#like literally 6 or somethin within half an hour

[emelinstriker]

so having just binged the entier Eternal Servants AU, you made it clear that all of the Champions are solely devoted to their Master with little space left for affection for one another (not ZERO affection, just far less) but what if a Master ordered them to 'be together'? Like, instead of giving/receiving affection, they just wanted to *watch*, and so like, picked two of their Champions and gave an order like (using SWK and SEM as an example) 'Until this hourglass runs out (or something) Macaque you will act as if Wukong is me, and Wukong you will act as if Macaque as me', how (potentially very badly) would the boys take it? Is that a kind of order they could even handle? Or does it pull too far away from the whole 'Master is the most important being in existence' even to *pretend* to be devotedly in love with someone else, even if it's an 'order' (Since it was established the Champions *can* choose to 'interpret' orders and such)

They can most certainly try, but literally none of them would enjoy it. They would also struggle. Like, a lot. As in- You know how devoted and happy they're towards their Master- if they suddenly got dared/ordered to pretend another champion is their Master, that entire enthusiasm and devotion goes down the drain and you can just see even the talkative one be quiet af. Probably the one having the least amount of problems with it (depending on the other champion) would be Macaque, since he's got the best relationship with most of the champions. But pretending to be devoted towards one another would still be very much awkward for any of them.

Though, some would be a lot more awkward about it than others who are more tolerant.

Mink would just dip out the moment the order drops since he already is the one denying orders much more easier than the others. Or if he's told that he's gonna be seen as the Master in this, he'd still immediately dip out because he wouldn't be able to deal with any form of love and affection from these weirdos he was forced to work in a team with.

Macaque would just be so much less enthused about it and all that usual extreme happiness and obsessed love is gone. He might cuddle a bit with his brother if he's the one he's supposed to worship for such a dare/order, but he wouldn't do more than that.

Wukong wouldn't externally change much with expressions, but he most certainly is very reluctant about showing any affection towards anyone who isn't his true Master. If the champion he's supposed to worship is his brother, he'd literally just treat him the same as ever. Maybe cuddle a bit with him too, but that's about it.

MK and Red Son would be filled with so much confusion and disappointment. Like, why would you want them to do that? What's the point? Are they not good enough as servants for their Master?

Nezha do be a lot more grumpy. He usually is already easily angered, but if he was ordered to devote himself to another champion.. You can bet he'll glare daggers towards the other champions the entire time with how annoyed he gets about it. Depending on the champion, his glare is so much sharper. With MK being hit with the least amount of his annoyance.

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 — Pt. 3

Clearly, this is no longer a Drabble. I have no self control. This has been sitting in my documents for months, and I really like it, so why haven’t I posted it? Because my life is a fucking mess, y’all. It’s not very long, but you don’t care.

Who wants to guess how many more parts of this I will add over the next fucking fifteen years I make you wait? Who knows. Enjoy it now. Or don’t.

—

You’d half expected him to take off when you made it back to the campsite you shared — if you could even still consider that after the events of the night — but were instead surprised to see Rick, Lorie and Herschel had made their way into camp and stood around the glow of your campfire. Rick and Lorie were armed, their bodies stiff and uncomfortable and on edge it seemed, and they both turned at the sound of you and Daryl approaching in sync before lowering their handguns with their features softening in recognition.

“There y’all are,” Lorie exhaled with relief, tucking her pistol back into the holster resting on her hip. Still buzzed, you couldn’t help but notice Rick’s revolver remained in his grasp. “What in the world is going on?”

It was then you realized that you hadn’t come up with an adequate excuse for why exactly you and Daryl had literally been running around in the woods; and also the exact moment you realized how fucking stupid you felt, running after Daryl when he stormed off as if he — of all people — would do something careless and manage to get into trouble. And then what? You went after him like you would be able to save him from any danger. As if you didn’t just drag him into a dangerously idiotic situation that could’ve easily been avoided if you weren’t acting like a drunken frat girl, calling him names and spitting lies to hurt him and only then acknowledging your true feelings after you thought you may have pushed him away for good.

And as if you weren’t already embarrassed enough of course Daryl had you covered while you blindly fumbled the metaphorical football and tripped over your own feet, opening his mouth before you could manage to choke out some half-assed story about a stray walker in the night.

“Thought we heard somethin’ crawlin’ around,” he replied, smooth as the whiskey he (always) vaguely smelled of, once again just reminding you that, Jesus Christ, get a fucking grip — what is this, middle school? “Found a straggler outside the next pasture — fell over the fence or somethin’.”

You turned to look at him, to see if maybe he would be looking back at you and somehow convey to you what the fuck you were supposed to say or do or feel right as Rick decided to speak up.

“We heard screamin’, his expression was unreadable in the flickering glow of your slowly-dying campfire. “You alright?”

You could still feel your head spinning and the boney fingers intertwined in your hair and pulling your scalp but you were determined now to prove something, literally anything, to Daryl that you made sure to answer for yourself before he could try.

“Yeah, it got the jump on me,” you blurted out, almost before he even finished his last word, then dropping your gaze to the ground shamefully. “It just — y’know, scared me. But... Daryl got it.”

You were briefly self-conscious that you’d tried so hard to casually add on that last bit that it came out as bitter and immature as you really felt, and you forced yourself to swallow down the nausea that rose along with the shame and the flush of warmth from your chest to your cheeks.

“Well, good, but next time...”

Daryl waved a dismissive hand as he broadly stepped past the sheriff’s wife and closer to campsite. “Won’t be no next time. ’Sides, it ain’t nothin’ I couldn’t handle myself. Didn’t need to alert the whole damn village.”

Lorie — god damn Lorie, of course, who could never just leave things alone and always has to poke and prod opened her mouth to argue. “Still. We shouldn’t — “

“Man, enough with this fuckin’ ‘we’ stuff, alright? Ain’t no ‘we’ here — no ‘us’ — so give it a rest ‘n leave me the hell alone!”

You were left in silence, the wake of Daryl’s rage burning a trail behind his heels that violently kicked up dirt and rocks at you where you stood whilst watching him storm off. It was a very familiar sensation, the onset of tears threatening to fall, but you always knew when wanting to withhold them back would prove futile and instead of wasting the last of your energy trying, you hung your head and instead focused on trying to keep them as quiet as possible, at the very least.

“We’ll have to make a lap around the perimeter,” Herschel added nonchalantly, unbothered by Daryl’s emotional outburst and the fact that it had you choking back sobs as you stood in front of him. “Make sure all of the fencing is still holdin’ up okay. Maybe add some barbed wire or electricity or somethin’.”

You felt a gentle hand on your shoulder and stiffened, but saw Lorie standing at your side with her head cocked curiously and somehow pitifully at you. She offered you a tight smile.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” she agreed softly. “Let’s get back to bed. Why don’t you come sleep in the RV tonight? Carl can — “

Harshly shrugging her palm from your shoulder you straightened up, trying to remember how the current state of your own camp might be — you’d left it behind with a bottle of whiskey in tow to cross the few hundred yards between as you had the previous few nights, but that all seemed like a lifetime ago in retrospect. “No, I’m fine. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

As you strode away you could almost feel Lorie reaching for you, surely to add a comment of some sort or offer at least an escort back to your own camp, but you were extremely thankful to whatever it was that had convinced her to just keep her mouth shut for once in her fucking life.

The campfire was low now, the embers burning brightly within the logs they intertwined but with very little of the once roaring flames left. It smoked, the scent still somehow comforting to your soul even after the last few months of hell you’d endured — and once foolishly thought only possible within cheap horror flicks — managed to taint the long-gone memories of camping for fun instead of a dangerous lack of secure shelter. You wouldn’t have met Daryl if it weren’t for having lived through all of those nightmares. And, yet somehow, that thought still managed to scare you in a way that monsters and zombies never could.

Torn from your thoughts by the unmistakable sound of your boot crunching glass beneath your foot, you stopped. Just a few hours ago, those boots had been insignificant to you, tossed carelessly to the side of Daryl’s tent where they lay for the rest of the night. Light purple socks draped over them, just as quickly forgotten — it was a small luxury, but one almost instantly you’d grown to cherish when your life suddenly became full of long, taxing walks through all the various terrains the state of Georgia had to offer during the dog days of summer. You had only been a shot or two deep, but you were already basking in the sensation of thick, luscious grass against your bare feet once again.

“Shouldn’t be barefoot out here,” Daryl had quipped harmlessly from where he knelt opposite of you, stoking the workings of your campfire in the evening glow. You opened just one eye, content to relax where you were, but your body instantly began to sit up, already working to get up from where the tree stump you were sitting on and make its way to your discarded socks and boots.

