#joining because of loneliness and desperation and such. and trying to target those people because you want to exploit those vulnerabilities

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing i always find disturbing about xianity is how they try to get people at their lowest moment and use that to convert people. like i usually laugh at the 83-for-truth billboards because there’s just so fucking many and all of them are ridiculous. but ive recently become aware of ones that say something along the lines of “ALONE?” in big letters and then “find community at church”/“find community in jesus” or something and it’s just. sinister. i’m sure some people do get through loneliness by joining a church and that helping, but targeting people who are going through rough times because you think they’re more likely to join your religion is strange

[sourbat]

And Then-

Words: 2800

Rating: T

Pairing: Toki Wartooth/Magnus Hammersmith 

Summary: “Hammertooth, as told by the Dethklok Minute.”

There was nothing that could be done to completely vanquish the paranoia, even with the presence of half a dozen committed klokateers, so Toki knowingly made a point to always bring a disguise, to try and play it safe and drink one less bottle than normal, take one less hit than he preferred, because the last thing he wanted to do was prove Magnus’ fears correct. 

Toki was there the first time it happened. Worse, he was with the whole gang, reclining comfortably in the hot tub, finished giving Skwisgaar a high five, when Nathan flicked the television on, revealing  The Dethklok Minute host’s marred face.

“Today I bring you a blast from the past. We’re talking ancient history here, folks! Famed rhythm guitarist, Toki Wartooth, was recently seen chatting it up with none other than ex-Dethklok, and failed solo artist, Magnus Hammersmith. The two were seen causing quite the scene outside of the Griffith observatory, resulting in them being kicked out from the premises. Apparently, Hammersmith couldn’t handle the extra attention. Real shame, Hammersmith, it’s as close to the stars as you’ll ever get!”

They laughed when they saw the images, the brief video clip of Magnus angrily grabbing and tossing someone’s phone off the cliff, and the hilarious tweets shared by fans that all seemed to focus on how desperate and loathsome Magnus was in comparison to him. There was nothing he could say, whine or threaten to calm the rest of the band down. The day only grew progressively worse as he checked his phone, spotting new threads and comments on all the platforms he frequented, but not hearing a single word from Magnus.

He must have sent a dozen messages, and earned no reply until late at night, when news had reached every corner of the internet.

Thankfully, Magnus took it rather well, or as well as anyone with little to no say in the matter could. When they finally got together, Magnus was clearly upset, but he was more ashamed at himself for causing a huge scene and threatening a bunch of regular jack-offs for poking fun of him, mad for setting himself up for this disaster, and regretted that he pulled Toki and Dethklok into yet another one of his messes.

Once it was out, they discussed the next step. The public knew they were together in some form, but how much was still up in the air. Romance was currently out of the equation, or wasn’t suspected. Magnus treated it as a small relief; Toki, on the other hand, viewed it differently. The mean gossips centered on Magnus wouldn’t just go away if people continued to treat him as Toki’s inferior. If they came out not as competitors, but as partners, as equals, as a real couple…

When Toki raised the idea to Magnus, he spun it differently. They should come out now before the world figures it out on their own. Rip off the bandage on their own terms, and get the rumors done and over with.

The world was going to talk about them whether they liked it or not, so… why not try to have fun?

Why hide it and pretend they were only friends?  

“Welcome back to the Dethklok Minute! Toki Wartooth and Hammersmith were seen together exiting Club Rhapsody on Sunset Blvd. The two barely made it five steps before Mr. Wartooth was bombarded by fans. It took several klokateers shooting down crazed fans to get their claws off Toki Wartooth. Meanwhile, here’s an image of poor ol’ Hammersmith, left out in the dust.  Good thing he’s already used to it, though!”  

That time Magnus was pissed. He hadn’t even done anything that night, and was the soberer of the two. Sure, they were both piss-drunk, but Magnus had been reasonable enough to leave his keys behind, to tell Toki they needed to leave once it got too crowded, and tried being civil despite the crowds, their disguises slipping off, and people flashing lights in every direction just to say they were in the same club as Toki Wartooth.

Unless given the orders, the klokateers didn’t bother trying to protect Magnus, or shoo away fans who had nothing better than to accuse him of trying to latch on to fame, being a parasite, or an unsightly thorn in Toki’s side. The burden always fell on Toki. He had to be the one to grab Magnus and reel him in, remind him to count to ten, to hold his tongue, to try and be the better man despite the rumors and open remarks.

It didn’t take long for forums to pose the much-feared question, one Toki hadn’t regarded until Magnus very frustratingly pointed it out:

How far back do they go?

Then Toki understood Magnus’ fears. With discussions digging deeper into their pasts, Toki knew it would only be a matter of time before rumors of his disappearance resurfaced, and people connected whatever dots they wanted to reach their preferred conclusions. 

The following months proved too challenging.

He couldn’t blame Magnus for all those close calls. Toki didn’t blame him when Magnus eventually did snap, and lash out. Magus never laid a finger on him, but the yelling…the yelling and the misdirected rage terrified him.

It was Magnus who suggested the break.

Once again, Toki couldn’t bring himself to blame Magnus, even when everyone else at Mordhaus did.

The truth stung. The loneliness ached. The rumors persisted. Toki waited and watched the news, counting the weeks until the much-needed silence finally died down. It never did. Though the conversations decreased, there was never a point in time where comments online didn’t lead to Magnus, tweets or tags that brought up the name, and the terrible rumors surrounding their relationship persisted. It was the suckiest time of Toki’s life as he waited for Magnus’ return, for the world to get over this strange obsession, and for things to return to the way it was before.

Two months later, Magnus returned from the shadows on his own accord, and begged for Toki’s forgiveness and yet another chance at proving he could handle the unwanted attention, so long as it meant keeping Toki’s. Almost immediately after they reunited, the pictures and videos returned, but this time Magnus made a point to ignore it, to do his absolute best to take it all in stride and make the most of their limited time together.

Toki welcomed Magnus with open arms, more relieved than anything that Magnus didn’t give up on the two of them, and was willing to try and make this work.

“While on tour in England, fans caught glimpses of Toki and Mr. Hammersmith just outside of the Tower of London, harassing the local avian residents, and later caught pissing into the River Thames. Well, you know the saying: boys will be boys. In bigger news, Nathan Explosion played the lead role at The Globe’s recent…”

Then, one day, Magnus was no longer the main story. He wasn’t the butt of the joke. He wasn’t the focus of any folly that took place between them. Now Magnus had a title. Now he was just another one of the boys. Maybe not a member of Dethklok, but someone within the circle. A person who demanded some respect.  

It took several months, but Magnus was accepted as another regular figure in Toki’s life. Like Dr. Rockso, Magnus was treated less as a person of interest, a living target, and more a colorful object that Toki took alongside him to various places, adding to the curiosity and allure of their already complex relationship. Unlike the clown, though, the well of controversy had long since run dry, and nasty statements about the older man were quickly replaced with random jokes, silly rumors about Skwisgaar being replaced, and then–

Magnus started smiling, really smiling, again.

And then– 

“Today I bring you none other than our favorite buddy-duo: Toki Wartooth and Magnus Hammersmith! The two guitarists were seen sneaking out the back of Cruachan’s, carrying a wasted William Murderface before being accosted by some rapid fangirls. Luckily for them, Murderface was there to scare them away. Hey, Murderface, didn’t anyone tell you three is a crowd?”  

It was already a big enough deal that Toki convinced Murderface to join in, drink and talk with Magnus, maybe reconcile some past grudges and start afresh. Now people were curious to know why Magnus was so well-liked. In the eyes of the fans, Dethklok was reaching out to Magnus, which meant Magnus couldn’t possibly be that bad of a guy. The focus on Magnus returned, but with a different change in tone. He was Toki’s buddy. A mentor. A reliable father figure.

Magnus read each new role, and grew paranoid for the one that he knew would soon arise from the depths of internet forums.

Another month went by, then another, and after doing their best to avoid the media, to pay extra attention when making exchanges, their reprieve arrived in the form of funny jingles and images depicting the two of them as nothing short of the best of friends. The host of the show played it well, acting as though he never had a hand in spreading lies about them, and treated their nightly excursions, trips and secret dates as just another blurb in the  Dethklok Minute. But as nice as two friends hanging out was, it didn’t draw the same number of crowds as before, and after waiting and waiting, the focus on the two of them finally died.

Nobody cared that Toki hung out with Magnus, and were far more invested in Pickles’ massive pub crawl across Europe, the recent paternity trials of Skwisgaar, Nathan’s up-and-down relationship with Abigail, or Murderface’s failed MLM scheme.

And then–

“Welcome to the Dethklok minute! Uh-oh, Toki-oh! After a huge and successful performance in Japan, Toki Wartooth was seen inviting Magnus Hammersmith into the lobby of the famous Ningen Isu Hotel. But what’s this? Take a look at this!  Though the picture is of poor quality, fans speculate the two are holding hands in the photo…”

A slip up. After months of touring, bad reception and shitty planning on his part, Toki called Magnus over, and in their haste to reunite, were caught in the act.

And then…

“Breaking news! You will not believe your eyes!”

The very thing Magnus feared happened. Toki expected a strong reaction from Magnus. He expected the walls to crumble and the world to feel like it was ending. However, he could not predict just how negative a response he'd receive from his billions of fans. Knees tucked into his chest, Toki sullenly scrolled through the thousands of tags with awful slurs and insulting remarks, now all aimed at him. Fans demanded to know if he hit his head, if he enjoyed giving head, if he was always playing for both sides, if he spit or swallowed, if he even liked girls, if he was drunk when it happened, if it was consensual, if Toki was sure he didn’t like breasts, if he was ok, or if there was something wrong with his eyes because he could do  so  much better than Magnus Hammersmith.

Nathan and the others warned him this would happen, but Toki never believed it. The fans loved him. He could do no wrong.

But, once it was out–

“While most remain torn, a growing number of fans have openly voiced their support of the two…”

Once it was out, it was Magnus who snatched the phone out from Toki’s hand, taking and stowing it in some drawer where it couldn’t bother them before doing the same with Toki, and carrying him off into the night in his arms and telling him it wasn’t worth their time.

“…Send your vote to this number to determine the name of this new, controversial celebrity couple!”

Much like those slow, intimate touches that kept Toki distracted long through the night, the horrible things fans said came to pass. Not much longer, Magnus showed Toki how those same fans that had attacked him, that posted videos and memes making fun of their friendship, that spread rumors and doubt, that tested their patience, were all now sending hearts and their best wishes. There were pictures, both hand drawn and professionally done, hashtags and gifs and essays filled with nothing but off-putting support. Toki found familiar faces and names, avatars and posts from those he remembered directing horrible things his way, and now they were acting as though they never stopped believing in the two.

Toki logged off and debated taking a break from social media.

Magnus beckoned him back to comforting sheets. 

The initial shock came and went, and before long, all that was left was empty support and praise. Wholesome quotes and pretty rainbow flags that meant nothing to Toki, even less to Magnus, and fan songs and imagery that Toki blocked, only to later openly mocked with the only man who understood better than anyone else how pathetic and empty-brained most people were, and how quickly everyone forgets.

The band had little to say, but offered their indirect support by reminding Toki the jack-offs were more than likely jealous. Toki had everything in the world, Nathan later said. It didn’t matter that he left it at that, abruptly ending the conversation before Toki had a chance to really take it in and appreciate the shreds of a hidden apology underneath it all.  Everything in the world.  To think it included Magnus made the half-assed apology more heartfelt, and Toki had to stop himself from getting too close to Nathan and thanking him for taking his side, for being there, for listening, caring in his own way.

And, finally…

“… and in other news, the world’s favorite musical couple celebrated Toki Wartooth’s birthday in upstate New York. After celebrating at Mordhaus, Magnus and Toki decided to take advantage of the band’s extended work sabbatical, and take a vacation together… Next week, I give you a very special Dethklok exclusive, starring none other than the famous couple themselves!”   

With an outstretched hand, Magnus reached for the remote, turning off the television with a short, but aggressive jab on the power button before snatching his keys and turning to Toki, who remained peacefully reclined on top of the hotel bed.

“Ready?” Magnus asked, fixing one of many heavy rings he had on his person as Toki slipped off the bed, hastily running past him to locate his socks and boots for the long day ahead. Magnus fingered a rather hefty skull ring adorned with gaudy, but bright and pointed gemstones. “So, who’s doing what again?”

“I holds him down,” Toki replied as he worked the laces on his boots. “When I gives the words, I jumps across and holds him down.”

Magnus picked up his sunglasses, donning his disguise before casually making his way out of the bedroom. “Uh-huh. And what’s the word?”

“Hmmm.” Toki chewed his inner lip as he searched for a random enough word. “Cinnamon?”

“Cinnamon?”

