problems, when they can’t easily be solved and don’t directly impact those besides himself. Obviously this gets frustrating sometimes.

There is also a gripping need to protect others, especially those he cares about. Witnessing someone in danger sets off his angel dad instincts, the first of which is to throw himself between them and the threat, either figuratively or literally. When they won’t let him, he gets panicked, as it feels like he’s forced to stand there and just watch; there are only a couple of people he trusts enough to let them protect him in return. Putting others in harm’s way for his own sake seems irresponsible. (Also ironic!) This is most of the reason he’s learning swordplay, so that he’s more effective in defending others, as opposed to just being a fragile obstacle.

On a lighter note, he feels the same intense responsibility for most living things, and having a pet in his life has helped his own self-care routines somewhat. His dog is relying on him for food, care, and shelter, and if he allows himself to stop functioning entirely or disappear, Madison will be causing him to suffer; thus, he continues to exist, on his worst days, just so Bo won’t have to be in pain. Being told by people, as well, the pain this would cause them, also forces Madison to stick around, but it’s out of guilt, not reassurance at being cared for.

[sol-futura-est]

"It's just like the first world war."

"Don't be so stupid. This is my war."

My war. The one that would debut the newest addition of war combat, powered armor, equipped with a menagerie of new toys and gadgets. Active defense arrays, shoulder mounted launchers, enough servo strength to let me carry 500 pounds of equipment at rapid pace march, or physically move cars and concrete blocks for better cover.

People questioned why I, a Tribune, wanted me and my double strength cohort fitted with the necessary gene augs and such for power armor, but in my earnest opinion, one thousand of these soldiers suited in powered armor could kill an endless horde of any other army.

Any other legion.

We could trounce into Rome outnumbered 30 to 1, and this armor would let us kill planes, tanks, and god knows what else. Nigh invincibility. Power in smart minds and numbers.

"How could we even improve this further, Tribune?"

"Give me three days. I'll tell you everything."

As I looked at myself, my eyes behind this iron mask, alit with golden beaming oculars, I took more notice at the great crest on my head, signifying my rank. This mirror didn't give myself justice, nor the armor. Even if it was the invention of a young buck engineer from Sevilla, it was amazing. It really was, in some ways, just like the first world war. Changes galore had happened since the last war. Only maybe a dozen Tribunes out of the fifty or so made real changes to their training exercises and doctrine. Of that dozen, only six were ready for this kind of war.

Tarquin, me, my brother, Del Terra the Sixth, a Yugoslav named Korensovic, and a Frenchman of distant Breton descent named Mac Phyr. Mac Phyr and Korensovic attacked from the east, from Russian Siberia, me and my brother from the South, through Northern India, and Tarquin and Del Terra from the west, coming down through the Urals.

Korensovic became stuck before he cleared Mongolia, and Mac Phyr wasn't too far ahead. Del Terra was on Tarquins right and dominated the naval engagements in the lakes around the Caucasus. My brother and I used our horse cohorts to break up the raiding parties, and I took mine and his shock cohorts and marched North clearing every single encampment we could. It was easy for us, but not for our compatriots.

Korensovic became encircled. Mac Phyr had to retreat into Northern Siberia and almost didn't survive the winter. Tarquin did well, but because he assisted Del Terra at every turn, he was altogether too slow. Me and Lawrence were the saving grace. His horsemen more so than I.

Ever since I got these new augs I've been different, more solemn, more vindictive and analytical. They said ill effects wouldn't root and last longer than a week.

It's been three months.

In a week's time we'll go from raids and skirmishes to a new one hundred day's offensive.

Almost a decade in this war because of the tribulations of four legionnaire tribunes against a new enemy.

Now we give our foe a new thing to wake up thinking about.

When I finally stepped out, the armors dark steel hue called against me, and if not for my crest, I may have looked like an Iron Devil, a class of cyberneticist officer. In terms we could make understood, every leader of 20 or more in the cyberneticist army had his skin and general exterior replaced by tungsten lamellar, and bionic eyes and new ways to breathe. Some even had their legs replaced entirely, but the vast majority kept human proportioned legs. Nature knew what she was doing there.