“And why not?” You responded curiously. Of course, you were acutely aware of several reasons you shouldn’t be barefoot in the beginning chapters of what you safely assumed was the end of the world as you knew it — the only thing you were curious about was the nagging voice in your head you were struggling to ignore that made you realize you just wanted to hear him talk. Didn’t matter about what, apparently.

Instead of a gruff explanation about how you realistically needed to be prepared to jump up and run for your life at any second, Daryl had just shrugged half-heartedly. “Fire. Glass. Bees. Ya know.”

Doubled over you were already retrieving your socks and boots from up off the ground. “Fireglass bees?! That sounds awful!”

There was the soft snap of a twig and then the feeling of it bouncing off of your back, tossed playfully by the archer as he continued to break kindling over the growing fire.

“Don’t come cryin’ to me when ya get a shard of glass lodged in there,” he’d said lightly. “Shit hurts.”

You chanced a quick glance around the fire pit and proximity of the camp. “I don’t see any broken glass around here.”

“Well, yeah, nobody ever sees it before walkin’ on it. People don’t cut themselves open on purpose, y’know.” He pauses. “Smart people, anyway.”

You vividly remember the way his mouth quirked up into a smirk; the way you felt so relaxed and relieved that he seemed to feel the same way. The glass at your feet was the shattered remains of the once full bottle of whiskey that you liked to assume was solely responsible for how things had gone wrong that night. You don’t remember who dropped it, or even hearing it break.

But there you were, on your hands and knees in the dirt as you hunted for it’s pieces using what little light remained of the dying fire beside you. You didn’t know why you were doing it, either — as if you could somehow actually retrieve every last bit of the bottle, you could glue it back into its original form, a fragile vessel too pure for any leaks or cracks or chips that could compromise its integrity, and then maybe you could do the same to the deeply complex relationship you had with Daryl that you had managed to destroy in literal seconds.

Heavy tears obscured your vision and you blinked them away furiously, heart pounding in your chest, trembling hands instinctively clenching into fists to subdue the sudden need to just fucking hit something all the while simultaneously closing around the collection of glass pieces you’d gathered in your left hand over your last few minutes of absent-mindedness.

With a hiss of pain you released your grip, several shards falling from your grip but some remaining by way of stabbing themselves into the soft flesh of your palm.

Ironic, you thought, that Daryl had never warned you about getting glass lodged into your hand.

Then again, he shouldn’t have had to. People don’t cut themselves open on purpose.

Smart people, anyway.

[dat-fandom-losertown]

The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 6: The Trouble and the Verdict

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor and Gavin Reed x RK900

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: A bit more swearing than usual, some used as Verbal Antagonization

Word Count: 10,364

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Hank woke up at an ungodly hour this morning due to a nightmare again. He wonders if it’s the slight increase in social activity he’s being subjected to or if he’s just becoming less affected by the alcohol that he tries so desperately to drown unpleasant memories with. Hank has his bets on the latter, but he won’t rule out the former.

    Being up this early in the morning with no desire to go back to sleep means another morning where he goes out to eat breakfast just as it opens. The only reason he doesn’t start his day drinking like he nearly did last time he was in this situation is because he still vividly remembers the pure shock on everyone’s faces. Still fucking priceless, and still worth getting his cranky ass up and at ‘em if he ain’t going back to sleep anyway.

    Just like last time, when he goes out to get his food, his military-lunch-lady doesn’t hide her surprise. Hank’s a bit disappointed, though, when the other food workers don’t openly stare at him like he has a second head like they had before. That was half of the fun, messing with their heads so obviously. Now they’re just occasionally glancing at him with curious expressions while they work and cook.

    He doesn’t know if it’ll be worth it to do this again within the next couple of months. A damn shame is what it is.

    He sits down at his table, eating slowly because he isn’t even all that hungry– he literally only wanted to see the workers’ faces. By the time he’s done eating, an hour and a half has passed, and Hank suddenly realizes that he hasn’t seen Connor at all. He glances around, looking for any other trainees, and he finds the group Connor’s twin (he already forgot his name again, shit) always hangs around at, but neither brother is there. Something strange settles in his gut and he doesn’t like it one single bit.

    Hank gets up and puts his tray away, forcing himself to stop thinking about it. It doesn’t work very well at all because he’s almost instantly imagining Connor having another “mood dip”, as what’s-his-face called it. Maybe he’s just taking care of Connor or something–

    Worry.

    This feeling in his gut is worry.

    Oh fuck no. Nope. Not happening. Not fuckin’ today, not fuckin’ ever.

    Hank promptly shoves every single thought of the twins out of his head and forces himself to take stock of what he has to drink and munch on in his room on his way back to his safe space. It’s a good thing he does because he realizes he’s starting to run low on pretty much everything except protein bars and water bottles. He’s going to need to get more alcohol very soon, but fucking Fowler has been watching him closely recently. Apparently a guy can’t shower and get up early one time before his friend (are they even still friends? Or are they old friends now?) thinks he’s trying to work at getting better.

    God, it’s not like Hank’s super popular down here, either. It was already difficult enough filling his stash, and now it’s just going to be a right pain in the ass. See, this is why he didn’t mind Connor. The trainee saw what a fucking catastrophe he was and didn’t do shit about it. He just let Hank be after that bottle cleaning incident, the same incident that led him to impulsively recycle all of the old bottles and throw his laundry into a large pile in the corner of the room.

    Wait, he’s not supposed to be thinking about him right now. Fuck you, brain.

    Well, there’s still Arnold, he guesses. He’s never given a shit about what Fowler or anyone else says. Honestly, Hank’s surprised that asshole still has his job. The thing is, though, Arnold can’t keep a secret for shit. Everyone and their uncles would know how low he stooped just to get some alcohol in his bunker. There’s also Vanessa. She’s a charming gal, but he’s not confident she would help him–

    Is that Connor sitting next to my door?

    “Connor?” 

    The trainee’s head snaps up from where it was tucked into his knees. He’s curled up on the ground to the right of his door, his arms squeezing his knees to his chest. A closer look shows that Connor’s eyes are bloodshot, and Hank would almost think he’s high right now if he didn’t know any better, but he does. He also sees the dark bags under his eyes. Christ, has this guy slept at all in the past week?

    Hank suddenly remembers thinking about if he was having a mood dip, and wonders if that’s what’s happening right now. He seemed fine enough yesterday at lunch, though, but he wasn’t there for dinner…

    “Good morning, Mr. Anderson.” He gets up to his feet, and the new position shows off how rumpled his training clothes look. He’s never seen Connor rumpled without seeing bandages. It’s kind of unsettling. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was kind of hoping I could get one of your snacks you mentioned having a while ago? I’d owe you a favor in return.” he wrings his hands together.

    “Yeah.” Hank doesn’t think, he just answers. “Yeah sure. C’mon in. You look like you need it more than I do, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

    He quickly opens his door, and Connor shuffles in after him. Hank doesn’t think he’s ever seen him shuffle before, he abruptly notices. He doesn’t say anything about it, being acutely aware of how it feels to be in that position, and starts digging through the top drawer in his desk for one of the chocolate protein bars. He remembers Connor loving the brownies at lunch, and Hank prefers the peanut butter ones anyway.

    “Thank you very much for doing this. Ritch wanted me to eat something this morning, but I don’t think I can stomach a breakfast like he wants me to. And I’m sorry for sitting in front of your door, I was still trying to decide if I should ask you to part with some of your stash...” A pause. “You cleaned.”

    That comment immediately puts Hank on edge. He pauses from digging around for a moment and turns his head just enough to see Connor’s reaction. He has a tiny, tired smile on his face, and Hank doesn’t know how to feel about that.

    “Yeah? And what of it?” he grumbles defensively.

    The other hums, “I’m just glad there’s no chance of you stepping on a bottle and hurting yourself anymore, is all.”

    God damn it, he looked so genuine as he said that.

    He’s used to the stupid “Congratulations, you’re not hopeless!” talks that he got so often a few years back. “You cleaned your room! Yay!” “I’m glad you showered!” “Hank, did you shave? That’s good!” “Woah, you’re up early! I’m happy you’re better today.” All of these types of things he’s completely used to. They’re all wishes and quiet hopes that he’s finally getting better and going back to normal, when he isn’t and probably never will.

    He is absolutely not used to hearing “Now you probably won’t accidentally hurt yourself because your room is sort of kinda clean!” Wasn’t that Connor’s excuse for cleaning up his shit last time he was in here? He didn’t want Hank to get hurt by tripping or shattering a bottle or something?

    He truly doesn’t know how to react, so he simply grunts an acknowledgement and gets back to his search, hoping his pause wasn’t too noticeable. Hank finds what he’s looking for and turns around. He hands two protein bars to Connor, who takes them with the expression of someone who doesn’t want to eat even this much.

    Hank, against his better judgement, decides to prod a bit. He won’t force the kid to talk, but something must have happened if he looks this offended by food, and besides, Hank has always been known for being a bit nosy at times. It’s been his excuse for as long as he’s been getting into other people’s businesses or strange situations.