“Yeps,” Toki replied, standing up and following Magnus. He grabbed a small box of medical bandages and gauze, still in a plastic bag that rested on top of a recently cracked crystal table, and shoved both into his already cluttered fanny pack.  

Magnus reached in, snatching the gauze and stowing it into one of his pockets, leaving more room for Toki to rearrange his things. “And you’re totally fine with me beating the ever-lasting shit out of him?” he asked, earning a mischievous little glance from the younger man. “All by myself?”

“Wells, I’ms gonna to gets him first,” Toki contentedly pointed out, and earned a snicker from Magnus when he dared to smile at the thought. “Ams doing half the works. Also, lets me wear some of the rings.”

“Fine, fine.” Magnus offered his fingers up to Toki, amused when the young man stopped and hovered and admired the large, heavy steel rings bought for the sole purpose of rearranging another man’s face. He raised a brown when he saw Toki reach for a devilish ring adorned with curled horns. “Not that one, I like that one.”

“Evens better.” Toki pulled the ring from Magnus’ middle, sticking out his tongue as he tried it on, along with a few others, before earning a slightly sarcastic look of approval from Magnus.

“Ready?” Magnus asked again, admittedly smitten by how well the ring suited Toki.

“Waits, I forgots my hat.”

Magnus headed to the door, taking his time, stopping briefly to admire the view from the window and take in the magnificent view, while also picking up on rushed footsteps hitting the floor, Toki nearly tripping over himself and putting on the last bit of his outfit, then claiming Magnus’ free hand as his, and yanking him close into a brief, but passionate kiss. 

“Let’s go,” he said after slowly pulling away, eyes locked on Magnus as he opened the door, ready to be led into the light.

[slowburndisaster]

Red Queen ch. 2

rating: M for Mature

genre: mafia au, slow burn

pairing: ot7 x reader

series warnings: Cursing, violence, gore, smut scene in this chapter (blink and you might miss it), y/n is a bad bitch, maybe a dash of angst here and there for flavor

synopsis: You’ve decided to merge with the 7 most powerful mafia bosses in Korea. They don’t know what they’re getting into, and neither do you.

Chapter 1

Growing up, Jin had always been considered weak and ugly. His peers constantly told him he was ugly, he would never amount to anything, that he never belonged anywhere. He had grown so used to being put down that he had started to believe those horrible words. He shrank away from others, tried to make himself invisible. That happened for years until he met Namjoon and Yoongi. They treated him like a brother and lifted him out of the darkness. They convinced him that he was better than all those other people, more handsome that all of them combined. He even came up with his nickname, Worldwide Handsome, shortly after that as a joke but it stuck.

Now, he was one of the most powerful mafia bosses in Korea along with his 6 friends. They had worked swiftly and with unparalleled intelligence to take over the most cities. He thought of this fondly as he looked around y/n’s office. They had all been working with you for several months now. Your confidence still made him feel like he needed to hold his breath around you. Ever since your first meeting, he knew you were a force to be reckoned with. You had won them all over, getting them to join with you and your impressive network.

“So, what’s the status on your side, Jin?” You pause, waiting for a response. When met with silence, you glance up from the papers on your desk taking in the faraway look in his eyes as he stared at you. Any other time, you’d think he was checking you out and you might even flush a little under his gorgeous dark eyes, but right now, in the middle of this meeting, you were slightly annoyed. “…Jin? Status?” You spoke louder, and sterner, eyes meeting his.

“Ah, my apologizes, my queen.” The corners of his lips twitch upwards for a second at the way he addresses you. He knows you aren’t thrilled with him calling you that, which makes it a regular occurrence when he’s around. “Everything seems to be moving smoothly. We had new shipments of pharmaceuticals come in yesterday. Our clients seem incredibly pleased with them and orders have increased.”

You nod, scribbling notes into your large logbook. “Excellent. Well, that seems to conclude this meeting now. Everything is going great so far but keep an eye out for any discrepancies or missing product. We tend to let our guard down when things go smoothly, leaving us open for attack. Also…Jin, could I speak to you privately?” Standing, you say your goodbyes to the other 6 men as they file out of your office.

“Jin, what’s going on with you? I’ve noticed you’ve been more…. detached…. lately. If something is bothering you, I’d like for us to address it now. I can’t have people in this organization that do not have their head in the game.” You slowly walk around your desk and lean against the front of it while speaking.

He shook his head. “There’s nothing bothering me. It’s nothing really. I do apologize, my queen. I’ll be more alert.” He says with a smirk.

“…Jin. You do not have to call me queen. Y/N is fine with me.” You sign, crossing your arms across your chest. “We are all partners in this. I’m not completely ruthless, just when I’m pushed.”

He chuckles “I know. I don’t believe you’re as ruthless and heartless as the stories say. I just…ah, never mind.” He suddenly stops talking, looking away.

“You just what? Go on, say it.” You raise an eyebrow, staring down at him.

“I just don’t understand how someone can be as powerful as you, and as…. beautiful…and not have someone at their side. Is this really what this lifestyle has to offer? Loneliness and power?” He drops his head, staring at the floor.

You blink several times, replaying what he just said in your mind to make sure you heard him correctly. Did…. did he just call you beautiful? “It’s not always lonely at the top. It is true that I do not keep a man at my side, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my needs met. It’s extremely dangerous to have any type of public and serious relationships with the number of enemies I’ve made over the years.” You sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “I usually seek out what I want or need when I desire it. I find that emotions, such as love, can sometimes make us act recklessly. I cannot be reckless, I have too many people depending on me. I also find that it’s best to be very blunt with what I want.”

“You sound a lot like Yoongi. I completely understand your reasoning. I just feel like this whole thing gets a little suffocating sometimes.”

You watch him, emotions flitting across his face as he speaks. Deep down, you feel bad for him. You feel the same for all your associates. Positions of power in this empire makes you a target. One would be a fool to bring in a love interest that could be used against you. Trusting any outsiders is nearly impossible because of people trying to worm their way in to get information.

“It really does…” you whisper, barely audible.

Jin lifts his eyes to your face, wondering if he heard your correctly. He could swear he saw a hint of sadness in your eyes, but as quickly as he saw it, it was gone. Replaced with your dominating stare. He stands slowly. “Thank you again for being concerned for me. It’s nice to have that at times. I will be better for you.” He winks and smiles.

You lean forward and put your hand on his upper arm and smile softly. “Of course, and remember if you need to talk about something, I’m always available. I’m really not as emotionless as you all think.” His eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping across his face. “I hear everything.” You wink at him, squeezing his arm slightly before dropping your hand. “It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

The heat on his arm from where your hand had been felt like it was burning his skin. He tried not to focus on it as he nodded and said his goodbyes. The way you spoke and acted always demanded respect. It’d be a lie to say he had never let his mind wander. He wondered what you would look like getting lost in pleasure underneath him. What kind of sounds he could coax from you as your icy exterior slipped away. He wanted to have you screaming his name and begging for more. He rubbed his arm as he walked down the hallway towards the exit. He had a new personal mission. To see you at your most vulnerable and see just how many times he could push you over the edge in ecstasy.

“Oh god…right there…” you moan out, eyes squeezed shut as your head tips back onto the pillow. Jin’s thrusts speed up as he grabs the headboard with one hand, the other grabbing at your breast. A devilish smirk carved onto his handsome face as he rips moan after moan from your throat.

“You like that? I want to hear you screaming my name, Y/N. I want everyone to know who you belong to. Who fucks you better than anyone ever has?” He leans down biting and sucking at your neck, marking you as he sees fit. Your fingers raking down his back, leaving angry red marks.

“JIN…. fuck…Jin!”

“Louder, kitten!” He pounds into you, desperate for your cries. You look amazing arching your back underneath him, biting your lip and clinging to him.

You open your mouth while clenching around him. “It’s time….to wake up….”

He wakes suddenly and sits up. His skin glistening with sweat, breathing heavily. He looks at the clock and sees that it’s only 4am. He groans looking down to see a wet spot on the front of his boxers and his dick straining against the cloth. “Of course, it was a fucking dream…”

He slides out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom to take care of his predicament. “I feel like a damn teenager…” He mumbles as he wraps his hand around his length.

 A few hours later, Jin slowly shuffled into their headquarters. He had barely slept because when he shut his eyes all he could see was your face and hear your moans.

“Jinnie! Good morning…wow…you look rough. Long night?” Hoseok greeted him loudly, wagging his brows at the end.

“You have no idea.” He looked up to see the expectant look on his friend’s face. “Not like that…definitely not that fun. Just had a lot on my mind and couldn’t sleep.”

“Hmm…what’s going in that head of yours that is cutting in on your beauty sleep?”

Jin looks around the room, making sure he was alone with Hoseok. “…it’s Y/N.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly. “Y/N? Did something happen when she asked you to stay back yesterday?”

“No, no, nothing like that. She was nice during our talk. We chatted briefly about some things. She noticed I wasn’t focusing well.” He takes a deep breath. “I just couldn’t tell her…that the reason I couldn’t focus was because of her…”

“Because of her? Is the ice queen getting under your skin?”

“Hobi, she’s not an ice queen. I just wonder what it would be like to be…with…her.” Jin could feel the tips of ears heating up at this confession.

“WHOA! You’ve got the hots for the boss?!” Hoseok says loudly.

Jin quickly slaps his hand over his loud friend’s mouth before glaring at him. “I swear to god, Hobi. If you say one word about this, I’ll skin you alive. Besides…you haven’t thought the same thing? I’m surprised that no one else has felt like this. She’s single, powerful, and gorgeous.” He removes his hand.

“The thought may have crossed my mind from time to time…” a large smile broke out on his face. “But that’s what’s keeping you from sleeping? Being attracted to her?”

“Well…” Jin looks at the floor “I may have had a dream…about her. A very…good...dream…” he coughed and looked up slowly.

Hoseok erupts in laughter. “Oh my god! You had a wet dream about her too?! This is good…this is so good.”

Jin glares at him once again “I’m glad you think so!! I’m not even sure I’m going to be able to look at her the same way…at least for a while…”

[yfere]

A Lonely Wizard

“He’s been traumatized, he’s looking to change his life direction” the M9 say of Jeff, the character of Jester’s Ideal Target for proselytizing. It’s a bit, but it’s based on fact--people who are vulnerable, traumatized, lonely, or who recently made life changing decisions (new move, new school, divorce, death of family/friend etc)--these are the people whose sense of self is flexible enough and lacking enough social ties that they can be appealed with the most success to reinvent themselves by joining a new organization or cult.

But these people needn’t be drawn into something that harms them. I believe that Essek, the lonely researcher, stands as an example of a character with the potential (lol) to fall in with many sides of the Empire/Krynn conflict--it is the Mighty Nein’s intervention and offers of friendship that have the likelihood of assuring his loyalty to them (nevermind the Dynasty or Assembly or anyone else), and their continued investment in that friendship which could secure it.

I mean, I certainly can’t be the only one who noticed that Essek’s political alignments and general perspective make an entanglement with the Assembly look very beneficial to him. This is what he told us about his thoughts on the war:

1. Den Theylss as a group as well as Essek in particular is interested in legitimizing the Dynasty in the eyes of the world at large, including the neighboring country of the Empire. They likely believe peace and perhaps even cooperation with the Empire as essential to achieving this mission, since the war only makes polemic against the Dynasty easier to swallow. Meanwhile, Essek is also of the belief that the Assembly, if conducting extralegal research, probably would want the war to cease for the simple reason that doing so would help them keep their research more protected and secret. 

2. To accomplish the goal of bringing conflict to a standstill, Essek is straight up willing to withhold information from the BQ and/or lie to her face, betraying his office as Shadowhand

3. Brass tacks, Essek straight up doesn’t care for the Luxon as a religion or a cultural institution. He wants to study the magical potential of the Beacons without having to navigate the trappings of the Luxon religion, and believes their potential is best plumbed when they’re looked at with an objective eye. He theorizes they may be constructed magical artifacts or weapons, rather than the body of a god. In essence, Essek has the same general research perspective as those in the Assembly have so far demonstrated--and he’s eager to reverse-engineer their research when presented with the vial of liquefied dunamis from Caleb.

4. Essek has also pretty much stated outright that he’s more willing to work with the Assembly than with the monarchy of the Empire, as he believes (correctly, from what I’ve seen) that they have more in common with each other, a shared perspective of their respective priorities. The way he discusses this is slightly hypothetical and more in an effort to convince Caleb that maybe targeting the Assembly for their ulterior motives isn’t the most productive course of action. But it’s possible to extrapolate from this an anti-monarchial sentiment directed at the ruler of the Dynasty as well.