These new augs gave me a number of new abilities, none greater than my increased cognitive function. My mind was sharper, my eyes could see farther and pick out the details.

I could master my vivid dreams, replay war maneuvers over and over. This wasn't new, but I could dream in a whole new way. I could sleep less but the dreams would seem to go on for almost a day's time. Even my two captains said they had the same changes. Impenetrable dreams despite three or four hours of boosting sleep each night. Where you can feel your bare feet grip the earth as if you're there in the fertile plains in East Galicia. You could feel the rains pour down on you as if you were in the jungles of the Argentines. There was no place where you wouldn't feel the same. I know. I tried it. I could walk an empty earth for miles on miles, see an empty Palatine hill, an empty Manhattan island. Replay memories as if it was on a screen, the remote in your hand.

Before we started building spaceships with guns, powered armor, and energy weapons, there was another dominant school of thought for how to build a new war machine.

Long before we existed, in a land where Latins, Germans, and Amerinds all lived side by side, speaking a language belonging to none of them, waging a war on two fronts. And legends say a man wielding the sun's light in his hands, born of a madman's dreams.

The idea was not that all humans were psionic, but that only some were.

Once upon a time, the Latin Republic believed their nation could be chosen, especially after seeing Sol in the hills of Bern. A few experiments were done, and a select few displayed something of magic powers. Less than 5. A trio of men who could bend arcing lightning, type keys on an old mechanical typewriter from ten yards away, even stop paintballs midflight. Extended use always resulted in nosebleeds, headaches, pain in the fingers and toes.

It was abandoned because it was deemed "inconclusive" in the wake of advanced railguns and fusion powered attack corvettes. As titanic the former appeared, the latter was more practical, and had a clear idea of where to progress.

With these new gene augs, and even the old ones, some of us believe with zeal that we were made for that. That it was always meant to be us.

Every dream I have makes this divine armor pale, it makes this dream of Caesar sing a great song of the Latin dream, from the Black Sea to the Colorado River, all the way down to the Tierra del Fuego and back again.

Our dream

[loyalflutist]

Vermillion Visitors (FF Type-0 x FE3H)

Rating: General Audience Category: F/F (for slight Edeleth) Crossover: Final Fantasy Type-0 x Fire Emblem: Three Houses Words: 4,857 Summary: It appears that a group of visitors not only came to the monastery but managed to incorporate themselves as a new house in it. The Black Eagles begin their discussion about the newcomers... but the same could be said about the newcomers themselves.

A/N: Forgot to also upload this. (Whoops x2) I might just make a long ramble about why Fire Emblem Three Houses remind me SO MUCH about Final Fantasy Type-0... you know, with the entire war going on, the themes they’ve conveyed, and the fact that everything is so morally gray... amongst many of the shared spoilers’ concepts... but that might be for another day. Instead, I had written a fun little crossover OS of these two. Hoping to write more of them soon! Also, Edeleth snuck in and made themselves at home in the fiction. 

---

“Have you heard? There are these new students that just transferred into the monastery.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“I’m surprised Lady Rhea approved of it. Do we even have another classroom to spare?”

“We don’t.”

“So… where are they taught?”

“I heard their teacher teaches them right outside of our lecture hall.”

“Out in the field? I’m surprised they could even learn…”

“I’m sure they did. Their teacher is no ordinary one. He’s a commander!”

“A commander? Sounds like someone from Brigid.”

“He is not coming from Brigid.”

Three houses gossiped and whispered amongst themselves, but none ever did so loudly than the Black Eagles. (Perhaps it is due to Dorothea, Ferdinand, Linhardt, and Hubert’s intrigue!) Whenever they spotted the vermillion cape and unique school uniform different from theirs, their eyes were glued to the person(s) of interest. They were like pigeons awaiting for their snack! Now, over lunch, almost all members excitedly chattered and debated about the foreign visitors.