    “Did you see something that made you lose your appetite in one of those slides they show you new comers?”

    He remembers not wanting to eat for a day or two after seeing those gory pictures. Some were of Kaijus that had been torn apart, blue coated guts just lying in the middle of mass destruction, others of what remained of people who were completely smashed under collapsed buildings. He hates that he’s seen both of those scenes in person now, too.

    Connor seems a bit confused before realization hits, “Oh! No. Those aren’t anything I haven’t studied in detail before–” What the hell kind of things did his trainer have him studying, then? “–so they didn’t bother me. Actually, uh… We were, um, caught lying on our evaluation exams two days ago.”

    “You cheated on the single thing that measures your entire worth around here? Are you fucking insane, Connor!?”

    Connor’s gaze snaps up to him from the floor, “No. We did not cheat, we lied. We know a lot more than I think we’re supposed to at this stage of training, and we don’t want to graduate early, so we purposefully marked questions wrong on the written evaluation and held back during the physical ones.” His gaze goes distant like it was before, and he drops down to sit on Hank’s bed. “I thought we were in the clear, but I guess we must’ve slipped at some point because we had to talk to Marshal Fowler about it.”

    Hank knows better than to force someone with that distant look in their eyes to get up and do anything, so if he needs to carry on the conversation to let Connor settle for a moment, so be it. If Hank is secretly curious about why and how he and Ritch (That’s what his name was! He knew he knew it!) lied on the evaluations and almost got away with it, so be it. 

    “Why the hell would you not wanna graduate early? Do you even understand how amazing that looks on records?”

    “I–” Connor blinks a few times, the glazed look on his face gradually dissipating. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore. The entire thing is out of our hands, now.” He stands up with perfect posture. “We’ll reap what we sowed, and if worse comes to worst we can still be bodyguards or something of the like, just as Ritch said. Ten years of combat training has to mean something, right?”

    Connor meets his eyes. “I feel more relaxed now, oddly enough. I suppose I just had to get that off of my chest. Thank you very much for the protein bars and for listening to me complain about my own decisions. If there’s anything you think I can do for you before I likely leave, don’t hesitate to ask.” he finishes with a small smile.

    Part of Hank really wants to say that he wasn’t exactly complaining about his decisions, he was just stressing about the consequences that he was smart enough to realize he had. Another tiny part of him wanted to ask the trainee for booze as repayment, but there’s no way in hell he’s doing that. Yet another part wanted to remind Connor that he also gave him the blanket and stress ball, but he knows the trainee’s thankful for that, and Hank isn’t going to go out of his way to be an asshole like that. Instead, he tries to actually use his head for once and does something stupid, against his own judgement.

    He tries to comfort him.

    “Don’t worry about it. Fowler’s a pretty understandable guy, and you two are smart people. Whatever reason you had for underplaying your skills must’ve been a damn good one because you’re not stupid. And he’ll see that, too, if he doesn’t already. I mean, he lets my useless ass bum around here, so…” he trails off.

    “Let’s hope so. But, again, I don’t think you’re as useless as you seem to have convinced yourself you are.” He turns and heads to the door as he talks over his shoulder, “Whatever may happen to me, I hope you remember that you aren’t as terrible as you keep trying to make yourself out to be. Brains are just stupid like that, I of all people should know that, at least.” He opens the door, looking back at Hank with a soft smile, “Thank you again, for everything.” And he’s gone.

    It takes Hank at least a minute, if not longer, to finally have his first clear thought in the silent chaos his head has suddenly become.

    He still doesn’t like how Connor seems to understand him better than any of the therapists assigned to him did.

    Hank once again can’t decide if he should be disappointed in his old therapists, somewhat proud of Connor for being aware as all hell, or let himself be worried for the trainee (he kind of already is, though, isn’t he?). He’s leaning towards the first option, with a healthy dosage of the third. He knew his therapists were shit for him. That’s the main reason he started drinking all the time; they never really worked for him. He also knows that Connor has some mental issues of his own that he’s slowly working through, but when his mind tries to connect the guy who seems in tune with how Hank’s feeling most of the time with someone who hasn’t even turned 25 yet, it just doesn’t work. Error 404, connection can not be found.

    Hank suddenly remembers why he didn’t put on his mean act around Connor; he saw some of himself in the trainee. At the time, he was pretty pretty he was just self-projecting, but as time is passing, it’s becoming more and more clear that this is just how the young man is. 

    Wait a minute, back the hell up.

    Connor mentioned ten years of combat training. He’s pretty sure he knew about the twins having several years of training before they got here, but an entire decade dedicated to combat? Fucking hell, when will this kid stop surprising him? Apparently Connor was right during that first day he sat at Hank’s table; he really isn’t a kid anymore, huh? Hank always knew he had a rough and extremely censored childhood, what with the complete lack of common life knowledge and shit. Ten whole fucking years, though? Why the hell wouldn’t they just test out of the training segment altogether? They’re partners, aren’t they?

    …Unless they’re not.

    Every time he’s seen those two in the same room– which is admittedly not very often– they’ve either been silent, tense, or arguing. While Hank can see that they’re probably trying their best for one another, he can tell that it probably doesn’t seem like that’s the case from their perspective. It’d be like the other is constantly pushing back, and the only time they’re not is when some kind of mess that affects both of them is being dealt with or they’re being silent.

    Hank wonders if that’s what people saw when his friendship with Jeff started going downhill. He has a sinking feeling that it probably is. 

    Jesus, if that’s even partially the case, then no wonder why they don’t want to graduate early and be forced to work together.

    Now, the next question is does Hank want to have a small chat with Jeff about the lying situation? The marshal should have known about all of this before it became a problem, after all. Connor and Ritch definitely don’t seem like the type of people who would try to lie about something important like this before trying to get it cleared up altogether first.

    No, he shouldn’t meddle. They can handle themselves just fine.

    He groans and rubs his face with his hands. He should stop inviting Connor into his room to grab things. It always leads to a lot of thinking and some kind of big ass realization. It’s exhausting.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Gavin is finally on his way back to his room from breakfast. During the entire meal, Tina wouldn’t stop grilling him about RItch again. He gets it, he really, truly does. He knows what it looks like for a guy who has exactly one friend to suddenly start insulting another guy then get insulted back without there being any real heat or anger. To everyone else, it looks like he made a new friend or possibly something more (“Slut Gavin” has officially made a reappearance, just as he predicted, and he wants to ram everybody’s head into a wall. He’s never been anything less than modest with anyone except two people.), even though this is far from the case.

    Right?

    Yes, definitely. Even if he did want some kind of friend, they aren’t created through insults. People just need to learn how to shut the fuck up or find something else to ramble on about.

    Therefore, he purposely takes the longer way to his room that brings him closer to the training quarters in some secret wish that Ritch will pop around the corner and they’ll have another go so he can blow off some steam. Gavin actually ended up taking Ritch’s advice and briefly brainstormed some “fancier” insults last night when he couldn’t sleep, mainly so he could blame the internet when they end up not meeting his standards anyway. Ritch better be fucking thankful because doing that was kind of embarrassing, since he’s known for being a natural asshole–

    “ALEX!!”

    Gavin freezes and his senses go on high alert. That was Luther who just yelled. The same Luther that everyone is convinced has a vocal problem that prevents him from speaking louder than an acceptable indoor volume and a chemical imbalance that keeps him from ever getting angry. The same Luther that never once yelled at Gavin during training, despite the larger man being in the last steps of his apprenticeship at the time and had full authority to.

    What the fucking hell did Alex do to piss off Luther of all people?

    Gavin sets off to the training room. Once upon a time he would have tried to convince himself that he was just wanting to be a nosy asshole and get into people’s business, but he has no problem admitting nowadays that he’s genuinely concerned and wants to see if urgent help is needed.

    Gavin rounds a corner and enters the hall that connects with the training area. He starts hearing people swearing and telling someone (presumably Alex) to just leave, and then hears that fucking idiot start trying to pick a fight with Luther. Gavin pokes his head in, immediately scanning the room.

    Luther looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust with rage right there in the center of the room, and that scares the shit out of Gavin. He has never once seen the large man genuinely mad, let alone ready to rip someone to pieces like he does now. This Alex character suddenly barks out that he could throw Luther down, despite being less than half of the instructor’s size. What a fucking moron.

    After a closer look, Gavin realizes that Alex was the dude that couldn’t even take one passing insult from him. That one jackass with Ritch in the hall on that second day of training season. He steps in quickly so the other fuck-tards don’t escalate things even more.

    That’s the thing about someone always starting fights, if that person’s smart, they also get oddly good at calming things down. Gavin just so happens to be one of the smart ones for whatever reason.