5. “I am one mind, they are many” Essek is lonely. He is trying to accomplish difficult, at times politically fraught research with zero support structure, let alone friends. He’s desperate for Caleb to swing by to talk magic--Caleb offers an exchange of information and items in return for helping with Nott’s spell, and Essek acts as if helping would be a favor to him instead, saying he would give breakfast as a “thank you”--for that and for the dinner, as if they hadn’t invited him and they weren’t already deeply in his debt. He talks about help with research as the main means the M9 could repay their favors to him, discounting political information he’s offered as worthy of the same repayment. Potential romance aside, Essek’s tentative but deeply invested attempts at reaching out speaks to his isolation, his need for someone to be at his back. 

The people at his back could be the Assembly, so, so easily. But instead, there’s the Mighty Nein, not beholden to either.

“The Traveler was there for me when I was lonely. He is a good friend.” Jester argues to Jeff, and this is what convinces the lonely Jeff to worship the Traveler. To Essek, Yasha said her loneliness became worse after meeting the M9, because she learned what having real, good friends was like. And Essek watched as Caleb and the Mighty Nein outpoured their love towards Nott the Brave and all her decisions, promised her she would always be one of them and they would always stand by her, no matter what she wanted or decided.

What lonely person wouldn’t covet that, being a part of that?

[synvamp]

Getting Lucky

On patrol. Alone with Clover. This is fine.

Hook up fic with D&M, ridic flirting, angst!Qrow and so much love for Clover's pants XD

Rating: M

---xxx---

Qrow took a long breath. He ran one hand through his hair and looked at his face in the reflective surface of the window one more time. He looked nervous as hell. Great.

 Off on patrol. With Clover. Both of their teams were training but Jimmy insisted that his team leaders share a few hours to talk strategy and learn about each other’s fighting techniques. Knowledge enables control, he’d said. Whatever that means.

 “See you tonight then,” Clover had said as they left the briefing, “Meet you down in Mantle, outside the Service Hanger at eight?” and then he winked and waltzed off, just like that.

 “It’s not like you’re going on a date or anything,” Qrow muttered angrily at his reflection.

 It felt so weird to have a guy flirt with him that he couldn’t even tell if it was really happening… It had been so long! He’d been so busy with Ruby and Raven and Yang and trying not to let his demons get the better of him. Who had time for a love life?!

 The loneliness hadn’t helped, sure but it was starting to be a comfort. No one to let down… No; no one to drag down with his miserable semblance and his miserable life. And Clover had just breezed in. Just flicked his wrist in his cocky half salute as if he was saying, “Luck? I’ve got enough for the two of us.” Just like that.

 It had been so long since he’d met a man he was interested in, he’d almost stared to think that maybe he wasn’t bi after all… maybe it was just because he was young or drunk, things like that happen, right? But there was no question now. Certain parts of his anatomy were absolutely sure.

 But was Clover even flirting? Maybe he was always like that… cocky but full of empathy, warm, sincere… I sound like a teenager. I’m so horny all a man has to do is wink at me and I get all sweaty! But it wasn’t all he’d done at all. Every time Qrow looked in those turquoise eyes he thought, he’s not so great. He might be gorgeous and have a chiselled jaw and shoulders you could yoke a cart to but he’s just a show off. It’s nothing. He’s nothing.

 And then Clover said something like, “They’re lucky to have you,” and looked at him like he knew every tormented thought that ever entered his head and suddenly he was right back where he started. Sweaty.

 No… he wasn’t flirting. He was just like that. He just… winked at people. It’s a normal thing that someone like that would do. A confident person. It’s not like I would know how that feels, all my confidence came from a bottle. Looking up, he realised he’d turned the last corner of the long metal corridor and was about to step out into the hanger bay. A short walk around Hanger Four and he’d be at the maintenance end. He checked the time. It was seven fifty five.

 Maybe I should stay here a while. Don’t want to be hanging around for ages looking nauseous.

 Being sober is so damn annoying.

 “Fancy meeting you here,” Clover’s voice bounced off the metal walls, strong and confident as always.

 “Yeah, imagine,” Qrow replied, turning. Awkwardly standing in a corridor. Excellent start.

 “I thought maybe a turn around the CBD?” Clover smiled.

 Qrow nodded and they walked out the door to cross the concrete expanse of the hanger bay, skirting the landing strip. They walked in step, taking in the darkening evening, the lights slowly blinking on one by one.

 Ok, Qrow told himself, you can do this!

 “I like your weapon,” he said, “I haven’t seen a hook used like that in combat before.”

 “I’m one of a kind,” Clover said, his eyebrows twitching.

 Come on, Qrow smiled inwardly, he has got to be flirting.

 “I’d love to have more of a chance to see you in action,” Clover let the words hang in the air; “Your sword looks pretty interesting too.”

  “Yeah,” Qrow put an affectionate hand on Harbinger, “It sure is something special.”

 “It’s rather… large though. Not compensating for anything?” Clover’s eyes twinkled.

 “From the man whose radio call sign is Alpha?” Qrow raised an eyebrow. They laughed.

 Clover exchanged a few words with the soldiers at the gate and they exited the military zone and stepped into the street.  

 “There are still a few grim getting in,” Clover said as they turned left at the gate and started a long loop around the middle few blocks of town, “so if we get lucky, I’ll get my chance to see you use it.”

 Qrow smiled and they strolled in silence. There weren’t many people on the streets after everything that had happened. There was still quite a bit of damage too, it made the place feel eerie. Like the calm before the storm.

 “If we go around this way, we can check the damaged sections of the wall on the way,” Clover gestured down an alley off to their left.

 “Lead the way.”

 The wall had been braced with rubble and some beams from a house which had been demolished a little way off. It seemed secure enough, for the time being.

 “So how long have you been leading the Ace Ops?” Qrow asked, trying to make conversation.

 “Not long, General Ironwood liked my style. Figured I’d be a good choice to keep the team from killing each other, I guess.”

 “That bad?”

 “A bit like herding cats but I like it,” Clover shook his head, “They’re good at what they do and they’ve got my back. And we’ve been lucky so far.”

 “No surprises there,” Qrow sighed.

 “I might have had a little look into your history too,” Clover said, not making eye contact. “Seems you’re a bit famous.”

 “Infamous,” Qrow muttered, then added louder, “You could have just asked me, you know.”

 “Well, where would be the fun in that?”

 “Not much fun in any of it, I’m afraid,” Qrow sighed. He realised he was being melancholy and hastily re-joined, “Things have been better recently though, I feel like with Team RWBY we can really make a difference. It’s probably just wishful thinking but you know… they’re so young and enthusiastic, it’s kind of…”

 “Infectious?” Clover finished, “I find luck’s like that too.”

 “Does that mean I get lucky?” Qrow asked, only realising what he was saying after the words had escaped. He felt heat rising in his cheeks. Yay! I’m going to blush! This is turning out just swell.

 “I’m not sure yet,” Clover smiled, “Guess we’ll find out.”

 Qrow turned away to hide the rising pink in his cheeks, just as the sounds of shouts for help reached their ears. Maybe I am getting luckier after all, he thought as they ran towards the noise. I’m much less likely to stuff up fighting than conversation…

 Four Boarbatusks had a woman pinned down in the middle of the street, further back a man and a young boy cowered, eyes desperately fixed on the scene. Clover cast his rod and the hook sailed through the air, one of the grim leapt forward to knock the line away. Qrow fired two shots moving fast, he took out the first grim with a sweeping blow of the scythe in sword form and then leapt high. The hook found its target and pulled the second grim off its feet. Qrow arced high and landed, decapitating the beast with a sweeping blow. The third creature knocked him backwards and as he spun up into the air, he could see Clover looking up at him, rod casually slung over one shoulder. He really was enjoying the show, it seemed.

 Halfway between amusement and irritation, Qrow kicked off the building and flipped high. The grim advanced on the prone woman and her shriek cut through the air. He threw the blade and it stuck in the ground between them. Out of the corner of his eye, Qrow saw the silver hook sail past him; he landed and then grabbed the line as it flew by, yanking Clover off his feet and into the melee. No spectators thanks, Qrow smiled. Clover landed in front of him and swept the rod low, knocking the nearest grim off its feet. Qrow pressed a latch and his sword became his beloved scythe, he rolled over Clover’s back and swept it in a level arc. The third grim erupted into tatters of black. The very last creature reared back, its sharp hoofs cleaving the air above Clover’s head. Qrow finished his circle and brought the scythe point down. The blade pierced the grim’s head and it was over, seconds after it had begun.

 Qrow stretched out a hand to lift Clover off the cobbles, “Out of ten?” he asked.

 Clover stood and dusted himself off, “Eight? I like the scythe better,” he smiled.

 “Me too,” Qrow stepped over to where the lady still lay and helped her gently to her feet. Her family came running, the man shouting, “Esther! Oh thank you, thank you!” to the two men.

 Qrow opened his mouth to say, “It was nothing,” but Clover beat him to it.

 “You’re welcome,” he said. “You can tell your friends you were saved by Qrow Branwen.”

 Qrow cringed.

 “You really have a problem with compliments, hey?” Clover teased as they walked away.

 “I’m just not the round-of-applause type,” Qrow muttered.

 “Well, I think you could use some practice.”

 “What do you mean?” Qrow asked, highly suspicious.

 “I’ll say something nice about you and you just have to take it.”

 “Really?”

 “Really.”

 “That sounds extremely awkward,” Qrow observed, suppressing a little thrill.

 “Only if you make it that way,” Clover grinned, “Come on, look at me.”

 They stopped walking. Qrow turned to face him and looked deep into those blindingly bright turquoise eyes. He swallowed.

 “You’re an amazing role model,” Clover said.

 Qrow blinked, struggling for an appropriate reaction.

 “You’re a great fighter. I’ve heard stories about your time at the academy that just about made my hair curl.”

 Qrow’s mouth twitched with a hint of a smile.

 “You’re determined. I know you’ve had a lot to deal with these last few years but you never give up.”

 Qrow looked at the ground. He felt like he’d given up a thousand times but… he was still here.

 “You’re..”

 “No, you’re right. I can’t do it,” Qrow laughed awkwardly.

 “Come on, just one more,” Clover’s hand reached out and found Qrow’s elbow. Qrow looked up and their eyes met, “You’re very sexy.”

 Qrow’s eyes widened and he stepped back.

 “Uh.. sorry,” Clover laughed, “Just an observation.”

 Qrow took a breath, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 “I wax lyrical and that’s all I get? Harsh,” Clover smiled.

 “I’ve got a lot more where that came from,” Qrow stepped forward and one hand found Clover’s hip. A hand found his waist in return and their lips met. Qrow leaned into the kiss, revelling in the heat of him, the taste of him. He could feel every inch of where their bodies met. The hunger which had been simmering in him flared bright. Finally, they parted.

 Qrow noted, with a great deal of pleasure, that Mr Confidence finally seemed just a little flustered.

 “Well…” Clover grinned, “We still have a patrol to finish but after that… I have a place near the eastern watch tower, maybe you’d like to come over?”

 “I think I’d like that a lot,” Qrow said.

 He let Clover take a few steps before he started to walk after him, watching his muscled ass jiggle.

 A hellavalot.

 And suddenly the rod made all too much sense.

 Hook

 Line

 And sinker.

---xxx---

Part 2 HERE XD

[sleepyfan-blog]

Uh suggestion for a possible continuation of the story where the bad sanses caught Dream and brought him to nightmare- where they meet him again, and he is, like the complete opposite of what they expected him to be like, like they found them, and this tiny looking glorified swap sans doesn’t seem to be scared of nightmare- or if he is he has a fuck ton of bravery because he is actually telling off nightmare

Fandom: UTMV

Characters and pairing: Dust, Killer, Horror, Dream, Nightmare, past dreammare

Warnings: cursing, attempted manipulation, violence

Word count: 1,774

Tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi​ @therandomskelekey

"What are your questions regarding Dream?" Nightmare asked the three of them, observing them with a neutral expression on his face, his hands tucked behind his back, his tendrils waving a little.

"Well... How do you know him, boss? He seems so... Brightly colored? And from what we can tell, he's Ink's newest companion?" Hatchet responded, taking point on asking questions, as Dust and Killer had a tendency of putting thier feet in their mouths when trying to ask personal questions - which could result in boss trying to stab the fuck out of them if they didn't handle this well.

Nightmare sighs "Dream is the guardian of positivity. I am the king of negativity, and the two of us are natural opposites. We were created in the same timeline. He and I knew one another for a time, but after certain events, I left him in a stasis spell after gaining a significant amount of power. I was able to figure out how to leave our original timeline and began to expand my sphere of influence after destroying what was left of the rest of our timeline - those pathetic mortal fools did not deserve a shred of Mercy. Recently he escaped the stasis spell and I have been trying to recapture him, so that he doesn't cause more trouble than he already has since he has come back."

"Ah... Are you-" Dust began to ask, a couple of bones appearing around him, clearly about to ask whether or not they were going to kill the positive little shit, or if Boss wanted to try to turn him to their side first, when they heard something clang loudly. All four of them turned and noted that the doors to the throne room had been blown off their hinges and had fallen with a titanic thud to the floor. 