“I have to agree with Petra on that one,” Caspar stabbed a fork into his steak. “He doesn’t have a tan skin like her.”

“Are you serious, Caspar?” With a deadpan expression, Linhardt stared from across the table. “Just because someone is not tan does not automatically rule them out.”

Their conversation moved onto the next phase. The aura that surrounded the visitors felt as if they possess far more experience than they would have with others of the same age group. Whenever they returned from battle, not one of them possess injuries, save it for minor afflictions. Their missions always went exceptionally well. Such an outcome was starting to become predictable, even when less than five members are sent out to the frontline. The fact that none of them required battalions made their achievements far more superior than any has seen.

“Most impressive… I hope to learn from them,” Ferdinand crossed his arms; an amused smile was drawn to life. “The fact that they’re able to return from battle without a scratch or scar shows me that they are no amateur.”

Dorothea, who was seated two spots away, clicked her tongue.

“Of course, they aren’t, Ferdie. Everyone could see it from a mile away. Perhaps you should reevaluate yourself if you had to think about their capabilities.”

“You’ve always had a sharp tongue with me, don’t you?”

“Oh, how perceptive. Would you like some money for your wounds?”

“Okay, okay, cut it out, both of you,” Caspar flailed his arm out for their attention. “Sheesh, can’t you both fight when we’re NOT eating? We’re here to talk about them.”

Bernadetta poked and probed at her beans with a fork as the blue-haired furiously reeled them back into the topic. Beads of sweat flew out of her head as she murmured,

“A-Aren’t… aren’t they a little… too perfect?”

“What do you mean?” Linhardt, who sat next to her, turned. “Perfection is an impossible feat to achieve.”

“I-I know. It’s just… the way they carry themselves… It’s like they’re not even human.”

Perfection. They were literally the manifestation of perfection. Students from the three houses had to admit that they were at a higher plane based on raw strength. Even Byleth, Catherine, and Shamir confessed that they would have trouble fighting their commander if they were to spar one-on-one!

“They are most kindest— kind people I have met though,” Petra shook her head. “I cannot see them as perfect. They are like us.”

“Hoh… Is that so…” the songstress hummed. “You might be right. They may be strong, but they’re still students.”

“That is correct.”

“Some of them are so cute too~”

“Dorothea strikes again…” the white magus blinked. “Still, I must say, they are a pleasant company.”

Ironically, at the same time, their naïve personality contrast with their veteran status. Some of them would get into senseless fights on academic grounds, and some would host picnic parties for other students outside of their group. Silly arguments would spout out of nowhere. Smiles and laughter beamed from their directions. Game of chase, singing, and naptimes were some of the frequent side activities. After all, they are still children. They deserve to live a little!

Dorothea leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin resting upon the palms of her hands. She eyed Petra as the foreigner brought the filled spoon to her mouth.

“Speaking of the commander, if he isn’t from Brigid… then what is their house name? They must have come from somewhere!”

Linhardt lowered his cup of water.

“They’re from Rubrum. I heard their house is called… Class Zero.”

Ace, the card wielder.

Deuce, the flutist.

Trey, the talkative bow user.

Cater, the gunner.

Cinque, the smasher.

Sice, the silver reaper.

Seven, the whipper.

Eight, the boxer.

Nine, the dragoon.

Jack, the samurai.

Queen, the valiant knight.

King, the marksman.

Machina, the driller.

Rem, the twin dagger-wielder.

Kurasame, the ice reaper.

As their gossip ensued, two individuals missing from the cafeteria were spotted in their respective classroom. Before the tall male left, he turned towards the vermillion noble.

“Perhaps it’s best we maintain our observations on them, Lady Edelgard.” Hubert placed a hand on his chest, bowed his head, and continued. “There is little information on them, and I do not know if they prove to be a danger to us all.”