    “I was taking the long way back to my room when I heard someone shouting swears around here?” Explosion kid turns to him and– oh shit, he has a big ass knife, and Gavin knows for a fucking fact that trainees aren’t allowed to have any kind of weapon, but he steps inside the room casually as if he hasn’t noticed it. “That’s kind of my area of expertise, you know? And, like, how the fuck did you manage to get gentle giant over here mad? Not even I could do that and pissing people off is literally my entire personality.”

    “Gavin,” Luther says calmly, the terrifying kind of calm that makes him hesitate, “We don’t need you right now.”

    Gavin raises his eyebrows and turns so he can look at Luther while keeping Alex in his peripheral. He tilts his head the slightest when the other man’s jaw clenches at his movement. He flicks his eyes over to Alex and back to Luther, trying to convey that for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t want to stir things up more, that he actually wants to help this time.

    “You sure about that?” Gavin asks softly, genuinely.

    He’s glad that Luther’s features loosen a bit, losing that edge of murder. He’s the only one who seems to understand that Gavin doesn’t always want to make people’s lives miserable. He understands how troublemakers like this one work and he knows how to handle himself well enough to not lose in a potential fight, or at least enough to be able to stall until the real help can arrive. Luther starts stepping back to the room’s intercom, probably to contact Fowler about this. A knife of that kind and size doesn’t even belong in this base, let alone in a trainee’s hands.

    “This ain’t any of your business, cocksucker. Why don’t you just go off and play with your boy toy, huh?” explosion kid calls out, and Luther looks about ready to kill again.

    “Ah, so you’ve caught on to the fake ‘Slut Gavin’ rumors.” he turns to Alex quickly, “Why am I not surprised?”

    “This is the same guy who picked a fight with you in front of Fowler’s official office,” a very familiar, teasing voice calls out from his left. “but I wouldn’t expect you to remember that with how many people you quite literally bump into. Can you even handle a situation like this without losing your own temper? I promise to not say ‘I told you so’ if you can’t.” Gavin can see the slight bit of mirth in his eyes, even if he isn’t smirking like he has a few times before.

    At least five people hiss “Ritch” quietly. Apparently this is out of character for the guy. Gavin feels almost proud of himself.

    Gavin fixes him with a glare the other has already received from him multiple times, “Watch me, dick. I’m about to show you a prim and proper end to this shitshow like no one ain’t ever seen before.”

    “I’ve already said my name is not Richard, but go right on ahead and try.” Ritch says, cocky.

    Gavin turns his attention over to Alex the Asshole, shutting him up before he can speak with one of his real glares. He starts walking up to him in the center of the room, ignoring Luther’s warning look. He’ll take care of this without blood, even if it’s just to wipe that smug-ass look on Dickie’s face.

    “That your boy toy? I thought you would do better than that.”

    Deep breaths, just like you were taught, Gavin reminds himself. You’re way better than this piece of shit, you’re about to save the day, and you can’t let RoboRitch win this time. Deep breaths.

    “Alright,” he begins once he’s three steps away from Alex, “you heard literally everyone in this room. Come on out with me or else you’re gonna have an even worse day, ‘cause unlike Luther and friends here, I ain’t afraid of breaking some rules, and I ain’t afraid of gettin’ Fowler up in here. I’m just fuckin’ lazy right now.”

    “How about I fucking throw you down and when I win you’ll see that this was all a mistake and I’m gonna be needed on the future team?” he spits in Gavin’s direction, but it missed him completely and hits the floor. He doesn’t miss how he also slightly readjusts his grip on the knife, likely preparing to strike.

    Gavin loudly barks laugh. “Holy shit–” he wheezes. “You actually think–” he takes a deep breath,. “You actually think you could throw me down? My job is literally taking down huge alien monsters while strapped in a giant metal chamber, a trainee with a knife or two ain’t enough to scare me or take me down.” He relaxes his stance to continue his act of nonchalance. “Now put that knife down and let’s get outta here. Don’t make this worse for yourself.”

    Alex grips the knife harder, just as Gavin expected. “You say you can take me on with the knife, but then tell me to drop it? Maybe you’re just a fuckin’ coward? Ever think of that?! Why don’t you fight me like a man?!”

    “Jesus fucking christ. I don’t think I’ve used that one since middle school, and a certain someone–” he pointedly looks at Ritch, “–loves to remind me that I’m the king of childish insults.” He then turns to where Luther is still back by the room’s intercom, watching the whole event carefully. “Was I this bad during training, Luther? You were an apprentice back then, weren’t you? I swear to god I took a hint better than this asshole.”

    Luther, shockingly, nods his head. “You did take a hint, and you also knew when to finally leave, and when to stop if it was getting serious.”

    Gavin hears Alex suddenly shift closer to him, so Gavin quickly readies himself for action, not wanting to risk getting stabbed or sliced. Alex threateningly raises his knife up (not that he could do any serious, lasting damage holding it like that) and Gavin grabs his wrist and twists, forcing him to drop it. He kicks the blade away then lets go, and while Alex is still recollecting himself, the pilot uses the side of his hands to hit the pressure points on the other’s neck. He goes down like a bag of bricks. He stays down just long enough for Gavin to quickly search him, confiscate a blade tucked into his boot, and tie his hands together with a zip tie Luther tosses to him.

    Gavin takes in the shocked silence with a self-satisfied smirk as he snatches up the two knives, finding both the quiet and the full name written on this knife plenty reward enough for dealing with all of this. Alex starts properly waking up from the little stun move, so Gavin’s not worried about him having any lingering effects from being knocked out. He’s officially in the clear and can’t be blamed for anything, for once.

    Ritch suddenly starts speaking. “Just as I thought. You can’t do anything calmly.”

    Gavin blinks hard, then spins his body with a step back to fully face the human-robot with a glare, the whole movement purposely exuding over-the-top “I’m white and offended” vibes. Ritch still doesn’t have a real smile on his face, but Gavin can see the signs of his lips quirking up at the corners and he still has that same amusement in his eye as when they’re passing insults in the halls. It must be Christmas day for him; a quick and easy fight that he can’t get punished for and another quick match with baby-face!

    “Bitch? I told you I’d get him outta here with a prim and proper ending, and he looks damn prim and proper to me! And I didn’t even start the fight!” Gavin turns around just in time to watch Luther hoist Alex over his shoulder in a firefighter hold. The trainee isn’t even struggling anymore, thank god. “He ain’t fighting or bitchin’ now! And I didn’t see you try to do anything about this, dick.”

    “I thought we already discussed that that childish insult was not my name. You really should see a doctor about your memory problems.” Ritch still doesn’t smirk, but Gavin swears he can see it clearly, anyway.

    “I wasn’t implying that it was your name, I was just calling you a penis.” Gavin hears a quiet snort somewhere in the room at that one. “And it’s still not as childish as your face. Or your arms. Really dude, I’ve said this before, but eat a damn steak, a burger or something.” He starts following Luther out of the room. “I’m gonna go help carry this loaf of nothing to Fowler because I can be a responsible pilot when I want to, and you–” he points to Ritch “–are gonna thank me later. With actual words, in front of my friend.”

    “In your dreams, wetland grass.”

    “Fuck you.”

    “I already said no thank–”

    Gavin hurries out with his hands high in the air and his middle fingers even higher, “Sorry! I can’t understand dumbass-ese! Bye bitch!”

    As he walks away to Fowler’s official office, as opposed to his private one, he hears Chloe telling the trainees to do their warm ups and to wait for Luther to get back before doing any training. After that, it falls silent. Gavin can only take a few minutes of it, though, before he can’t hold back the question any longer.

    “So… What the hell did this guy do?” Gavin asks genuinely for once, “I’ve never once seen you get angry, let alone blow up like that. This isn’t even the first time a student pulled a knife on someone else.” He turns to look up at Luther, who’s looking at him with suspicion, “I wasn’t lying when I said I was just taking the long route to my room and just happened to hear the commotion.”

    Luther looks away contemplatively for a few moments, then apparently decides to spill the beans.

    “He almost stabbed two of the other trainees. You took his second and third knives, and they were the least damaging ones. The other two he had were already confiscated by me.”

    Gavin completely freezes. He can’t be fucking serious. Gavin is very suddenly very close to exploding and punching a wall with his bad hand, so he starts double-timing it to the office.

    “Are you shitting me? I haven’t even seen a knife this damn good since my high school years, and if it weren’t for the evidence written on this thing I’d hide it in my stash! Shit, how the hell did he get four of them?!”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Do you know who did the inspections? When they were done last? I swear to fucking god I am going to–”

    “You are going to do nothing, Gavin.”

    He balks, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

    “You’re going to come with me to see Fowler, we are going to get this sorted out, then he and whoever he got this from will be gone, and you won’t worry about this.”