There in the doorway stood Dream, a longbow in hand. Dream charges towards the four of them, though his focus is on Nightmare alone. He moves with a surprising amount of speed as his bow turns into a short staff and he lands a good, solid hit on Nightmare "You asshole! You couldn't have tried to fight me, you had to have someone grab me while I was sleeping for the first time in half a millennium, didn't you? Then again it doesn't surprise me. What, afraid that I would have fought you? I didn't take kindly to the shackles, or the idiotic shades arguing about who I might be, which is what I woke up to."

"Dream, I-" Nightmare began, rubbing his cheek, sending a couple of tentacles after the two of them, clearly trying to grab the other.

Dream was startlingly fast, dodging Boss's tentacles with an ease that belied his tiny, cute looking exterior "Don't you even start! You trapped me in fucking stone for five hundred years! Do you have any idea what it's like to be frozen, but able to observe the world around you? I heard every agonized scream. Every plea for mercy. I heard your crazed laughter and the sound of their organs as you ripped them apart! And don't say that they were all guilty. you hunted down every last living being, from the smallest ant to the largest creature you could find, sentient or not! Then you leave our timeline a miserable, desolated wreck. Did you ever once think to check back on me? To at least see if I was conscious in my prison? Or did you not care?"

"I... I thought that you were asleep. I couldn't sense you." Nightmare responded, a small frown appearing on his face "Since when do you swear? And what the hell are you doing with that soulless bastard and the glitched swap?"

"They were the first living beings I found after I managed to escape the desolate waste that you made of our home, Nightmare." Dream's eye lights shine brightly, and there is a shade of madness in them "I spent... So long... So alone... With my thoughts... There is more I could have done to help you... Before you turned into this goopy plop fountain. I break out, desperate to try to find you and figure out what the hell happened... I ran into Blueberror first, he was trapped in a white void with determined human souls hanging over him in the area above. He had no idea who you were, but I... I know what it's like to be so achingly alone and wasn't going to abandon him in such a place, so I asked him to come with me. He agreed. We stumbled from timeline to timeline, trying to get him to his home, trying to find you. That's how we found out that you elected yourself supreme ruler of the edgelords. We found Ink battling Blue's jailor and decided to help. Ink was able to send us to Blue's timeline, but it was a desolate mess and we met-" Dream abruptly stopped talking, looking away from Nightmare.

Nightmare paused for a moment, his eye lights brightening "You met Core!Frisk, didn't you? You know how to get into the Omega timeline. Dream... My darling starlight... I have missed you dearly. It wasn't that I abandoned you, I simply... I simply couldn't face that desolate wasteland, with the memories that haunted me there. Of what the villagers did to me, and the sweet memories with you tinged with bitterness as I missed you..." The lord of negativity purred, voice low and sweet as he approached Dream. If Dream had contact with Core Frisk, it was likely that they had allowed Dream into the Omega timeline... And if Dream could allow him access to the Omega timeline - where no mercy timeline survivors, and survivors of destroyed timelines through other means would be...  It could be fertile hunting grounds for him. For both a feast of negativity, and people to recruit and use for his own purposes. He just had to win Dream over.

Dream growled, taking a couple of steps backwards, whacking the tentacle that he had outstretched to try to touch him with his staff "Don't you dare try to touch me! You lost the right to call me starlight the moment you attacked me. I was trying to help and you-"

"Who were you trying to help, Dream? The villagers, who had come with fire and pitchforks to kill us, because I was desperate and miserable and broken from their decades of abuse that you didn't notice what they were doing to me - too busy with their petty concerns and their sweet flattery." Nightmare countered, moving purposely closer to Dream, dodging the attack "Sunbeam, I have missed you dearly... and I can sense your loneliness and desire to be close again. I do as well. Come, join me, my mate."

The three of them had gone from stunned that this short, glorified swap sans would dare attack Nightmare to stunned. They hadn't begun to suspect that Dream, though apparently Nightmare's opposite in power set, was both either very brave or stupid or both... But that the two of them were mates. This didn't seem to be going very well - although for who, none of the three of them could tell. They were slowly backing off, wanting to let the two immortals deal with their... Marital spat without getting involved.

"Don't you even dare - I tried to get them to fucking stop tormenting you. I didn't know that they hurt you... Not for certain. If I refused them, they would target you worse, the moment I wasn't with you. Do you have any idea how much pressure they put on me to be the perfect fucking image of positivity that they wanted to see of me? I couldn't show any negative feelings or they would hurt you worse, assuming that it was your fault. If I wasn't with them from sun up to sunset they would whine and beg and come to us at night, pleading for me to help them with something that had come up. Eventually I gave up refusing them anything, knowing that it was pointless." Dream hisses, swiping at Nightmare again "Don't you dare try to fucking manipulate me, you... You're not the Nightmare I once knew... He never would have killed and tormented thousands... I've seen some of the timelines you rule over... They are... So miserable... Which of course, gives you even more power..." He shuddered a little, tears streaming down his face, shaking a little.

"I... Perhaps have been harsher on them than I otherwise might have been... But with you at my side, you can point out when I have gone too far. Show me how to rule with more kindness and civility." Nightmare murmurs "Starburst... Can you not sense how much I have missed you?"

Dream swallows a little and shifts a bit, a touch of a golden blush tinting his cheeks "I... I can sense that you certainly miss something about me... But you're far more likely trying to sweet talk me into siding with you, so that I don't become a thorn in your side - or talk Ink into actually doing something about the people within the timelines, rather than making sure that the AUs themselves are functional. And stop it with the petnames! The moment you attacked me at the base of The Tree you lost all rights to call me by those names. You're no longer the being I loved, and you... You haven't been for a long time, no matter how much your magic feels like him, and you sound like him..." With that, Dream blew a hole in the castle wall that extended through the hallways until they could see faded day light. Dream ran through the holes he had made with surprising speed, and Nightmare pursued - the three of them chasing after. Dream leapt from the battlements into a portal, their boss unsuccessfully trying to catch him with his tentacles and magic, falling stars only knew where. 

Nightmare stared at the spot that Dream had vanished through for a distressingly long period of time. "... I want you to find him and bring him back to me. He will be a huge threat to all we have built, and I will be able to convince him to join me sooner or later. I could sense the emotional conflict within him. And get someone competent to fix the holes he made in the walls, and assign more guards to this area."

"Yes boss!" the three of them responded, saluting the other as Nightmare stalked deeper into the castle, clearly in a very bad mood.

[stained-glass-fragments]

[Stained Glass (Fragments) Con.]

"Correct!" he praised.

She looked at the ground, eyes wide. "But---but that... you didn't---I'm sure I would have remembered someone accessorized as weirdly as you if you went into the caves--"

"Would you?"

Her head snapped up irritably. "Of course I--"

Farona abruptly cut off. The high priest was no longer standing in front of the caves. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen at all.

"Uh... Yune?" She whirled around, using one booted foot as a pivot. Gods, where did he go!? She was supposed to be keeping an eye on him!

A sudden pressure on her shoulders nearly made the young woman jump, her ears standing on end. She instantly reached for her sword---

But something grabbed her hand. Something she couldn't see.

"How funny that you completely forgot about this, my dear," he teased in a breathy whisper against her neck.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Cloaking. The coveted vanishing skill of an assassin that could be learned by the use of a Frilldora card. Yune had told her the night prior that he had one.

And apparently he had it even on the day they met. He used it to pass by her like no more than a wisp of a breeze. He used it to break a bloody branch in secrecy and wreak havoc on the young adventurers training and treasure hunting on the first level of the caves.

Farona's blood boiled.

"How dare you!" she bit out in a scathing outburst, throwing her hand back in hopes of hitting him square in the face. She seemed to have missed her target, but something clattered to the ground---it sounded like his sunglasses. "There were children in there! And you just---just unleashed a monster that could have killed them!"

"Alas, but my plan would not have worked without someone for you to rush in to save," he spoke mock-apologetically, materializing from out of thin air just as he adjusted his glasses back onto his face. "Sacrifices must be made to accomplish one's goals, Farona."

Enraged, she stalked right up to him, ears flattening back beneath the cover of her muffs. "People's lives are not yours to sacrifice!"

"Then it's fortunate for you that you prevented any casualties," he shrugged, as though the topic were not of much interest to him. "No harm done."

Farona very nearly lost her temper all over again, but managed to catch herself before the top could blow. She knew it wasn't going to be easy to get through to him. And exploding like this wasn't helping him see things from her point of view, either. But she was still annoyed and it showed in her voice as she spat, "Why are you telling me all of this? Why? What do you gain from this, Yune?"

To her surprise, he actually looked away, a frown tugging on his lips. "I'm telling you because I do everything for a reason. And I have no intention of keeping those reasons from you any longer. I did what I had to do, whether you refuse to understand it or not."

"You didn't have to do any such thing!" she countered immediately. "You could have just--"

"You have no idea what it was like."

The powerful, unreadable emotion in his voice gave her pause.

He seemed to have to collect himself before he calmly faced her, expression stony. "Tell me, Farona. After you escaped the wreckage of that wretched place in Juno, how did it feel to know that you had no place in this world? How did it feel to be tainted, to not know yourself, to not trust yourself? How did it feel to be an abomination with no name but a number and that of a monster?"

Her lips moved marginally, but nothing came from them. Farona sealed them back together.

"How did it feel, knowing you were alone?"

"I..." her voice cracked. "It was awful. Scary. I didn't know if there was anyone I could--

"Trust," he finished for her quietly.

He was right. Back then, she didn't know. All she could do was try to hide her ears and find enough scraps to live on and shelter for cold nights. But...

"I did find someone to trust. Two someones, actually." She almost smiled at the memory. The girl had been wary of her, but the boy---he had immediately taken to her. And to her ears, oddly enough.

"That was when you thought you were no longer alone," he finished for her. "That gave you hope."

She nodded. "Exactly. That was... it was what I needed to get back on my feet."

He turned his sunglasses-clad face up toward the sky. "You were eager to heal the wounds and find comfort. Perhaps I cannot blame you completely for being taken in by the idea of human kindness. We were very different even back then, you and I."

Different as night and day, in truth.

In fact, all of the children in that facility had been different from Yune. Or rather, different from the nameless boy with the green eyes who didn't scream and didn't cry. He didn't even respond when other children tried to talk to him. Always quiet, but always watching.

Farona wouldn't say that she was a chatterbox like some of the other kids, but she at least communicated now and then. And it helped some of them to form bonds with one another. There were two she never saw the faces of, but that desired so desperately for contact and comfort that they would contort their hands just far enough to lock fingers together outside of their side-by-side confinements.

She had been the kind of kid that jumped at the smallest out-of-place sound and would whimper and cry in the corner of her tiny cell. Sometimes she was envious of two that joined fingers together. She would have liked a trusted hand or finger to hold in those dark times, as well.

But she had felt nothing more than weak, unwanted, and terrified with every passing day.

And the only one who was in any position to constantly see her like that was the boy across from her. She often avoided eye contact with him. He stared a lot and never spoke. There were maybe a few times she tried to say something to him, but he didn't respond. She had always felt weak in comparison to him. Even when he was taken to that room in back, even when they were sometimes dragged off together, he was complacent, silent. No one had ever heard him scream even once. Many children believed he was incapable of talking or reacting at all. One boy a few cells down from her said that one of the alchemists had taken his ability to speak away.

That boy never corrected any of them. No one knew what he was thinking. And looking at him now, Farona wondered what had been going through his head then.

Did he feel as hopeless and helpless as the rest of them? Was he wearing a mask even then? Did resentment continue to build steadily and become the unfaltering hatred and distrust for mankind that he harbored now?

Yune finally craned his neck back to normal level. And with one hand, he reached up to remove his sunglasses before he turned his crimson eyes to meet her own.

"You have no idea what it was like," he repeated his earlier statement. "I always knew that I was alone and could trust no one. It gave me strength. It gave me focus. Nothing got in my way or wasn't easily dealt with."

Farona wanted to look away from the intensity of his eyes, but found that she couldn't.

"That is, until I saw you." Her sea-colored eyes widened a fraction. "You are the thing I didn't plan for and could not have seen coming."

"But I--" she started, faltering slightly on her feet.

"Remember that moment when you felt that you were no longer alone?"

After a beat, she gave a short nod. That flood of relief, of that small piece of hope you were almost afraid to latch onto, but desperately wanted... she could still remember.

"Farona." He closed his eyes briefly before they flicked back open, staring straight into her own. "You were that moment for me."

There was something contained in the depths of his eyes that she couldn't place, like a bottled up emotion, teasing the surface. It made something in her flutter with both anxiousness and something lighter. She desperately tried to quell it.

"You said... I had no idea how you felt," she spoke carefully, recalling his words. "But I feel like we were pretty similar, if that's the case."