Although the other students had generally accepted their abrupt appearance after a week, Edelgard, Hubert, and Byleth kept their suspicion. How could trust come so easily when 14 students, one teacher, and two odd creatures not only seek for refuge but seek a premise to remain as students? It had already been five months into the new school term. Admittance to Garreg Mach Monastery is impossible. Future contenders and apprentices were given another chance for the next academic year.

Until now. The commander by the name “Kurasame” struck a deal with the archbishop. No one other than his Tonberry, Seteth, and Flayn knew of the spoken dialogues between the two. It simply took an hour for the holy maiden to grant permission and acceptance into their neutral sanction.

“May the Goddess Seiros watch over you.”

His features hardly faltered. (Not that there was any to start with thanks to his armored mask.) Kurasame nodded once and turned his back towards the neon green-haired, his rough footsteps echoed in the quiet chambers. Not a single comment nor reaction came from him afterward. Not even to his closest ally, the Tonberry.

They were immediately provided with spare dormitories. Unlike the other current students and staff, members of Class Zero were squeezed into shared bedrooms of two and three. Ace and Trey; Deuce, Cater, and Cinque; Rem and Queen; Eight and Machina; Nine, Jack, and King; Sice and Seven. Kurasame had shared rooms with the Moogle and Tonberry. Facilities were immediately provided without a second glance. The students and CO were prioritized in field trips compared to the other three houses. Special attention was bestowed by the Church of Seiros. Gifts came showering in their direction as if they had a birthday party every week. Other than the lack of a classroom, they were living a luxurious life… even more so than the nobles and rising lords from all three nations!

Jealousy was an understatement. Many of the faculties, staff, and students are confuzzled beyond reason about their existence. What gives? Why are they treated as if they were all kings and queens? Hatred and spiteful remarks were numerous. Prayers to Seiros began to taint with sinful desires to tear apart the newcomers. Even comments were proclaimed right before their face! Brutal skirmishes sparked between Class Zero and the other students, especially those from the nobility. Yet the majority marched onward without strife. (The exception being Cater, Sice, Nine, and Machina.) It was as if ill will bounced from their invisible force shield.

However, there were some that view them indifferently. If anything, they viewed them with great fixation. The three house leaders, Dimitri, Claude, and Edelgard spared none of their curiosity to civilians of Rubrum. All three were on mutual agreement that there was something off about this group. Yet that did not stop them from interacting with members from Class Zero. Dimitri did not hesitate to try and befriend them, especially with Ace and Queen. Claude made various attempts to dig information of their origin from Jack and Cater. Edelgard tried to decipher and outline their abilities, more so with Sice and Machina.

They remained an enigma to this day.

“Professor?”

Byleth glanced up from straightening her papers. She found herself looking at the white-haired noble. The rest of her students had scampered away after the dry lecture. Tactical lessons about the importance of geography bored many, if not all, to death. No one dared to stay after either for questions! The fact that the Adrestian Empire’s lord waiting after class meant another matter might be at hand.

“What do you think of them?”

Byleth corrected the pages’ posture until their edges were even.

“Are you talking about Class Zero?”

“Yes.”

“…They are special.” No reaction. Byleth glanced up from her documents. Then, she turned her back towards the female lord and gathered the rest of her belongings, but not without adding a remark. “I see potential in them. Perhaps too much potential…”

The way Class Zero operated… They were clearly above their levels. It was not to say that Byleth, Manuela, and Hanneman cannot handle their students. The three were professors with plenty of practical knowledge. Almost nothing could get past them. However, the newcomers were a force to be reckoned with.

Commander Kurasame commanded his students with minimal effort on his end, yet they were able to produce satisfying results to the salivating requesters. Patriotic praises are sung high from a few. Disobedience from orders was rare to their superiors. Death and bloodshed had never budged these students from their responsibilities. Relentless assaults rained upon their enemies and monsters with fluid movements. Weapons and magic tore apart their foes without a single bit of hesitation and remorse. These students were like soldiers…

No— They are soldiers.

Byleth shook her head.

Child soldiers.