    “How the fucking hell and I supposed to just not worry about this?!” Gavin shouts, getting the attention of two deliverers, so he hushes his tone into something quieter by just as deadly, “I already have personal beef with these guys so I don’t mind–”

    “Gavin please.” Luther rubs his free hand over his face and massages just over eyebrow, a place Gavin knows where headaches commonly form for him. “You having beef with these people is exactly why you should not get involved in this.”

    Silence falls between them again. Gavin breaks it again using a calm, hushed tone.

    “I wasn’t actually this bad, right? Like, I know I wasn’t swinging knives around, but you weren’t just saying that to make sure I didn’t blow up in there, were you?”

    He hates the fact that Luther hesitates to answer for a second or two.

    “You may have always been a jerk, and you may have been much more of a jerk than ever during your first few weeks here, but you’ve always known when poking the bear turned into wrestling with it, and you always knew better than to wrestle.” Luther turns to him, “As much as you apparently hate being called a decent person, you’ve always been fiercely protective of those you really care about.” He faces forward again.

    Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s not that he hates being called a good person, it’s just that he’s always been called a menace, an asshole, an inconvenience by those who were polite and worse things from people who aren’t, but he can’t remember a single time anyone had anything genuinely nice to say to him without some kind of ulterior motive in play. Not since his partner, anyway.

    God, he fucking misses him. He was the only person who understood him, and then he–

    No. Not now.

    “Gavin?”

    Gavin startles out of his thoughts at the sound of Luther’s voice. He readjusts Alex’s body on his shoulder before looking at the tall man.

    “You okay?” Luther asks, genuine concern in his expression. He’s holding the door open to the office area, waiting for Gavin to step through.

    He shakes his head to help get himself out of this funk he’s in, “Never better. Let’s go put this guy in the ground, and try to keep me out of it.” He steps inside. “Hey, you’ll have my back, right big guy? I mean, I know I knocked him out there for a minute, but it’s better and more realistic than whatever alternative anyone else was trying to think up.”

    Luther sighs and nods his head, “Yes, I planned on vouching for you. Just don’t say anything stupid or incriminating. Marshal Fowler has been in a prickly mood for the past few days, and I’d rather not have you testing him. Again.”

    “I’ll try my best, but I’m not gonna make any promises.” Luther gives him a sharp look. “It all depends on what I’m going to hear about this kid and how much it’s going to piss me off.”

    Another sigh to Gavin’s right, but Luther doesn’t say anything this time.

    They walk into Fowler’s office without knocking, and all the rest of the process goes by rather quickly. They filed out the reasons why Alex is being dishonorably dismissed with Gavin acting as a witness, then he recites the full names of the likely owners of the knives. He’s sent on his way not long after that, since Luther and Fowler need to talk about some lying dipshits or something. He doesn’t actually care all that much. As he turns the corner in the hall to finally get to his room, he almost literally runs into someone.

    “Watch where you’re fuckin– Anderson?”

    The ex-pilot grunts and rolls his eyes in lieu of a greeting.

    Gavin steps aside as the old drunkard walks to the office areas. “The hell are you doing here? And up this early too.”

    “I’m goin’ to talk to Fowler, just fuck off.” he grumbles over his shoulder.

    “Fowler’s busy talkin’ to Luther about some lyin’ scum right now, so he ain’t free.”

    Hank stops, “Those two liars aren’t even close to scum, and they’re exactly what I want to talk to him about.” He doesn’t say anything else as he hurries through the door, and slams it shut behind him.

    Gavin knows something’s up. Hank doesn’t think highly of anyone, let alone people who apparently lie on important documents. That’s what all this has to be about, after all, because that’s the only kind of lying Fowler handles himself like this. That, and he hasn’t seen Anderson hurry anywhere in years, especially not for any kind of living being, especially humans.

    As curious as Gavin is, he knows when it’s not any of his business, and when looking into things will only bring more trouble than it’s worth. The other thing is that Gavin doesn’t usually give a single flying fuck, and he’s pretty that’s why sure his disciplinary folder is one of the thickest ones in this joint.

    The grand point of all of this is that Gavin really doesn’t want to tango through the lying case, but if anyone thinks he’s not gonna have a part in taking care of this knife business, they’re very wrong. People like that cover up their tracks well enough that they’ll get away with it, even if everyone knows it’s them. Plus, Fowler probably wouldn’t find much to begin with since he’s busy a lot of the time. Gavin is almost excited to finally have a reason to come after them.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    It’s a few days after the Alex commotion, and Connor’s normally silent dinner is interrupted by an unfamiliar man in a suit. It’s strange and jarring to see because the only kind of uniforms around here are boots, cargo pants, and plain t-shirts with the occasional jacket with the PPDC symbol on the right sleeve. The stranger calmly walks up to Connor and simply asks him to finish his meal quickly and meet Marshal Fowler in his main office, then walks away towards where Ritch is sitting without any explanation.

    He looks at Hank, wondering if he has ever had this kind of treatment, or if this is exactly what Connor thinks it is. Hank just sends him a confused glance from where he sits diagonal of him (Connor has slowly been scooting closer to him in hopes that one day they can sit across from each other in a charade of actually being social, and it seems to be working so far). That means it’s what he thinks it is, and today is the day that they get sent out of training.

    He’s already done research on what kind of careers he and Ritch can get into after this whole mess, and there were plenty as long as they have the connections. The only problem is, once Amanda hears about them getting kicked out, all of their contacts will be gone instantly. They’re going to have to start at the very bottom and work their way up, which could take years before they get a realistically livable wage, and that’s if they live near the kaiju warning areas. It sucks, but Connor is just one step away from accepting this as his fate, that final step being actually hearing the verdict come out of Fowler’s mouth.

    He doesn’t finish his food. He just sits there and stares at what he did manage to get down before the man in the suit came along. He glances over every now and then to see when Ritch gets up so he can follow him. The moment Connor sees his twin placing his dishes in their respective bins, he gets up as well. He says his routine goodbye to Hank, who surprisingly wishes him luck in a low tone, and puts his own food and utensils in their assigned bin as well.

    “Are you ready?” Ritch says behind him. Connor can almost feel his silent judgement for not eating enough. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t mention it.

    “As I’ll ever be,” he wrings his hands together, “You?”

    “Quite the same. Come along.” Ritch using his polite, “fancy gathering” voice like he is now never means anything good.

    Ah, apparently that’s all that was needed in order to reach that final step of acceptance. Huh.

    “I’m sure you know already, but I’ve been doing research on exactly which jobs we’ll be eligible for once we are sent out, and the selection actually isn’t–”

    “It is not certain that we are being dismissed.” Ritch interrupts, “I thought I told you this already.”

    Connor huffs, “It never hurts to be prepared.”

    “I suppose not, but call me optimistic that we’ll be staying here.” He looks to Connor without turning his head, “If they have any brains at all, they’ll want us here. We are smarter and stronger than we made ourselves out to be, and came clean as soon as we knew we were caught. They know we only did this because we were forced to and they didn’t listen when we tried to tell them the first time.” He focuses his eyes forward again, “I do not think we’ll be dismissed. At least not today.”

    Connor suddenly has the feeling that Ritch is saying this more for himself than anyone else. It didn’t even occur to him that his twin would be bothered by this. After all, he was the one dragged into this, and he has repeatedly stated that this was Connor’s dream and not his own. Well, that and Ritch doesn’t really care about change as much because he’s extremely adaptable. They both are, but Connor has never been able to stop himself from getting attached to certain things. It’s just how he functions.

    The rest of the walk to Marshal Fowler’s office is spent in silence and with that man in the suit attempting to trail behind them. Connor gives him points for effort, and he’s sure Ritch does too, but he has a feeling that he’s not the only one logging all of his mistakes so they don’t make the same ones.

    Inside the office area– which is not just Marshal Fowler’s office and a waiting room like the other one, but is instead a large room that has plenty of desks for many people– no one pays them or the suited man a distance behind them any mind. As Connor casually turns his head to look around the office, he sees the guy in the suit take a left as they keep going straight to the glass door. Ritch knocks, then opens the door for Connor, who then shuts it behind himself. They’re met with four people in the room; Marshal Fowler, Luther, Chloe, and an older lady they don’t recognize.

    He glances over at Ritch, who then does the same. He can tell that Ritch has finally accepted that they’re not going to be staying here past tomorrow morning, if even that.

    “Good evening Connor, Ritch.” the marshal greets politely.

    “Good evening.” they chorus together.

    “I hope you don’t mind waiting a minute for our fifth member, he hasn’t returned from getting you quite yet.”

    “Oh, the man following us?” Ritch blurts. It startles Connor because he’s never seen him blurt things out before, even before training. It’s always himself that does that and it’s never on purpose.