"Not at all," he stated, lips quirking into a wry smirk. "You didn't know that anyone else survived. You filled the gap of loneliness and isolation with the first people who accepted you---people who could never understand you. What you saw was a way to move forward into a place that you did not belong and you foolishly grabbed hold without looking back."

"It wasn't foolish!" she protested.

To her surprise, he pressed a finger to her lips---lightly, but enough to get his point across. "I found the only place I ever could belong that day. And with it, the only one who could ever truly understand me."

"I don't understand you," she reminded him curtly, pushing his hand away from her face.

He let the arm fall back at his side, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "You will, in time. There are ways that we are alike. You will come to realize that."

With that, he put his hands into his pockets and casually strode right into the entrance of the cave.

Farona stared in silence for a long moment, lost in thought, before her eyes broadened in alarm.

"HEY! Wait! You can't go in there!" she barked, running after him.

[the-colony-roleplay]

Ethan Kerr | Twenty Three;  Survivor

House: Brink Security Class: 2 Status: Infected - Praeteria

History

tw: rape mention

Ethan never did anything he didn’t want to. Growing up in an orphanage before eventually being transferred to foster care, Ethan had always been a stubborn, picky child. If he didn’t like the food placed in front of him, he wouldn’t eat; if the other children were mean to him, he’d spend his days alone; if he didn’t want to be somewhere, he simply wouldn’t go. So when Ethan decided he couldn’t stay with his foster parents anymore, he ran.

And it wasn’t so much rebelliousness that drove him, but rather fear of forever being only okay. Trapped in a life pendulum-ing between mediocre and miserable, never to discover anything more. Having come out as transgender in his preteen years and physically transitioning in his early teens, If Ethan wasn’t happy, he certainly had the courage and will to try to change it. Unfortunately, what he didn’t have was forethought, common sense, stability. He ran because he couldn’t handle his surroundings, felt drowned in the huffs and cries of a house too full, arguments too plenty, and his environment consumed him with a desperation to escape it. Maybe if he ran long enough, hard enough, he’d find a place to breathe, where the air would be cleaner, the world a little less small.

But that was when he’d been younger, less jaded and faith less crushed. At sixteen he’d run, and instead slept on friend’s couches, took up shit, bottom of the barrel jobs to try to feed his half-starved self. But by eighteen he’d realized that you couldn’t just run away from a shit hand you’d been dealt, that there was no such thing as escaping what you once were to aimlessly stumble across happiness.

It’d started when he was crashing at a friend’s house, the first place he’d stayed longer than a few weeks in ages. He was a new friend, a boy he’d met while working as a bar hand at a dingy pub in Manchester. “Corbin”, as the boy called himself, (though Ethan later found out his real name was Sam), was someone Ethan felt drawn to because Corbin was also a foster care runaway and had been living on his own in so-called ‘luxury’ from the age of fifteen. Corbin seemed so carefree, so smug and content, always a smirk hanging crookedly off his face, a fag sitting half smoked behind his ear. And Ethan admired him, at first, because Corbin had the sense of freedom Ethan had been looking for; he was everything Ethan thought he wanted to be.

So he fell easily under Corbin’s wing, fast friends and attached at the hip. It was only a matter of weeks before he realized the true source of Corbin’s cash and way of life. ‘Got my start just on cam, y'see,’ he’d told him. 'It really ain’t so bad. Who could turn down gettin’ paid to toss off? Everyone wants to love what they do, mate—and I get 'ta.’

Corbin had since moved on to hustling via an ‘escort service’ online, and Ethan, under his friend’s encouragement, started the same way Corbin had. Harmless, online servicing. There was no true trouble in that, right? And though Ethan was hesitant at first, Corbin had been right about one thing—those feelings were quick to melt away as the money started pouring in. Being self-sufficient and showered in attention was startlingly effective in feeding Ethan’s confidence and ego.

By the time Ethan was just rounding the corner to his eighteenth birthday, he and Corbin were inseparable; partners in crime, sex and minor but illegal activity. And Ethan had been on the tube, heading back to his shared flat with Corbin from a particularly well-paying job, when D-Day had struck. And though it would be years before he saw Corbin again, he’d believed since that fateful day that Corbin had survived; swore he could just feel it. Corbin had been so alive, so full of spark, despite his dark and twisted interior, that if he were dead, Ethan would know. He’d just know.

Ethan Today

At first, Ethan had made it his mission to get back to the remains of Manchester to find Corbin, but waves of looters hanging around the borders of the cities made it impossible for Ethan to get through on his own. He’d almost takena. shiv to the gut more times than one, so after a few months, he put those efforts on the back burner.

When an opportunity arose to join a traveling clan of about ten, Ethan took it out of desperation, despite the fact that they were traveling in the wrong direction. He needed the support system, the safety and sense of community—not only to keep him from wasting away on his lack of resources, but also to keep him sane. It’d seemed a wise decision at the time, and he’d told himself that he’d still make his way back to look for Corbin again when the time was right. 

Unfortunately, he’d misjudged the passersby. They were proving less trustworthy than he’d have hoped, frequently betraying each other and leaving others to fend for themselves when trouble with looters arose. Ethan, who couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel, became the helpful and compassionate one of the group, and though he hoped this would help secure his safety among them, in the end it only made him a target for vulnerability. When they found out what he’d done for a living, stories he’d let slip when he’d thought he was settling in, they taunted him with it, turned him into a tool for their loneliness and threatened his life should he disagree.

Ethan still doesn’t know if he considers it rape or not. He feels morally confused based on his previous choices and his uncertainty on whether or not he’d truly been forced. Physically, he never had been, though verbally and emotionally, it was a different story. But something Ethan is troubled with now is the question as to why he hadn’t run. He’d spent his whole life running, why then had he not turned around and escaped the toxic environment just like he always had before? Had his life with Corbin taught him to be placid, to make lemonade rather than just throw the blasted things out and get oranges?

To this day, he still isn’t sure where he stands. His Infection had developed sometime after the worst of the abuse, and he’d begun disappearing into its protective abyss more and more often. When the Colony 22 crusaders eventually found him wandering not far from his clan’s camp and offered him a one way ticket out of there, they’d asked him if he was alone, and he’d said yes. Despite knowing he was only protecting himself, he still battles confusing feelings of guilt about the whole thing. Had it been cowardly to let the people he’d lived amongst almost three years continue to barely survive while he was taken to safer refuge? Or were his actions justified—smart, to save himself and never look back?

In any case, he’d had no way of knowing that this decision would eventually lead to his reunion with his long lost friend, Corbin. Sometime before the New Wave, Corbin would be transferred to Colony 22 from one further up North, and Ethan would freeze in his tracks at the sight of him, staring as though he’d seen a ghost. Because in many ways, he had done just that.

For the most part, they picked up right where they left off with their relationship—but Ethan’s experiences post D-Day had changed him. and learning to navigate this new, more skittish side of Ethan Kerr proved to be quite the learning curve for Corbin. Time has helped, but there are still areas they tread much more carefully than they used to, despite how close they are.

RELATED BIOS: CORBIN EALY

OPEN

[col22promo]

ETHAN KERR | TWENTY TWO;  SURVIVOR

House: Brink Security Class: 1 Status: Uninfected

HISTORY

tw: rape

Ethan never did anything he didn’t want to. Growing up in an orphanage before eventually being transferred to foster care, Ethan had always been a stubborn, picky child. If he didn’t like the food placed in front of him, he wouldn’t eat; if the other children were mean to him, he’d spend his days alone; if he didn’t want to be somewhere, he simply wouldn’t go.

So when Ethan decided he couldn’t stay with his foster parents anymore, he ran.

And it wasn’t so much rebelliousness that drove him, but rather fear and discontentment, thinking he could change directions and steer himself away from unhappiness, regardless if the logic in his choices themselves was severely lacking. If he wasn’t happy, he had will enough to try to change it, but what he didn’t have was forethought, common sense, stability. He ran because he couldn’t handle his surroundings, felt drowned in the huffs and cries of a house too full, arguments too plenty, and his environment consumed him with a desperation to escape it. Maybe if he ran long enough, hard enough, he’d find a place to breathe, where the air would be cleaner, the world a little less small.

But that was when he’d been younger, less jaded and faith less crushed. At sixteen he’d run, and instead slept on friend’s couches, took up shit, bottom of the barrel jobs to try to feed his half-starved self. But by eighteen he’d realized that you couldn’t just run away from a shit hand you’d been dealt, that there was no such thing as escaping what you once were to aimlessly stumble across happiness.

It’d started when he was seventeen and crashing at a friend’s house, the first place he’d stayed longer than a few weeks in ages. He was a new friend, a boy he’d met while working as a stock and bar hand at a dingy pub in Manchester. “Corbin”, as the boy called himself, (though Ethan later found out his real name was Sam), was someone Ethan felt drawn to based on the fact that Corbin was parentless and had been living on his own in apparent ‘luxury’ since the age of sixteen. And Corbin seemed so carefree, so smug and content, always a smirk hanging crookedly off his face, a fag sitting half smoked behind his ear. And Ethan admired him, at first, because Corbin had the sense of freedom Ethan had been looking for; he was everything Ethan thought he wanted to be.

So he fell easily under Corbin’s wing, fast friends and attached at the hip. It was only a matter of weeks before he realized the true source of Corbin’s cash and way of life. ‘Got my start just on cam, y'see,’ he’d told him. 'It really ain’t so bad. Who could turn down gettin’ paid to toss off? Everyone wants to love what they do, mate—and I get 'ta.’

Corbin had since moved on to hustling via an ‘escort service’ online, and Ethan, under his friend’s encouragement, started the same way Corbin had. Harmless, online servicing. There was no true trouble in that, right? And though Ethan was hesitant, nervous at first, Corbin had been right about one thing—those feelings melted quickly as the money started pouring in. Being self-sufficient and showered in attention was startlingly effective in feeding his confidence and ego.

By eighteen, Ethan and Corbin were inseparable, partners in crime, sex and minor but illegal activity. Ethan had been heading home on the rail from a particularly well-paying job when D-Day had struck, and though he hasn’t seen him since, he still believes that Corbin survived; he can feel it, he says. Corbin had been so alive, so full of spark, despite his dark and twisted interior, that if he were dead, Ethan would know. He’d just know.

ETHAN TODAY

At first, Ethan had made it his mission to get back to the remains of Manchester to find Corbin, but waves of looters hanging around the borders of the cities made it impossible for Ethan to get through on his own. He’d almost been knifed more times then one, so after a few months, he put those efforts on the back burner.

When an opportunity arose to join a traveling clan of about ten, Ethan took it out of desperation, despite the fact that they were traveling in the wrong direction. He needed the support system, the safety, not only to keep him from wasting away on his lack of resources, but also to keep him sane. It’d seemed a wise decision at the time, and he’d told himself that he’d still make his way back eventually to find his friend.

Unfortunately, he’d misjudged the passersby. They were proving less trustworthy than he’d have hoped, frequently betraying each other and leaving others to fend for themselves when trouble with looters arose. Ethan, who couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel, became the helpful and compassionate one of the group, and though he hoped it would help secure his safety among them, in the end it only made him a target for vulnerability. When they found out what he’d done for a living, stories he’d let slip just when he’d thought he was settling in, they taunted him with it, turned him into a tool for their loneliness and threatened his life should he disagree.

Ethan still doesn’t know if he considers it rape or not. He feels morally confused based on his previous choices and his uncertainty on whether or not he’d truly been forced. Physically, he never had been, though verbally and emotionally was a different story. But something Ethan is troubled with now is the question as to why he hadn’t run. He’d spent his whole life running, why then had he not turned around and escaped the toxic environment just like he always had before? Had his life with Corbin taught him to be placid, to make lemonade rather than just throw the blasted things out and get oranges?

He doesn’t know where he stands anymore, has trouble finding himself, and though his somewhat accidental rescue by Colony 22 crusaders who’d found him when he’d been wandering not far from camp had been his saving grace, he still battles confusing feelings of guilt over the moment the crusaders had asked if he was alone, and he’d said yes. Had it been cowardly to let the people he’d lived amongst almost three years continue to barely survive, or had it been justified, smart, to save himself and never look back?

RELATED BIOS: CORBIN EALY

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

In my opinion the Yeerk plan of invasion was hasty and doomed to fail. They're main area of operation is in one of the most populated states in a first world nation. This is bound to lead to many roadblocks. It would have made a lot more sense for them to begin in third world nations that already have destabilized governments, where organizations such as The Sharing could have drawn more people by offering aid, how many would volunteer to become controllers for the prospect of a better life?