The teal-haired furrowed her brows and stuffed a textbook into her brown duffel.

As an ex-mercenary, she had seen plenty of conflict throughout her life. At the tender age of six, she picked up her first weapon. At the tender age of ten, she killed her first monster. At the tender age of twelve, she killed another human being. That was due to her occupation; it was a part of her job. Whether she fought for a nation or not, it did not matter. She was a mercenary. They were hired, they completed their job, they were paid. Nothing more, nothing less.

But Class Zero? They were like her students… They were so young to be thrust into battle. Byleth curled her fingers inward, her nails digging into her trembling palm.

“I would never treat my students like foot soldiers.”

Commander Kurasame may be a teacher to them, but he is, above all, their commander. The way he ran his lecture is a stark contrast to Byleth’s. Times, when her students were forced to fight, was solely out of survival and monthly task set out by Lady Rhea. Kurasame held no punches. “Ice Reaper” nickname fit him so well when he trained his students. They went out to fight for the Church of Seiros almost every week for the Goddess’s cause. Breaktime was scarce for the children. The few times Byleth had spotted them, their slumped shoulders and worn features struck a chord within her. That made it all more heartbreaking.

The professor felt warmth envelop her right hand on the table. She glanced at Edelgard, who gently squeezed with both hands.

“I’m sure they have their reasons, Byleth. If anything, I’m grateful to have you as our teacher.”

How strange. Byleth’s eyes softened. She is being cared for by her students. Their hands parted only for the older female to caress Edelgard’s face. This caused the vermillion noble to nestle into the nearby comfort with a blooming smile. If Edelgard were to have someone like Commander Kurasame… Her navy hues darkened. Byleth would never allow them to teach her and her classmates. Thumb smoothing over her skin, Byleth cracked out a smile.

“And I’m grateful to have you as my girlfriend.”

“!”

Alas, that smile was ever so fleeting on Edelgard’s lips. It was replaced with widening hues, jaw dropped, and a deep shade of red bursting from her cheeks. Incoherent sayings rattled out of the girl’s mouth as she took a step backward. An arm was raised, the blush spreading to all parts of her face.

“W-Wha— Why did you have to say that?!”

“Is… that a problem?”

“Of course, it is!”

Their relationship was no mere student-teacher. After the excruciating waiting and “what if” games, they finally took the first step above friendship with the help of a few allies. Edelgard had both hands pressed against her own chest; a frown marked as a prominent characteristic. The corner of her lips wavered as she barked,

“It would be bad if someone were to overhear us!”

Not that anyone other than Sothis, Jeralt, and the Black Eagles knew about it. Their private affairs would open a can of worms should word spread. Gossip about Class Zero might be overridden by the mere mention of their affairs. How scandalous. Just imagining the headlines made her stomach drop. “Edelgard von Hresvelg, the future ruler for the Adrestian Empire, found dating with Professor Byleth!” Edelgard might as well give up on her purpose of becoming an emperor if their secrets were exposed.

Byleth squinted her eyes to a slit, a twinkle sparkling from the corner.

“You’re right. It would be bad.”

“I’m glad that you see where I’m coming from. Now, I suggest we— MMFH!?”

What a surprise! Byleth pressed her lips onto those soft, pink flesh. Though it was brief, that managed to silence the 18-year-old. Temporarily, that is. When they parted, a tiny mushroom cloud of steam blew from the top of her head, and in came the overreaction.

“What are you doing?! What if they see us?”

She began to take a couple more steps backward, her entire face becoming as red as a beet. This was her limit for today. Any more and she might faint on the spot! The professor shrugged her shoulders with a neutral expression.

“They didn’t though.”

“BYLETH!”

“Yes?”