    At the unfamiliar woman’s raised brow, Connor tries to salvage what he can. “He was taking corners too soon after we had, and his shoes would click on the metal, rather than clang against it like everyone else’s boots. Those are the only reasons why we know.”

    “Well, no, those aren’t the only reasons we know, but those were the main reasons.”

    Connor sends Ritch a look that easily translates to what the hell are you doing? Although, his brother doesn’t spare him a glance.

    “I see, and you know the tells of this? You’re used to being followed, perhaps?” the woman asks in a way that seems like she’s trying to get dirt on them for a crime.

    “No ma’am,” Ritch says before Connor can get anything in, “We’ve just been highly trained. I doubt many things could sneak up on us.”

    Connor lightly smacks him on the thigh with his hand. Just what the hell is he thinking? What is he hoping to accomplish with this antagonization?

    Suit guy walks through the door before anything else can happen, thank goodness. He looks to Chloe and Luther and finds them hiding smiles. Connor doesn’t have a clue of where this is going, now. Why would they be hiding smiles? Chloe and Luther always had their backs, right? Unless this whole ordeal put them against him and Ritch… Damn it, he just doesn’t know and it’s making him uneasy. People are so confusing and complicated.

    The man in the suit entering the office pulls Connor from his thoughts.

    “The marshal was right,” Chloe states, now properly revealing her smile, “They both knew you were trailing them.”

    “Damn, really? You must have some serious training under your belt!” the man smiles, and all of it is overplayed. Connor wonders where the man would rather be right now. “How old did you say you were, again?”

    He never offered his age, but he decides against saying as much. “23 as of two days ago, sir.”

    “23?” the older woman says, “Both of you?”

    “Yes ma’am.” Ritch responds respectfully, if not a tad sharp.

    “And how long have you trained?” suit man asks, “Marshal Fowler said that you were in training for eleven years?”

    Connor hates this, so he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t want to accidentally screw both of them over with his fat, dumb mouth. Thankfully, Ritch doesn’t wait too long to respond and seems to have gotten out of his rebellious mood.

    “Almost, sir.”

    “That means you started training at thirteen?”

    “Just about, sir, if I remember correctly.” Ritch doesn’t like this as well. He can tell by his tone, but he doubts the other adults in the room notice anything off.

    “May I ask why we’re here?” Connor asks cautiously, but he’s ignored.

    “What kinds of things were you guys doing?” suit-man asks, sitting on the desk. He doesn’t see Marshal Fowler’s glare at the movement.

    For a long few moments, Ritch doesn’t say anything, so Connor does.

    “We were training mainly in combat and first aid–”

    “No,” the older woman interrupts, “What he means is, what did you guys do under your stepmother’s care when you weren’t training?”

    Connor can’t hold back a subtle face at the word “stepmother”, but he immediately knows that everyone still saw it. He hasn’t heard anyone besides his new friends and Ritch say that word in regards to Amanda. It just sounds… wrong coming out of anyone else’s mouth, as opposed to “trainer” or “guardian” like other adults in the past have called her.

    Ritch answers sharply, “We rested.”

    A long second goes by, then the marshal speaks. “And?”

    Another long, uncertain second, then Connor begins explaining. “I mean, we studied–”

    “Okay,” suit-man interrupts, “How often did you two get to play games, get out of the house for vacations, and do other things like that?” Connor doesn’t like how blank his face is, and that he can’t decipher what emotions he’s hiding.

    Wait… Are they trying to get dirt on Amanda? Ritch did mention that people tend to blame the parents or guardians in this type of situation. How much trouble would he get in for throwing her under the bus? For making sure he never has to go back under her care

    “We played down at the nearby park occasionally.” Connor supplies.

    “Yes, around once every other week for the first few months we lived there. In later years, though, we normally just studied our books–”

    “Because we needed to be jaeger pilots, and we wanted to make sure we were eligible to get in.”

    “You say you ‘needed’ to be jaeger pilots,” Luther starts, “Is that what you wanted, though?”

    Connor doesn’t hesitate like Ritch does, “I’ve wanted to be a jaeger pilot since people tried to make Marshal Fowler and Mr. Anderson television stars for how well they were doing in this line of work. Training has been… exceptionally hard as a whole, but I still want this more than any other job I’m eligible for that also uses the skills I’ve built up over the years.” He looks to Ritch, who is still looking to the ground with a frown and his eyebrows pushed together, “I don’t want to speak for my brother, but I refuse to go into a profession that lets my combat and first aid training go to waste.” he finishes quietly.

    Everyone just waits patiently for Ritch to answer after, surprisingly. Normally in interviews like this, they start asking simpler questions to urge one of them on (usually Connor, since he’s usually the one that gets tongue tied), but they still wait silently. It takes 17 seconds, Connor counts, and his brother’s expression never changes during that time or when he starts speaking.

    “I originally did not particularly want to be a pilot, but I started training because Connor needed me to in order to be one. I wasn’t prepared to be separated from him, but I also didn’t want to crush his dream, and I didn’t really have any aspirations beyond just wanting to help people, either, so I basically had nothing to lose. I did not like training at all from the very start, and I don’t think I like knowing that I can easily kill someone with a single punch or jab if I really wanted to.” Ritch’s face relaxes back to normal as he raises his head to face the interrogators, “But I like it here so far. The atmosphere was a bit much to adjust to at first, but now that I’m used to the schedules and the near-constant company, it’s actually becoming pleasant. And it’s just as Connor said, at this point in my life, I’d rather pilot a jaeger with someone than do any other job I’m qualified for, and I don’t want to put my years of training to waste. So after doing a bit of research, I believe that this is the best option for me.”

    “Research?” Chloe asks, “You were prepared to leave today?”

    “Always be prepared for anything so nothing catches you too far off guard.” Connor quotes Amanda as Ritch simultaneously admits, “Yes. We expected it, even.”

    After a beat of silence, the older woman moves along. ���Marshal Fowler said that you two mostly trained on your own?”

    “Yes, ma’am.” the twins say together.

    Ritch elaborates, “We had instructional videos and pointers from Amanda helping us along the way–”

    “But we mostly perfected our fighting style on our own and practiced against each other so our styles would perfectly compliment each other’s–”

    “Because that’s what was going to make us more compatible and help our chances in becoming a pilot.”

    Suit-man nods, “And you are supposed to be identical twins, yes?”

    Connor sees Ritch tense up out of the corner of his eye. This is still a sensitive topic. It ends up being Luther that starts that line of questions.

    “I understand that you wear boots with a slight heel due to medical reasons, but I’ve been wondering why you have a condition that Connor does not have.”

    He knows that this is an easier question for Ritch. “I used to wear high heels and boots with heels around the orphanages and foster homes we were placed at while growing up. I first started wearing them when I was six and liked being taller than most people my age, but then never stopped once I realized it helped people separate Connor and myself apart. That’s also why I started wearing lighter clothes and cutting my hair shorter, while Connor prefers his hair longer in the front and continues to wear darker clothes despite Amanda’s displeasure with it.”

    Connor nods his agreement.

    “And the eyes? How are your eyes blue? Do you wear contacts that we haven’t been informed of?”

    Connor takes over, knowing this is a tough subject for his brother, “It’s actually close to impossible for contacts to make dark eyes appear naturally silver, so…” He pauses to take a breath and figure out how to word the next part. “There is research being done on how people can permanently make their eyes lighter in color. I don’t know why this research is being done in the first place, but he was signed up for it as a part of the ‘helping people tell us apart’ thing.” He sees the older woman about to speak, but pretends that he didn’t and presses on anyway. “We have very different personalities and extremely different levels of tolerance for different things, so Amanda, Ritch, and I wanted us to be as separated as one could be from their identical twin.”

    “He said you were signed up? Not that you signed up?” the older woman asks Ritch directly.

    “Yes, ma’am.”

    “Did you want this procedure done?” Chloe gets to the point. Everyone is staring at them more intently and it’s making Connor uncomfortable.

    “Even as a minor, I had to sign my consent in order to be operated on since it is an experimental procedure.” Ritch’s tone gives away– likely only to Connor– that he’s starting to feel uneasy as well.

    No one seems pleased with that answer, least of all the man in the suit. He’s the one who asks the next question.

    “That doesn’t answer if you actually wanted it or not. You could have signed those papers if you felt like it was the lesser of two evils.”

    Connor turns his head to fully look at Ritch, and he isn’t looking very well. His face is too stoic and his unsettling eyes (they always are to Connor at least) seem even more so now that they’re growing distant. His body’s too tense, too ready to run out of the room or fight to get out of the situation. He hasn’t seen Ritch like this in years, not since Amanda had still affected him pretty badly when she’d scold them. Connor distantly wonders if what he is feeling now is how Ritch always feels when Connor gets this way, or if he just gets annoyed like he seems to.