In my humble opinion, the two biggest mistakes made by the Yeerk Empire are putting Visser Three in charge of a covert invasion and allowing senior leadership to develop a kill-the-messenger culture.  The former mistake fails to play to Visser Three’s strengths by forcing him into an awkward position of bumbling through Visser One’s playbook while not really knowing what he’s doing; the latter is the source of the dozens of hilarious canon scenes where various controllers spot huge flaws in the vissers’ plans and then simply… fail to mention those flaws to anyone.  I think that both are very deliberate decisions on K.A. Applegate’s part, because both allow us to see how Visser One and Visser Three, and to a lesser extent Visser Two and Visser Seventeen*, play nearly as big a role in the Yeerk Empire’s downfall as the Animorphs do.

Anywhoo, I’m not sure starting the invasion in Southern California was a mistake, and even assuming it was one then I’m not sure it was preventable.

In terms of California being the best the yeerks can do under the circumstances, Visser shows Edriss and Essam sort of wandering onto Earth on the first land mass they come across, grabbing a human host at random, and then using his limited geography knowledge to go invade the country that is currently invading his country.  Overall, not a bad strategy, but also one that is obviously working from a place of utter ignorance: they’re looking for a place called Ellay for a bit before they realize that Ellay = L.A. = Los Angeles.  From there, they target Silicon Valley (or what’s implied to be Silicon Valley) because it’s a good way to get a sense of the humans’ technological capabilities, work within Hollywood because that way they can understand human communication, and also take advantage of California culture (more on that in a second).  It’s at least partially a coincidence that the yeerks end up in Southern California in the first place—they choose Iraq at random, and then the U.S. because the U.S. is invading Iraq, and L.A. within the U.S. because they can see L.A. on TV—but once they’re there, it makes sense that most of the yeerks who come to Earth after those first two all stay in the same area.  After all, these are aliens who cannot survive on this alien planet except by using the humans or hork-bajir as living spacesuits, so it makes sense for them to stick close to their own.  If you’re going to land on the surface of Mars, you probably don’t want to wander too far from your fellow Earthlings until there’s some thoroughly well-established infrastructure that’s Earthling friendly in the area.  Presumably if Edriss and Essam had landed in Rwanda around the same time the yeerks would all be invading France instead, if they’d landed in Bosnia the yeerks would try to take Croatia, etcetera.

However, I believe that it is to the yeerks’ advantage that they do end up in sunny happy hippie-dippie So Cal, because Visser also mentions Edriss and her followers taking advantage of Scientology local subcultures when creating the Sharing.  Not only does “Lore David Altman” specifically model the rhetoric of the Sharing after cult research, but the attempt is pretty successful; the depiction of the Sharing recruitment process we see in MM4 is terrifyingly realistic to actual cult operations.  I think it’s fallacious to assume that individuals in the U.S. aren’t frequently desperate for the basic needs of life to the point of sacrificing their lives to greater causes just because the standard of living in the U.S. is on average higher than it is in many other countries.  After all, the Sharing does actually prey on individuals who are desperate and destitute with a fairly high rate of success: Mr. Tidwell is nearly suicidal after losing his wife at the time when the yeerks get him, Taylor is facing life-destroying degrees of ableist stigma when she becomes a voluntary controller, Chapman has no other way of protecting his daughter except to become a controller, and Tobias struggles with loneliness to the point of self-loathing and despair when he joins the Sharing.  The U.S. is a country where fringe organizations get tolerated and accepted, provided that they have some kind of mission — self-help, quasi-religiousity, environmentalism, social justice, or a halfhearted mix of all those — and that’s not necessarily true in countries like Germany where cults are illegal.

There’s also the fact that (as discussed extensively in #46 and #53) the U.S. in 1996 - 2000 might be heavily armed, but it’s also woefully unprepared as a culture for all-out war.  The yeerks invade well after the end of the Cold War, and the Animorphs defeat them before the War on Terror would begin, meaning that the U.S. is highly complacent.  A country which is at war would, quite simply, not be that slow to respond to an invasion.

The issue with the yeerks trying to use this come-on-in-we’ll-save-your-soul technique in a country where there’s less trust in the government is that, well… in those countries there’s less trust in the government.  For an individual who grew up in a totalitarian police state, an offer like “give us your entire life and we’ll make your problems go away” might sound less hippie-dippie and more like a terrifying offer to eat one’s life.  If California was under constant threat of bombing from foreign powers, Mr. Tidwell might even be a norm rather than an exception for having lost his wife at a young age; in a worst-case scenario he’d be considered nothing special and in a best-case scenario he’d have a network of fellow survivors to use for support.  In a country where foreign aid tends to be corrupt, condescending, inconsistent, patrician, or all of the above, a nonprofit organization like the Sharing might be perceived with some combination of wariness and defensiveness by the locals.  Anywhoo, I believe the yeerks choosing a different country to invade would at the very least force them to adapt their tactics far beyond what we see with the Sharing and at most wouldn’t work at all.

[schadenfreudefreude-blog]

Endings

For most of the history of humanity, it was accepted that conjugal life couldn’t possibly suit everyone. Perhaps one was too taken up with work, one had no interest in children, one needed a lot of time on one’s own, one got tetchy around large groups, one liked to express oneself sexually outside of a loving union – in short, one knew that the best sides of oneself did not emerge from being in a family or couple. And that was fine.

St Hilda of Whitby was one of the most powerful and accomplished women in the early history of England. She was a very senior administrator, running large agricultural enterprises; she was a management consultant to kings and princes. She was a leading educationalist. And she did all this while being noted for her good temper. She was also unmarried. It’s not that because she was a nun she wasn’t allowed to get married and so had to make the best of her work opportunities without a supportive home life. The line of thought ran the other way round. She was able to have a stellar career and achieve so much for the community because she was free of the demands of relationships and domestic life. Being a nun meant she lived in an efficient collective household – she would be supplied with meals, laundry and heating without having to organise everything for herself.

It was an approach to certain kinds of work – intellectual, administrative and cultural – that persisted for many centuries. In 1900, academia in the UK was still almost entirely a career for the unmarried, who lived in colleges, ate communal meals, had their laundry done for them by a university – and were betrothed to their work. If they wanted to wolf down their supper in eight minutes and then work through till one in the morning, no one would complain. The professors got a lot done.

The view was just that certain kinds of jobs will require such effort and continuous devotion and loom so large in the imagination that we really shouldn’t try to combine them with the duties of a relationship, a family and the management of a home. To do them properly, we should live in very well-organized communes (like a monastery or a college), we should be single and we should socialize mainly with people who are involved in the same kind of work, because they will understand us and know how to offer us targeted help.

But Romanticism gradually made all these celibate choices seem strange. It pathologized the decision to remain single – and thereby ensured a lot of unhappy relationships that were now entered into by people who were not particularly suited to living in a couple but could not see viable alternatives outside of one. Romanticism made the idea of being close to one special other person in a long-term sexual union the very summit of life’s meaning, and subtly discredited alternatives, like devotion to scholarship, science, art, politics or religion – or a life simply spent having sex with a variety of people, with long-term affection being sought from friends instead.

Nowadays, anyone who lives alone and manifests no longing to be in a relationship is almost automatically (though more or less secretly) viewed as both pitiable and deeply troubled. It’s simply not thought possible to be at once alone and normal.

This sets us up for collective catastrophe, for it means that a huge number of people who have no innate wish to live with anyone else, and are at heart deeply ill-suited to doing so, are every year press-ganged and shamed into conjugal life, with disastrous results for all involved. So it is essential for the happiness of couples and the single that one regularly rehearse the very many good reasons why it must be OKAY to spend one’s life without anyone. Only once singlehood has completely equal prestige with its alternative can we ensure that people will be free in their choices and hence join couples for the right reasons: because they love another person, rather than because they are terrified of remaining single.

Those among us who chose to stay single should not be thought un-Romantic. Indeed, we may be among the most Romantic of all, which is precisely why we find the idea of raising a family with someone we love especially unappetizing, because we’re aware of what domesticity can do to passion. It’s in the end the fervent Romantics who should be especially careful of ending up in mediocre relationships: relationships best suit the kind of people who don’t expect too much from them.

Though it is a sign of some maturity to know how to love and live alongside someone, it may be a sign of even greater maturity to recognize that this is perhaps something one isn’t, in the end, psychologically really capable of – as a good portion of us simply aren’t. Retiring oneself voluntarily, in order to save others (and oneself) from the consequences of one’s inner emotional turmoil, may be the true sign of a great and kindly soul.

The most logical response to really liking someone could fairly be to choose not to live with them – because it is almost impossible to cohabit and not eventually succumb to a degree of scratchy familiarity, contempt and ingratitude. The properly respectful response to love may be to admire, praise, nurture – and then walk away.

All this isn’t to say that being alone is without problems. There are of course drawbacks to both states, being single and being in a couple: loneliness in the one; suffocation, anger and frustration in the other. We will probably be at times rather miserable whatever our relationship status – which is ultimately an argument for neither rushing too fast out of a couple, nor for feeling that one must at all costs try to belong to one.

There’s an additional, related point concerning how long relationships should go on for. One of the big assumptions of our times is that if love is real, it must by definition prove to be eternal. We invariably and naturally equate genuine relationships with lifelong relationships. And therefore it seems almost impossible for us to interpret the ending of a union after only a limited period – a few weeks, or five or ten years, or anything short of our or the partner’s death-date – as something other than a problem, a failure and an emotional catastrophe that is someone’s fault, probably our own. There are people desperate that they have failed because their relationships have lasted only thirty-two years. We appear fundamentally unable to trust that a relationship could be at once sincere, meaningful and important – and yet at the same time fairly and guiltlessly limited in its duration.

There are, of course, a few very good reasons for our collective valorization of the lifelong love story. A great many of the pleasures and virtues of relationships do only reveal themselves over time, once trust has been established and loyalty fully demonstrated. When two people know it is forever, they will work harder than at anything else in their lives; there is no option to avoid some necessary but unpleasant issues; they will do their utmost to understand the mysteries of the other’s psyche; they will show reserves of tenderness and vulnerability they wouldn’t ever otherwise have accessed. They will learn to apologize and reach a modesty about their own shortcomings. They will grow up. And in the meantime, day-to-day, they will sample the modest but genuine pleasures of cozy Sunday mornings together and shared walks in country parks. Not least, children always benefit. But it’s because the charms of the long-term are so clear in our collective imaginations that we should acknowledge the danger of cruelly and normatively suppressing all the legitimate claims of short-term love, an arrangement which deserves to be interpreted not merely as a pathologically stunted or interrupted version of a long-term union, but as a state with distinctive virtues of its own, one that we might rationally choose from the outset, knowing from the start that it would be better for both parties if there was a termination point more or less in view.

So much can go right with short-term love:

When two people know they don’t own one another, they are extremely careful to earn each other’s respect on a daily basis. Knowing someone could leave us at any time isn’t only grounds for insecurity, it’s a constant catalyst for tender appreciation.

When it isn’t forever, we can let differences lie. If the journey is to be long, absolute alignment can feel key. But when the time is short, we are readier to surrender our entrenched positions, to be unthreatened by novelties and dissonances. The distinctive things they have in their fridge and the peculiar things they like to watch and listen to aren’t affronts to our values, they are unthreatening invitations to expand our personalities.

Very few of us come out well from being closely observed, twenty-four hours a day, in a limited space. These may simply not be the preconditions for getting the best out of some of us. Our interesting and generous sides may need, in order to emerge, our own bedroom and bathroom, quite a few hours to ourselves, some space to read and think and a series of mealtimes alone staring rather blankly out of the window without having to explain how we feel. It’s not a sign of evil, just what we require to be the best version of ourselves.

What makes people difficult and dooms relationships is almost never the people involved. It’s what we are trying to do with them. Inviting someone to marry you is really not a very kind thing to do to someone you love, because it’s going to drag the beloved into a range of really rather unpleasant and challenging things: doing the accounts with you, meeting your family regularly, seeing you exhausted and bleary-eyed after work, keeping the living room tidy, bringing up a child. To really love someone – that is, to wish the best for someone – might more fairly mean foregrounding your best qualities for a few ecstatic months, then mutually and tenderly parting at check-in.

Long-term relationships reward some qualities – especially the administrative ones –but obscure others, for example, those related to skills at having interesting speculative conversations about ethics or psychology late into the night. It should be no insult to determine that some people simply won’t be able to shine in the conditions of long-term love, and that it is very kindly playing up to their strengths to leave them long before we ever need to try to arrange a cutlery drawer with them.

We should beware of succumbing to the debilitating feeling that because it didn’t last forever, it can have been nothing at all. In other areas of life, we know that ‘going on for ever’ isn’t the ideal (even when something is very good). We don’t necessarily think we have to stay in the same house all our lives, though we might really like one we are in; we’re not betraying it or destroying it when we recognize that for a range of reasons it would be wisest to go elsewhere.