Ugh, how unbearable! Edelgard would love to run up to the teacher, pull on her cheeks, and scold the older female of her social etiquette. She really needs to work on them! Did she even interpret the earlier outburst correctly? Based on her blank reaction, it appears not. There was that strange twinkle not too long ago though… Could that mean she was being teased instead?! Hark, the white-haired closed her eyes and coughed into her fist in lieu of retaliation. She stilled herself for a few seconds; the heat simmered down to nothingness as she guided their conversation back to the main topic. When the female cracked open her eyelids, she wondered,

“Do you think they could be swayed by my words?”

Recruitment is an important part of her current plan at the monastery. Although she placed a great deal of trust with Byleth, she knew that her goals would have a greater chance of achievement if there were more comrades standing by her side. It was a noble purpose… a noble purpose that requires the spilling of blood from many; it was a bleak path that can drive one to insanity. Edelgard has no choice but to march forward into the crimson puddles and road, lest she succumbs to something more than depression!

Byleth cupped her own chin and stared downward. Those navy hues examined the wooden tile’s patterns intently during her ponder. Class Zero was a group that she hardly knew much about. Secretive was the correct terminology to describe them. They appear open and possess a cheerful disposition, yet there was something hidden beneath their exterior. She could not explain her line of reasoning for it, but her instincts forewarned about their origin. It was at the tip of her fingertips… Confirmation and elaboration were all she needed. She gazed upward. Edelgard had kept her eyes on her older girlfriend. Eventually, the professor huffed.

“It’s too soon to say. We should leave them to be.”

“…You’re right. I must be getting ahead of myself.”

“Perhaps.” Then, the teal-haired reached out to pat the student’s hair. “Whatever their answers may be, I will always be by your side, El.”

“Yes… So long as I have you by my side, I have nothing to fear.”

“Good girl.”

Their conversation came to closure as Byleth resumed tidying the classroom and her supplies. This might take some time. In that case, Edelgard motioned a farewell to her teacher before taking her leave. Trouble was already waiting. A couple steps out of the lecture hall and she came to contact with another student.

“Oof!”

The impact possessed a bit more power than she had anticipated. Unfortunately, she had lost her balance. Edelgard fell forward and into the person. Had it not been for their quick reflexes, they would have collapsed together. Should Claude ever be present, he would have laughed his bottom off at her misfortune. If he were kinder than his schemes, he might have given pity points in her way. Her gloved hands pressed upon the male’s broad chest. The black attire, the red cape, the golden patterns… A single glance told her that it was none other than a student from the infamous Class Zero.

“King…?”

“Are you okay?”

His deep voice reverberated from his throat. Taller than both her and Byleth, the young man gently eased her away from his body. Compared to him, Edelgard felt like a midget. (He reminds her too much of Dedue.) She could not help but bob her head and slurred thanks. Seeing that no harm was done, the gunner softly scoffed and turned his back towards her.

“Please be careful. Had you bump into someone like Deuce or Jack, you would have been in trouble.”

Straight to the point; there was nothing more to add. Though there was truth to his words. Deuce was the weakest member, and she would have been the one causing trouble instead. As for Jack, he can be a flirt with the ladies. This holds no exception to those outside of Orience, the playboy spotted hanging out with a new girlfriend every week or so. King immediately left her behind, the house leader staring after him like a deer in headlights.

Not even a minute ticked by until the mullet-haired bumped into his classmate. An elongated sigh slithered out of his respiratory system when the dragoon tucked his hands into his pant’s pockets. Hunched over, Nine grumbled as his eyes followed the now-leaving Edelgard.

“Tch, she’s just staring at us like we’re animals.” Nine swiped the corner of his mouth while wearing a scowl. “I wonder what she’ll think if we give her a good ol’ lesson— OUCH!”

The dragoon vigorously rubbed the top of his head as Queen delivered a punishing blow. She retracted her hand and shook her head.

“Nine, please refrain yourself.”

“How could I? Don’t act so holy yourself, Queen. You saw the way she looked at us!”