    He decides that Ritch probably does not feel this way about Connor episodes because his brother usually has a way to get him to snap out of it. It’s somewhat frustrating because he can’t do anything for Ritch right now, not anything that wouldn’t ultimately make his condition worse or something.

    It takes a minute of tense silence before everyone gives up, taking his silence as the answer it is. It’s almost creepy how they’re like a hive mind or something. He catches the older woman’s eye as she gets up and silently leaves the room. Suit gets up next and smiles in a way that screams “I’m ready to go home and relax but I can’t yet”.

    “Well, I think that’s enough for us for now! Thank you so much for joining us, fellas. Hopefully this is the last time we see each other under these circumstances.” he laughs, holding out a hand for Connor to shake, which he does, “I’ll let you relax a bit here and let them tell you what the verdict is.”

    He leaves, and the room is plunged into yet another silence, this time less tense. It only lasts a few moments before Ritch speaks with an unexpectedly harsh tone that has Connor blinking in shock.

    “What was that?”

    Marshal Fowler answers quickly, “That was us trying to find out if you were guilty of lying on important documents, or if Amanda was guilty of coercion and generally being an unfit guardian.” Connor notes that he doesn’t say “parent” at all. He definitely caught Connor’s face at the word earlier, then. “She was the one found guilty.”

    “Just like that?” Connor blurts with wide eyes, “She didn’t do anything illegal–”

    “Not that we know of yet,” Chloe cuts off, “She was almost found to be unfit as a single mother due to her background in training young adults for the military mixed with her overall personality and… unique view on certain things. Like how a teenager should be treated.”

    “A teenager has the presence of mind that children don’t have, so they don’t need coddling and should start learning how to care for themselves.” Ritch quotes. “It seems fair to us.” Connor nods along.

    Luther sighs, “That’s technically true, but not quite right.” Connor doesn’t hide confusion, and neither does Ritch, apparently. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you– you guys know I always try to be– we’re going to have to set you up with therapists if you want to stay here.”

    Chloe jumps in, “We have therapists for all of the pilots and plenty of the other personnel around here, so it’s not just you personally and you would have been required to get one eventually anyway. But I don’t think you two realize how unhealthy both of your minds are right now, and I’d hate for that to get in the way of your social life and potential as a jaeger pilot.”

    “I know my head is all messed up.” Connor admits softly. He sees Ritch turn his head sharply to him out of the corner of his eye., “I had to skip two days of evaluations because of a valid question some people asked me. I’m just shocked you’re allowing us to stay despite doing the two things that should get us dismissed immediately on top of the mental issues.”

    Marshal Fowler’s features soften in a way that Connor didn’t know was possible for him. “Most people in this place have some kind of mental issue, and I remember that you tried to tell me on your first day here that you had to lie on your application, so you did the next best thing when I didn’t listen.”

    “You’re making it sound like it’s your fault, sir.” Ritch points out.

    “Yeah, well, it partially is my fault, but Amanda also shouldn’t have done what she did to you two, and you should have gotten proper help instead of ranting to Han– Anderson about it.”

    Ritch’s head snaps back to Connor, obviously displeased, and Connor gets more tense than he already was because of it. He resists the urge to mess with the belt buckle loops on his pants.

    “Mr. Anderson…?”

    “He came and talked to us today. Said to keep you guys around, and he never speaks for anyone. Even before when we piloted together he normally just kept to himself, so the fact that he felt the need to even speak about this to me says something.”

    “Mr. Anderson came and talked to you? About us?” Connor asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

    It just doesn’t make sense. He’s only been a burden to the older pilot, so why would he actively try to keep them here? He thought Mr. Anderson would be relieved to have him gone, to have him out of his space and no longer taking things from him and complaining about things that can’t be helped or changed, or things that apparently could be changed.

    So Hank Anderson doesn’t mind his presence too much after all. If he did, he wouldn’t have particularly cared if Connor left or not, yet he felt the need to do something about the possibility of him leaving. Connor almost decides that he doesn’t know how to feel about this, but then a sudden rush of happiness bursts inside of him.

    Someone saw him at some of his lowest and most annoying points, and yet he didn’t push him away. Mr. Anderson didn’t force him out or ignore him until he got the hint and left on his own.

    “Connor.” Ritch hisses, and he has a feeling that that’s not the first time he’s been called.

    He blinks hard, “Sorry, I apologize. I just… I’m really surprised he said anything. I thought he’d be annoyed of me by now, that he’d be indifferent that I’m gone at best…” He shakes his head to clear any lingering thoughts, “Anyway, I’m sorry, but what were you saying before?”

    Marshal Fowler laces his hands together on his desk. “I was saying– between us only– keep up whatever it is you’re doing, because he’s looking less tormented recently than he has in a long time. I don’t think he’s actually tolerated someone new being at his table for so long before, either. It’s obvious you talk to him, but does he talk to you too?”

    Connor shakes his head. “Not really? I don’t really talk to him all that much either, it just sorta… happens sometimes, I guess. He asks something then I just keep going and rambling and he just doesn’t tell me to shut up. But I just– I don’t know.” he shrugs, “I just don’t think he’s as horrible and grumpy as everyone’s been trying to tell me he is. Or maybe he is and I have low standards. It’s honestly just as likely, I think.”

    “I think he’s more relaxed around you than anyone else.” Ritch adds, to his surprise. “He probably wants to protect you like some kind of puppy, but you aren’t childish or stupid like most people who need protection, so you don’t end up annoying him.” He takes a breath. “Someone should get him a dog.”

    Marshal Fowler laughs, actually laughs, with a little head shake and everything. Chloe and Luther seem just as surprised to see and hear it. Connor wonders if the dog thing was some kind of inside joke between him and Mr. Anderson at some point.

    “Hank is a definite dog lover. Good to know even that much is still obvious.” He goes back to his serious, stoic self with no evidence the joy from before, “You both start therapist-jumping in two days to find one that’s right for you, and you’ll be redoing all of your evaluations again starting tomorrow, and you better not even fucking think about lying time, ya hear? Or I’m gonna gut you like a fish and toss you into the ocean.”

    “Yes, sir!” they say together earnestly, completely unaffected by the empty threat.

    Luther nods to the door, “Go on and get out of here. You’re officially without partners now, so start seriously looking in case you graduate early.”

    “Yes, sir!” They repeat again with slight smiles, and they leave quickly.

    They have hope here after all. They don’t have to leave and be trapped in the world on their own. They can still be pilots, and it doesn’t sound like any of this is going to be blamed on them. Thank god.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

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A/N: Hey guys! I am so super glad to have this chapter out finally!! Now I know that the entire first half of this chapter seems pointless or redundant, but I promise that they’ll lead into actual plot stuff later. Now! I am falling asleep at my computer because I don’t know how to sleep at night apparently Lol. Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you have a pleasant day/night!! 💕💖

[christianslaterreview]

Way of the Wicked (2014) dir. Kevin Caraway

Synopsis:

Christian Slater portrays an excommunicated priest who has been tracking and studying a young man named Robbie after Robbie mysteriously killed one of his peers when they were both children. Father Henry (Slater) believes Robbie to be an incarnation of some cosmic and spiritual Evil that he subsequently dedicates five years of his life to researching. Vinnie Jones, portraying the town's local detective, joins forces with Father Henry to stop Robbie from wreaking demonic havoc after Robbie becomes the prime suspect in a murder of a local high school boy.

Review:

Christian Slater's ability to give a convincing performance despite a total lack of compelling dialogue, well developed characters, engaging cinematography, and an overall concise and trackable plot was the only small mercy that helped make this 1 1/2 hour film feel like 3hrs instead of 6.

My first disappointment was how little screentime Slater actually got during the course of the movie. With his face displayed on every poster and with every summary claiming Slater "stars" in the film, Slater probably only got about ten minutes of screen time total. Although every character felt entirely undeveloped even by the third act, Father Henry, despite being one of the characters with the most narrative potential, was regrettably left by the wayside for much of the film; only hopping on screen for a minute or two at a time to help quickly advance the plot. Every brief scene he was in his only purpose was to toss convenient morsels of context and information for the rest of the characters to wax expositional about in the next few scenes.

Father Henry is the first face that we see in the movie, but he spends the first and second act being a peeping Tom; never fully in shot and spying on all the other characters through leaves just to make sure the audience hasn't forgotten this character that has yet to be useful.

It's only after the plot begins to accelerate that Father Henry steps in with information about the evil entity, which the audience should have been provided in the beginning. Slater portrays one of the most interesting characters in the movie, but none of it is ever explored or used as a narrative point of view to create emotional stakes. We find out that Father Henry was exiled from the church (probably for his beliefs about Robbie) and has spent the last five years of his life consumed by his obsession with Robbie. But none of this is mentioned more than in passing! Additionally, he's just a bad fucking researcher, and for someone who should be an "expert" on whatever evil is inside Robbie (or is Robbie?) he sure does get himself easily killed off by being fucking strangled by his garish, solid gold rosary that's 9x bigger than it has to be.