We need to have an account of love which allows that a relationship can end without anyone having viciously or pathologically killed it prematurely, for only against such a backdrop can we reduce the debilitating quantity of bitterness, guilt and blame otherwise in circulation. How we see the endings of love depends to a critical extent on what our societies tell us is ‘normal’. If it was meant to last forever, every ending would by necessity have to be described as a horrifying failure. But if we allow imaginative space for short-term love, then an ending may signal a deeper loyalty, not to the setting up of a home and domestic routines, but to transitory pleasures; we’ll walk away with a fair and generous sense of all that has been preserved and enhanced by the relationship not being forced to last forever.

[gracejonesboro]

Loneliness is not Good

Genesis 2:18 The Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.”

Adam walked and talked with God personally in Eden frequently, and yet God said, “he is alone.”

Adam had not yet recognized that he was alone. Sometimes, if you don’t know better you think the current situation is the way it is suppose to be.

God wanted Adam to understand that life is about relationships.

We were created and designed for relationships.

That’s why people in our modern society have a greater attachment to pets than ever before. Pets are wonderful, God created them for us to enjoy, but they cannot replace the positive interaction with a living breathing person.

Different personalities need more space than others.

However, everyone needs relationships.

So many people have poor relationships with family colleagues, and neighbors.

Large numbers of people will tell you they have no friends.

Many people describe themselves as being totally alone in our modern society.

Even with all the modern social media and connectivity we have the more people feel alone.

Many people withdraw because they have been hurt repeatedly by those closest to us.

We withdraw because we’re tired of being hurt and disappointed.

However, Loneliness is a trap that just spirals down out of control. The more we withdraw or are rejected, the more we see ourselves as a victim and feel hopeless to do anything about it.

We withdraw to keep from being hurt and yet the more we’re alone the more we hurt.

We withdraw and the people that try then to be our friends, we reject them out of fear and make ourselves seem unfriendly, and the more lonely we become.

This is a trap of the devil.

Do you recognize that you are alone?

We must not allow ourselves to become a victim of loneliness.

Time for a change.

Truth #1: Loneliness is not Good

  A Family for the Lonely

Psalm 68:5 A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,  is God in His holy dwelling. 6 God sets the lonely in families, He leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land.

In these verses, we see, that God has relationships for every lonely person, whether it’s the fatherless, the widow, the lonely person in our community, and the prisoner.

Loneliness  is a prison. Solitary confinement is a punishment that the world system uses and it can drive people to be desperate disoriented and crazy. It’s the same spiritually.

However, God leads the prisoners of loneliness out of that prison, breaking those shackles.

Truth #2: You Have a Family Available

  Never Alone With God on Your Side

Deuteronomy 31:8 The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

This verse is repeated in the New testament, in Hebrews 13:5.

Joshua is reminded of this fact because of the great task that lay before him.

The enemy always will try to trap us in loneliness when we have to make major decisions and when we are leaders and examples for our family and community.

You can be in a large crowd or a stadium full of people and feel totally alone.

Loneliness is a cruel mind game the enemy plays with us.

Jesus conquered loneliness for us, He often withdrew to lonely places to pray and be with God because even His family and disciples did not at times understand who He was.

Jesus knew His Father/God loved Him and would never leave Him.

The best way to break free from loneliness is to spend time with God.

Talk to Him about your situation and problems.

God will listen, give help, relief, and solutions to our problems.

Sometimes the loneliest places in life are when you’re doing the right thing.

People that don’t know Jesus many times do not want to do the right thing and when they are around you, they feel guilty, so they run away.

Stick with Jesus.

God will go before us and be with us, and never leave us in any situation.

God will strengthen you to be a friend to someone else that is lonely and ready to break out of that prison, if they just had someone to help.

Truth #3: Join God’s Team

  We Need One Another

1 Corinthians 12:12 Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. 13 For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink. 14 Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many. 15 Now if the foot should say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body.

If I lose my arm, I can survive. However if my arm loses me, it will die.

As Christians, we need each other more than we can imagine.

When we come to Jesus, we get His family. A family that can be even closer than flesh and blood.

When we fellowship with the body of Christ, we are getting nourishment whether we realize it or not. Christ is nourishing His body, the Church.

I need you, you need me. We cannot stay healthy alone. God placed us in the body as a particular part. Cut yourself off, and you are a target to get shot down.

Hebrews 10:24 And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, 25 not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

We must recognize our tie to one another.

We must love, encourage and spur one another on to love and good deeds.

If we sow love, we get love. If we serve others we will reap when we need that same thing.

The Church needs you, but you need the Church more than the Church needs you.

Do not neglect being with the people of God.

Neglecting fellowship with the Body is a bad habit, and it will catch up with you at the worst possible time.

We must be there for one another and encourage one another now more than ever.  This world is spiraling into hell, don’t go down with it.

Truth #4 We Need One Another

  Closing:

Understand that loneliness is a trap.

We have a family with Christ Jesus and we have a special part and need for the family.

We must be an active part of the family to reap God’s best for us.

©Ford Pickering 9/20/15

About the Author

Ford Pickering

Twitter

Ford Pickering is the senior pastor at Grace Community Church.

[the-colony-roleplay]

Ethan Kerr | Twenty Three;  Survivor

House: Brink Security Class: 1 Status: Uninfected

History

tw: rape

Ethan never did anything he didn’t want to. Growing up in an orphanage before eventually being transferred to foster care, Ethan had always been a stubborn, picky child. If he didn’t like the food placed in front of him, he wouldn’t eat; if the other children were mean to him, he’d spend his days alone; if he didn’t want to be somewhere, he simply wouldn’t go.

So when Ethan decided he couldn’t stay with his foster parents anymore, he ran.

And it wasn’t so much rebelliousness that drove him, but rather fear and discontentment, thinking he could change directions and steer himself away from unhappiness, regardless if the logic in his choices themselves was severely lacking. If he wasn’t happy, he had will enough to try to change it, but what he didn’t have was forethought, common sense, stability. He ran because he couldn’t handle his surroundings, felt drowned in the huffs and cries of a house too full, arguments too plenty, and his environment consumed him with a desperation to escape it. Maybe if he ran long enough, hard enough, he’d find a place to breathe, where the air would be cleaner, the world a little less small.

But that was when he’d been younger, less jaded and faith less crushed. At sixteen he’d run, and instead slept on friend’s couches, took up shit, bottom of the barrel jobs to try to feed his half-starved self. But by eighteen he’d realized that you couldn’t just run away from a shit hand you’d been dealt, that there was no such thing as escaping what you once were to aimlessly stumble across happiness.

It’d started when he was seventeen and crashing at a friend’s house, the first place he’d stayed longer than a few weeks in ages. He was a new friend, a boy he’d met while working as a stock and bar hand at a dingy pub in Manchester. “Corbin”, as the boy called himself, (though Ethan later found out his real name was Sam), was someone Ethan felt drawn to based on the fact that Corbin was parentless and had been living on his own in apparent ‘luxury’ since the age of sixteen. And Corbin seemed so carefree, so smug and content, always a smirk hanging crookedly off his face, a fag sitting half smoked behind his ear. And Ethan admired him, at first, because Corbin had the sense of freedom Ethan had been looking for; he was everything Ethan thought he wanted to be.

So he fell easily under Corbin’s wing, fast friends and attached at the hip. It was only a matter of weeks before he realized the true source of Corbin’s cash and way of life. ‘Got my start just on cam, y'see,’ he’d told him. 'It really ain’t so bad. Who could turn down gettin’ paid to toss off? Everyone wants to love what they do, mate—and I get 'ta.’

Corbin had since moved on to hustling via an ‘escort service’ online, and Ethan, under his friend’s encouragement, started the same way Corbin had. Harmless, online servicing. There was no true trouble in that, right? And though Ethan was hesitant, nervous at first, Corbin had been right about one thing—those feelings melted quickly as the money started pouring in. Being self-sufficient and showered in attention was startlingly effective in feeding his confidence and ego.

By eighteen, Ethan and Corbin were inseparable, partners in crime, sex and minor but illegal activity. Ethan had been heading home on the rail from a particularly well-paying job when D-Day had struck, and though he hasn’t seen him since, he still believes that Corbin survived; he can feel it, he says. Corbin had been so alive, so full of spark, despite his dark and twisted interior, that if he were dead, Ethan would know. He’d just know.

Ethan Today

At first, Ethan had made it his mission to get back to the remains of Manchester to find Corbin, but waves of looters hanging around the borders of the cities made it impossible for Ethan to get through on his own. He’d almost been knifed more times then one, so after a few months, he put those efforts on the back burner.

When an opportunity arose to join a traveling clan of about ten, Ethan took it out of desperation, despite the fact that they were traveling in the wrong direction. He needed the support system, the safety, not only to keep him from wasting away on his lack of resources, but also to keep him sane. It’d seemed a wise decision at the time, and he’d told himself that he’d still make his way back eventually to find his friend.

Unfortunately, he’d misjudged the passersby. They were proving less trustworthy than he’d have hoped, frequently betraying each other and leaving others to fend for themselves when trouble with looters arose. Ethan, who couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel, became the helpful and compassionate one of the group, and though he hoped it would help secure his safety among them, in the end it only made him a target for vulnerability. When they found out what he’d done for a living, stories he’d let slip just when he’d thought he was settling in, they taunted him with it, turned him into a tool for their loneliness and threatened his life should he disagree.

Ethan still doesn’t know if he considers it rape or not. He feels morally confused based on his previous choices and his uncertainty on whether or not he’d truly been forced. Physically, he never had been, though verbally and emotionally was a different story. But something Ethan is troubled with now is the question as to why he hadn’t run. He’d spent his whole life running, why then had he not turned around and escaped the toxic environment just like he always had before? Had his life with Corbin taught him to be placid, to make lemonade rather than just throw the blasted things out and get oranges?

He doesn’t know where he stands anymore, has trouble finding himself, and though his somewhat accidental rescue by Colony 22 crusaders who’d found him when he’d been wandering not far from camp had been his saving grace, he still battles confusing feelings of guilt over the moment the crusaders had asked if he was alone, and he’d said yes. Had it been cowardly to let the people he’d lived amongst almost three years continue to barely survive, or had it been justified, smart, to save himself and never look back?

RELATED BIOS: CORBIN EALY

ALT FC

[col22promo]

Ethan Kerr | Twenty Two;  Survivor

House: Brink Security Class: 1 Status: Uninfected

History

Ethan never did anything he didn’t want to. Growing up in an orphanage before eventually being transferred to foster care, Ethan had always been a stubborn, picky child. If he didn’t like the food placed in front of him, he wouldn’t eat; if the other children were mean to him, he’d spend his days alone; if he didn’t want to be somewhere, he simply wouldn’t go.

So when Ethan decided he couldn’t stay with his foster parents anymore, he ran.

And it wasn’t so much rebelliousness that drove him, but rather fear and discontentment, thinking he could change directions and steer himself away from unhappiness, regardless if the logic in his choices themselves was severely lacking. If he wasn’t happy, he had will enough to try to change it, but what he didn’t have was forethought, common sense, stability. He ran because he couldn’t handle his surroundings, felt drowned in the huffs and cries of a house too full, arguments too plenty, and his environment consumed him with a desperation to escape it. Maybe if he ran long enough, hard enough, he’d find a place to breathe, where the air would be cleaner, the world a little less small.

But that was when he’d been younger, less jaded and faith less crushed. At sixteen he’d run, and instead slept on friend’s couches, took up shit, bottom of the barrel jobs to try to feed his half-starved self. But by eighteen he’d realized that you couldn’t just run away from a shit hand you’d been dealt, that there was no such thing as escaping what you once were to aimlessly stumble across happiness.

It’d started when he was seventeen and crashing at a friend’s house, the first place he’d stayed longer than a few weeks in ages. He was a new friend, a boy he’d met while working as a stock and bar hand at a dingy pub in Manchester. “Corbin”, as the boy called himself, (though Ethan later found out his real name was Sam), was someone Ethan felt drawn to based on the fact that Corbin was parentless and had been living on his own in apparent ‘luxury’ since the age of sixteen. And Corbin seemed so carefree, so smug and content, always a smirk hanging crookedly off his face, a fag sitting half smoked behind his ear. And Ethan admired him, at first, because Corbin had the sense of freedom Ethan had been looking for; he was everything Ethan thought he wanted to be.

So he fell easily under Corbin’s wing, fast friends and attached at the hip. It was only a matter of weeks before he realized the true source of Corbin’s cash and way of life. ‘Got my start just on cam, y'see,’ he’d told him. 'It really ain’t so bad. Who could turn down gettin’ paid to toss off? Everyone wants to love what they do, mate—and I get 'ta.’

Corbin had since moved on to hustling via an ‘escort service’ online, and Ethan, under his friend’s encouragement, started the same way Corbin had. Harmless, online servicing. There was no true trouble in that, right? And though Ethan was hesitant, nervous at first, Corbin had been right about one thing—those feelings melted quickly as the money started pouring in. Being self-sufficient and showered in attention was startlingly effective in feeding his confidence and ego.