“Lady Edelgard is not the type to act that way. Besides, it’s normal for them to view us that way. Didn’t you remember how we were treated back at the peristylium?” She was correct. Back when they were a part of Suzaku Peristylium as cadets, they attracted far more attention than needed. After their bravery from their first operation, Class Zero gained plenty of infamous focus. Everywhere they walk, whispers and murmurs tailed after them. Some were singing high praises as if they were the gods and goddesses. Some resented the students as they gained special permission to be a part of their academic institution. The fact that they were receiving similar treatment on this educational ground slightly disappointed them. It was unsurprising to an extent. She adjusted her glasses and returned her attention to Nine. “Then, again, I’m sure your simple mind could not begin to understand the complexity of our situation…”

“Oi oi, try saying that again to me, Queenie,” the rowdy boy got up to her face. He snarled and jabbed his finger on her chest. “I do understand our situation! I’m not stupid!”

She rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t even name the nations from Orience.”

“Ha! Yes, I can!”

“Right…. Right… Sure you can….”

“KORRA! I’ll prove it to you! It’s Lolicon—”

“Relax, Nine,” King placed a hand on the raging boy’s shoulder. He firmly squeezed on it as he muttered, “We have bigger issues to deal with.”

“Tch, we’re talking about that axe-wielding girl, aren’t we?”

“No…”

Queen exhaled loudly. Right at that moment, the other members of Class Zero coincidentally regrouped in the field. (Many of them wandered about the premise and had either returned from a mission or from the training grounds.) Thank goodness they would be able to divert Nine’s poor attention span to the main problem at hand.

“How goes your mission?” Ace asked the three participants: Deuce, Trey, and Cater.

“It went well,” the flutist clasped her hands with a faint smile. “We were able to escort and protect the Knights of Seiros into the Kingdom of Faerghus.”

“The walk was long though… and THIS guy wouldn’t shut up!” Cater pointed her thumb at the archer. “If I had known he would be coming, I would’ve convinced Nine and Machina to take both Deuce’s and my place!”

Trey pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hope you understand how much it pains me to hear that from you. You simply do not understand the importance of the political climate here in Fodlan. There is also the Crest system, to which they are to—”

“Ugh… Just SHUT UP.”

Sice held no punches when it came to annoyance, especially regarding Trey. The grim reaper dramatically covered her ears and groaned. She would love to stab a fork into her eardrums if she could. Actually, maybe it would have been better if someone taped up his voicebox so he would cease speaking. Trey would have been better had it not been for his running mouth. No one cares what he has to say… Not even the kindhearted Ace, Deuce, and Rem from Class Zero… and certainly not from Marianne, Mercedes, and Linhardt.

Seven rested a hand against her forehead. “Even though we’re thrown into another country, I’m surprised we are still acting as nothing happened.”

“What can we say?” Jack placed both hands behind his head, his head slightly tilted upward with a grin. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to make the best of our situation. It’ll do us no good to wallow in grief.”

“That’s problematic if Jack starts talking some sense…”

“Oooo, ouch, Sice, your words wound me.”

She stuck a middle finger at him as their comrades lightly chuckled or giggled at the exchange.

“Jackie is correct though~” Cinque popped in between Deuce and Cater, her arms tossed over their shoulders. The two nearly buckled under the abrupt weight as the mace-wielder giggled. “I think we’re brought here for a reason.”

“You may have a point…” Queen cupped her chin and frowned. “Ever since we’ve gotten sucked into that black portal, we’ve been stuck here.”

The unofficial class president labeled by her classmates vividly recalled the time of their transportation. All fourteen members were in their classroom. A lecture was handed out by Kurasame, who taught them advanced lessons on casting potent spells. His Tonberry calmly watched over the students. As for the Moogle, he had gathered worksheets from the diligent students. Almost an hour into the long session and a loud shatter resonated within the premise. Everything came to a standstill. The focus was dragged straight towards a black tear in space. Before they knew it, everyone in the room was pulled into the supernatural feature of the unknown.

This all happened in less than one minute. The next thing they knew, they were plopped face-first into the soil of what is called “Fodlan.” Despite their knowledge of survival, this barren landscape was a little extreme for the students. It was a miracle for them to receive help from the monastery had it not been for Commander Kurasame. Otherwise, they would have ended in a sadder state than they are currently.