By eighteen, Ethan and Corbin were inseparable, partners in crime, sex and minor but illegal activity. Ethan had been heading home on the rail from a particularly well-paying job when D-Day had struck, and though he hasn’t seen him since, he still believes that Corbin survived; he can feel it, he says. Corbin had been so alive, so full of spark, despite his dark and twisted interior, that if he were dead, Ethan would know. He’d just know.

Ethan Today

At first, Ethan had made it his mission to get back to the remains of Manchester to find Corbin, but waves of looters hanging around the borders of the cities made it impossible for Ethan to get through on his own. He’d almost been knifed more times then one, so after a few months, he put those efforts on the back burner.

When an opportunity arose to join a traveling clan of about ten, Ethan took it out of desperation, despite the fact that they were traveling in the wrong direction. He needed the support system, the safety, not only to keep him from wasting away on his lack of resources, but also to keep him sane. It’d seemed a wise decision at the time, and he’d told himself that he’d still make his way back eventually to find his friend.

Unfortunately, he’d misjudged the passersby. They were proving less trustworthy than he’d have hoped, frequently betraying each other and leaving others to fend for themselves when trouble with looters arose. Ethan, who couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel, became the helpful and compassionate one of the group, and though he hoped it would help secure his safety among them, in the end it only made him a target for vulnerability. When they found out what he’d done for a living, stories he’d let slip just when he’d thought he was settling in, they taunted him with it, turned him into a tool for their loneliness and threatened his life should he disagree.

Ethan still doesn’t know if he considers it rape or not. He feels morally confused based on his previous choices and his uncertainty on whether or not he’d truly been forced. Physically, he never had been, though verbally and emotionally was a different story. But something Ethan is troubled with now is the question as to why he hadn’t run. He’d spent his whole life running, why then had he not turned around and escaped the toxic environment just like he always had before? Had his life with Corbin taught him to be placid, to make lemonade rather than just throw the blasted things out and get oranges?

He doesn’t know where he stands anymore, has trouble finding himself, and though his somewhat accidental rescue by Colony 22 crusaders who’d found him when he’d been wandering not far from camp had been his saving grace, he still battles confusing feelings of guilt over the moment the crusaders had asked if he was alone, and he’d said yes. Had it been cowardly to let the people he’d lived amongst almost three years continue to barely survive, or had it been justified, smart, to save himself and never look back?

Related Bios: Corbin Ealy

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[col22promo]

Ethan Kerr | Twenty Two;  Survivor

House: Brink Security Class: 1 Status: Uninfected

History

Ethan never did anything he didn’t want to. Growing up in an orphanage before eventually being transferred to foster care, Ethan had always been a stubborn, picky child. If he didn’t like the food placed in front of him, he wouldn’t eat; if the other children were mean to him, he’d spend his days alone; if he didn’t want to be somewhere, he simply wouldn’t go.

So when Ethan decided he couldn’t stay with his foster parents anymore, he ran.

And it wasn’t so much rebelliousness that drove him, but rather fear and discontentment, thinking he could change directions and steer himself away from unhappiness, regardless if the logic in his choices themselves was severely lacking. If he wasn’t happy, he had will enough to try to change it, but what he didn’t have was forethought, common sense, stability. He ran because he couldn’t handle his surroundings, felt drowned in the huffs and cries of a house too full, arguments too plenty, and his environment consumed him with a desperation to escape it. Maybe if he ran long enough, hard enough, he’d find a place to breathe, where the air would be cleaner, the world a little less small.

But that was when he’d been younger, less jaded and faith less crushed. At sixteen he’d run, and instead slept on friend’s couches, took up shit, bottom of the barrel jobs to try to feed his half-starved self. But by eighteen he’d realized that you couldn’t just run away from a shit hand you’d been dealt, that there was no such thing as escaping what you once were to aimlessly stumble across happiness.

It’d started when he was seventeen and crashing at a friend’s house, the first place he’d stayed longer than a few weeks in ages. He was a new friend, a boy he’d met while working as a stock and bar hand at a dingy pub in Manchester. “Corbin”, as the boy called himself, (though Ethan later found out his real name was Sam), was someone Ethan felt drawn to based on the fact that Corbin was parentless and had been living on his own in apparent ‘luxury’ since the age of sixteen. And Corbin seemed so carefree, so smug and content, always a smirk hanging crookedly off his face, a fag sitting half smoked behind his ear. And Ethan admired him, at first, because Corbin had the sense of freedom Ethan had been looking for; he was everything Ethan thought he wanted to be.

So he fell easily under Corbin’s wing, fast friends and attached at the hip. It was only a matter of weeks before he realized the true source of Corbin’s cash and way of life. ‘Got my start just on cam, y'see,’ he’d told him. 'It really ain’t so bad. Who could turn down gettin’ paid to toss off? Everyone wants to love what they do, mate—and I get 'ta.’

Corbin had since moved on to hustling via an ‘escort service’ online, and Ethan, under his friend’s encouragement, started the same way Corbin had. Harmless, online servicing. There was no true trouble in that, right? And though Ethan was hesitant, nervous at first, Corbin had been right about one thing—those feelings melted quickly as the money started pouring in. Being self-sufficient and showered in attention was startlingly effective in feeding his confidence and ego.

By eighteen, Ethan and Corbin were inseparable, partners in crime, sex and minor but illegal activity. Ethan had been heading home on the rail from a particularly well-paying job when D-Day had struck, and though he hasn’t seen him since, he still believes that Corbin survived; he can feel it, he says. Corbin had been so alive, so full of spark, despite his dark and twisted interior, that if he were dead, Ethan would know. He’d just know.

Ethan Today

At first, Ethan had made it his mission to get back to the remains of Manchester to find Corbin, but waves of looters hanging around the borders of the cities made it impossible for Ethan to get through on his own. He’d almost been knifed more times then one, so after a few months, he put those efforts on the back burner.

When an opportunity arose to join a traveling clan of about ten, Ethan took it out of desperation, despite the fact that they were traveling in the wrong direction. He needed the support system, the safety, not only to keep him from wasting away on his lack of resources, but also to keep him sane. It’d seemed a wise decision at the time, and he’d told himself that he’d still make his way back eventually to find his friend.

Unfortunately, he’d misjudged the passersby. They were proving less trustworthy than he’d have hoped, frequently betraying each other and leaving others to fend for themselves when trouble with looters arose. Ethan, who couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel, became the helpful and compassionate one of the group, and though he hoped it would help secure his safety among them, in the end it only made him a target for vulnerability. When they found out what he’d done for a living, stories he’d let slip just when he’d thought he was settling in, they taunted him with it, turned him into a tool for their loneliness and threatened his life should he disagree.

Ethan still doesn’t know if he considers it rape or not. He feels morally confused based on his previous choices and his uncertainty on whether or not he’d truly been forced. Physically, he never had been, though verbally and emotionally was a different story. But something Ethan is troubled with now is the question as to why he hadn’t run. He’d spent his whole life running, why then had he not turned around and escaped the toxic environment just like he always had before? Had his life with Corbin taught him to be placid, to make lemonade rather than just throw the blasted things out and get oranges?

He doesn’t know where he stands anymore, has trouble finding himself, and though his somewhat accidental rescue by Colony 22 crusaders who’d found him when he’d been wandering not far from camp had been his saving grace, he still battles confusing feelings of guilt over the moment the crusaders had asked if he was alone, and he’d said yes. Had it been cowardly to let the people he’d lived amongst almost three years continue to barely survive, or had it been justified, smart, to save himself and never look back?

Related Bios: Corbin Ealy

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[col22promo]

ETHAN KERR | TWENTY TWO;  SURVIVOR

House: Brink Security Class: 1 Status: Uninfected

HISTORY

tw: rape

Ethan never did anything he didn’t want to. Growing up in an orphanage before eventually being transferred to foster care, Ethan had always been a stubborn, picky child. If he didn’t like the food placed in front of him, he wouldn’t eat; if the other children were mean to him, he’d spend his days alone; if he didn’t want to be somewhere, he simply wouldn’t go.

So when Ethan decided he couldn’t stay with his foster parents anymore, he ran.

And it wasn’t so much rebelliousness that drove him, but rather fear and discontentment, thinking he could change directions and steer himself away from unhappiness, regardless if the logic in his choices themselves was severely lacking. If he wasn’t happy, he had will enough to try to change it, but what he didn’t have was forethought, common sense, stability. He ran because he couldn’t handle his surroundings, felt drowned in the huffs and cries of a house too full, arguments too plenty, and his environment consumed him with a desperation to escape it. Maybe if he ran long enough, hard enough, he’d find a place to breathe, where the air would be cleaner, the world a little less small.

But that was when he’d been younger, less jaded and faith less crushed. At sixteen he’d run, and instead slept on friend’s couches, took up shit, bottom of the barrel jobs to try to feed his half-starved self. But by eighteen he’d realized that you couldn’t just run away from a shit hand you’d been dealt, that there was no such thing as escaping what you once were to aimlessly stumble across happiness.

It’d started when he was seventeen and crashing at a friend’s house, the first place he’d stayed longer than a few weeks in ages. He was a new friend, a boy he’d met while working as a stock and bar hand at a dingy pub in Manchester. “Corbin”, as the boy called himself, (though Ethan later found out his real name was Sam), was someone Ethan felt drawn to based on the fact that Corbin was parentless and had been living on his own in apparent ‘luxury’ since the age of sixteen. And Corbin seemed so carefree, so smug and content, always a smirk hanging crookedly off his face, a fag sitting half smoked behind his ear. And Ethan admired him, at first, because Corbin had the sense of freedom Ethan had been looking for; he was everything Ethan thought he wanted to be.

So he fell easily under Corbin’s wing, fast friends and attached at the hip. It was only a matter of weeks before he realized the true source of Corbin’s cash and way of life. ‘Got my start just on cam, y'see,’ he’d told him. 'It really ain’t so bad. Who could turn down gettin’ paid to toss off? Everyone wants to love what they do, mate—and I get 'ta.’

Corbin had since moved on to hustling via an ‘escort service’ online, and Ethan, under his friend’s encouragement, started the same way Corbin had. Harmless, online servicing. There was no true trouble in that, right? And though Ethan was hesitant, nervous at first, Corbin had been right about one thing—those feelings melted quickly as the money started pouring in. Being self-sufficient and showered in attention was startlingly effective in feeding his confidence and ego.

By eighteen, Ethan and Corbin were inseparable, partners in crime, sex and minor but illegal activity. Ethan had been heading home on the rail from a particularly well-paying job when D-Day had struck, and though he hasn’t seen him since, he still believes that Corbin survived; he can feel it, he says. Corbin had been so alive, so full of spark, despite his dark and twisted interior, that if he were dead, Ethan would know. He’d just know.

ETHAN TODAY

At first, Ethan had made it his mission to get back to the remains of Manchester to find Corbin, but waves of looters hanging around the borders of the cities made it impossible for Ethan to get through on his own. He’d almost been knifed more times then one, so after a few months, he put those efforts on the back burner.

When an opportunity arose to join a traveling clan of about ten, Ethan took it out of desperation, despite the fact that they were traveling in the wrong direction. He needed the support system, the safety, not only to keep him from wasting away on his lack of resources, but also to keep him sane. It’d seemed a wise decision at the time, and he’d told himself that he’d still make his way back eventually to find his friend.

Unfortunately, he’d misjudged the passersby. They were proving less trustworthy than he’d have hoped, frequently betraying each other and leaving others to fend for themselves when trouble with looters arose. Ethan, who couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel, became the helpful and compassionate one of the group, and though he hoped it would help secure his safety among them, in the end it only made him a target for vulnerability. When they found out what he’d done for a living, stories he’d let slip just when he’d thought he was settling in, they taunted him with it, turned him into a tool for their loneliness and threatened his life should he disagree.

Ethan still doesn’t know if he considers it rape or not. He feels morally confused based on his previous choices and his uncertainty on whether or not he’d truly been forced. Physically, he never had been, though verbally and emotionally was a different story. But something Ethan is troubled with now is the question as to why he hadn’t run. He’d spent his whole life running, why then had he not turned around and escaped the toxic environment just like he always had before? Had his life with Corbin taught him to be placid, to make lemonade rather than just throw the blasted things out and get oranges?

He doesn’t know where he stands anymore, has trouble finding himself, and though his somewhat accidental rescue by Colony 22 crusaders who’d found him when he’d been wandering not far from camp had been his saving grace, he still battles confusing feelings of guilt over the moment the crusaders had asked if he was alone, and he’d said yes. Had it been cowardly to let the people he’d lived amongst almost three years continue to barely survive, or had it been justified, smart, to save himself and never look back?

RELATED BIOS: CORBIN EALY

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.