“Do you think we could really head back?” Machina gripped Ace’s shoulders. He lightly shook him. “I have to return back for the sake of Izana.”

“Machina, I’m sure we will.” This time, Rem grabbed her childhood friend’s wrists and tore it away from the first Class Zero member. “It will do you no good to think about him. Right now, we need to figure out how to get back to our country.”

Seven puffed air and glanced elsewhere. “If we do, we’ll be dragged back into war. I like it here.”

War was frequent in Orience with the four nations. The Dominium of Rubrum, the Milites Empire, the Kingdom of Concordia, and the already-obliterated Lorican Alliance were slaughtering each other in the name of their morally grey reasons. Plenty of skirmishes and dying soldiers were almost a daily occurrence. This was all due to the peace treaty being violated by one other than Cid from the Milites Empire. He broke it and immediately struck the Suzaku Peristylium’s grounds. Screams and wails of dying students haunted their memories. Grown men trying to bring about the same treatment as they’ve done with the other students. Guns blazing in the roaring flames. Magic and summons recreated for the sake of a crucial minute. Blood spilled everywhere. Dying students were forgotten in history by the country's Crystals; name tags commemorating their existence by mere names. It was a violent conflict. Their comrades were dying each day. They couldn’t even catch much of a break. One slip-up and they were finished.

The fact that they were transported here during times of peace was seen as a blessing.

“I prefer if we stay here if you ask for my honest opinion.”

“Sure, it is peaceful, but I have a feeling we need to return back to Orience as soon as possible,” Cater said. “We may have a reason for being summoned here, but once we’ve accomplished it, then we can go home.”

“Back to the dreadful war again?”

She gravely nodded.

“Yes… Back into the conflict.”

“…”

Everyone became silent. Their heads hung, many of the students began to contemplate their reason for being here at the monastery. Why are they here…? And for what purpose? Who sent them here? A multitude of questions floated within their skull, desperation for answers becoming aggressive at its owner and listener. Are they tools for war once again? If they were brought here, does that mean they had to participate in another war-like effort? They are child soldiers, the vermillion-caped cadets dubbed the "Red Demons."

“Until we find a way back… Let’s enjoy ourselves~”

Cinque random antics were so unpredictable. However, that made her weighty statement all the more powerful; Ace could be seen singing some from himself too. He chuckled and lowered his head.

“She’s right,” he said. As the atmosphere lightened, he added, “We might as well think of this as a long-term vacation. Besides, I don’t think it hurts to get to know everyone else.”

Deuce intertwined her fingers and beamed. "I think we should have a picnic with everyone!"

"That sounds like an excellent idea."

That voice did not belong to anyone of the 14 members. Rather, the mature, feminine voice boomed from behind the card-wielder. Before he could glance over his shoulder, the ex-mercenary stepped forward and stood by his side. Ace cautiously watched her actions. As they were strangers upon this land, though they may have been a part of the monastery for a month by now, they were conditioned to be wary of anyone outside of their little Class Zero family and their self-proclaimed mother, Arecia Al-Rashia. You just cannot trust anyone. If Suzaku Peristylium's Commandment and co-conspirators always used sly, corrupted techniques to get them and Mother Arecia killed, then who else could they trust? This professor seems trustworthy though from their observations... even Kurasame's Tonberry warmed up to her.

"Hmph," King crossed his arms. "You think so?"

The professor nodded. Despite her brick-like expression, the teal-haired motioned,

"If anything, just as Ace mentioned, we should get to know everyone. I think it would be fair for us to get to know you all too."

"Oh~ So which Housey should we have a picnic with first?" Cinque raised a hand high in the air. "I think it'll be too much to have all three Housey to have lunch together, right?"

A glimmer sparkled from the corner of Byleth's eyes.

"Since I am the professor of the Black Eagles House, I would love to have you all meet my students."