His death scene was supremely disappointing 1) because I never want Christian Slater's characters to die duh, but 2) because it was tensionless, unnecessary, and over in the blink of an eye. His meaningless death only served to seal Father Henry as an impotent, half baked character although he was advertised as being some badass demon killer with explosions going on behind him.

aside: if this movie had focused solely on Father Henry and closely followed his character arc throughout the story, the plot twist reveal and his death would have been so much more emotionally impactful and compelling.

Besides the shortcomings of Father Henry in terms of character development, the writers did the audience a further disservice by making him the sole vehicle by which we get information about the evil.

For instance, when he meets up with detective Elliot he can't provide a clear answer to any one of Elliot's questions nor can he seem to provide any actual evidence of his claims (he just keeps repeating shit about how these "dates line up"). So, after impressing on Elliot that time is running out, he gives the detective volumes of assigned reading to do since he's incapable of explaining what he has devoted five years of his life to.

aside: the complete lack of any indications of organization and research (margin notes, highlights, color coded tabs, a goddamn corkboard with pictures and string) by Father Henry were some of the details this film was missing that made it feel so depthless and cheap.

As I said above, Slater's performance was the saving grace of this movie (only because I love him sm), which really is saying something as there wasn't really a well of rich dialogue or captivating cinematography for him to use (every shot of this movie was so boring and straightforward. The whole thing was visually reminiscent of a reality TV show). All the other actors performances were tolerable and probably would have improved considerably if the script was better. Almost all of the movie is tedious, expositional dialogue, resulting in all the characters feeling rehearsed. I didn't form any kind of attachment to any of the characters because each of them felt so formulaic and contrived. And I know it's not his fault, but I can't take Vinnie Jones seriously with his accent and he'll always ruin every serious role he's in (sowwy Vinnie).

Sadly, the backstory that actually got the most exposé was the obviously cloying backstory of detective Elliot's wife and Heather's mom (whose name we don't even learn) who died when Heather was a child. The mother's death does become relevant late in the third act of the film, but its reason is as convoluted and half baked as the rest of the film.

Which I think is my main issue with this movie: there is no trackable plot, defined stakes, or clear point of view. The movie begins with a scene that takes place while Robbie is still a boy, right after the murder of one of his peers. Father Henry opens the film by questioning Robbie and his mother about the incident, clearly convinced that Robbie murdered the other boy with his powers. After the opening, I was expecting the movie to follow Father Henry throughout. Showing us his research, giving us a consistent storyline to follow, providing us with a character to invest in to give the film more depth, etc. But no, the plot jumps forward in time five years (the time jump also wasn't super clear to me, but that could have just been because I was high) when Robbie has moved back into town and then jumps back and forth between Heather's, detective Elliot's, and Father Henry's respective storylines. The result is jarring cuts and sporadic shifts in pacing. Certain scenes seem to drag on forever although they're contributing nothing to the plot while pivotal moments feel rushed and secondary.

Overall, the plot felt like following the writer's train of thought, darting back and forth between plot points to fill in the holes left earlier. Rather than using Father Henry to establish the signs and clues the audience should be looking out for and following (such as the "two angels"), he just keeps popping up every two scenes to give information we should have had right off the bat. The whole "two angels" shit doesn't come in until the last fucking five minutes of the film, but this crucial part of his research is never explained in the start nor even really at the end. It could have been a clue that would have kept the audience guessing and interested, ultimately setting up the plot twist at the end. But nope, this shit that Father Henry should have memorized like his own address, he can't even bother to explain until the scene before it becomes relevant (if we get even that much notice).

In the end, we're never really given any info from Father Henry about what precisely this Evil is, why it chose Robbie, what ancient texts predict it, or even what the hell this demon thing wants. The stakes just seem to be that Robbie's going to do somethin' bad. He isn't even given a lazy motivation like "he wants to end the world" or "he needs a womb to spawn his demon army." We literally have no clue what the specific stakes are, which in turn, means that Father Henry and Elliot have no plan on how to stop him. They just kind of stalk Robbie and threaten him. There's no exorcism they need to perform or esoteric ritual they need to perform to banish him to The Demon Realm™️. The only concrete info we're given is that two angels are supposed to be relevant somehow ("one of the stone and one of the flesh") and somehow Father Henry knows the two angels are the stone angel at the cemetery and Heather herself. Unsurprisingly, he does not offer any evidence of why he thinks that is. We also never really know what qualifies as an "angel" since neither Heather nor the statue are celestial benevolent beings. This is one of the many things that could have been established at the start of the film, giving the audience a puzzle to solve.

And then there's the plot twist.

The plot twist you had to know was coming because this film had no choice but to make one last, desperate grab for the audience's imagination within the last two minutes. Ooooh shit ooo ahhhwooww oh fuck hoooo mybiggiantbrain is explodinggg because Heather was the Evil THE WHOLE TIME AHHHHHH !!!!!

This is the shit that really offends me. I can't believe the audience is deliberately mislead with zero clues that allude to the truth and then we're shit all over with a cheap underwhelming plot twist that never previously existed in the story or actors' performances until the moment of the reveal. If you're gonna do a plot twist, you have to unveil the story in front of the audiences eyes while sincerely attempting to mislead them, all while giving them a chance to discover the twist for themselves! Audiences don't like being tricked, they like being surprised.

God knows I love going back and trying to find all the things I missed that I could have noticed the first time around. Even better, I love when I pick up on them and end up predicting it correctly.

But in Way of the Wicked, the audience isn't given any of this. From the start, the story is played out exactly like Robbie is the anti-christ (or whatever), and the audience who hasn't been given any information, has no choice but to blindly believe the director. But in the end, our trust is shit all over and our intelligence insulted by a cheap "gotcha" ploy that we didn't even have a chance of besting. Even worse, the plot twist adds nothing to the story or the characters at all. Already I don't care about any of them because we've barely gotten to know anyone, so I still don't care about the plot twist because I was never invested to begin with.

Then literally a minute after the reveal, the movie "wraps up" and it's curtains. Detective Elliot straight up murders Robbie and the only tying up of that loose end we get is him nearly inaudibly explaining to another officer that it was self defense as we zoom out into an arial shot. And that's it. We have no idea how Elliot deals with his daughter being a fucking demon or if Heather's mom's death had anything to do with it or not.

This actually could have been an interesting story and it probably could have actually been a horror movie as Way of the Wicked was advertised (lmao) if they had any idea how to organize a plot, write dialogue, and create compelling visuals. Instead Kevin Carraway gave us a teen drama about a young woman navigating a life in high school after the death of her mother, which just so happens to take place while this wild af demon shit be happening.

Way of the Wicked gets a total of 0 Slaters out of a possible 10 Slaters. For no fault of Christian's by any means though. I was prepared to give it 3 Slaters but then they killed off Father Henry so I was pissed whoops

[alex-guerin]

So, the company I work for supplies all the local convenience stores and Speedway gas stations East of the Mississippi River with all their stuff inside the store (you go in and buy a phone charger from a Speedway station? Boom. Came from us. That Snickers ice cream bar you chowed down on? Picked from our freezer...well...not MY freezer -- unless you live within 100 miles of my particular warehouse, but one of our company’s warehouses). Our two major stores use to be Circle K (”Strange things are afoot at the Circle K...”) and Speedway. 

Second week of January, our contract with Circle K was up and they switched to a different distribution company. All of the sudden, our work days went from 10 to 12 hrs a day..............to 4.5. I’m not even kidding you. Today the freezer half of my department was done at 4am, my crew in the cooler was done at 4:30am. We started at midnight.  For months, and I do mean MONTHS, management was begging anyone and everyone who was willing to work as many hours as possible, to work as many hours as possible. The paychecks were decent, so those of us who decided to work extra hours never really complained, too much. 

Now that we’ve hit slow travel season, and we’ve lost Circle K, management doesn’t really want anyone putting in any over time. In fact, if it were up to them, they probably would have preferred that my entire department left once we were finished today...after only 4 or 4.5 hours of work. While 2nd shift no doubt got their full 8 or more hours in today. My shift (3rd shift) is the only one NOT promised a full 8 hour shift. We’d still be called full-timers, still get all the benefits, but there was a good chance we’d be lucky most days to make 36hrs a week during the winter (at least, that’s how it was last winter once we finally hit our winter hours). Now it’s even less likely unless our manager can find something for us to do until 8:30 when we hit our full 8 hr mark. 

Well, I like to stay and help Jason on Wednesdays. It’s a heavy day for him, and I like getting to help break down the skids that come in full of product, arrange them on the pallets, and slap the labels on so he can get them confirmed into the system and put away in the freezer. It’s a fun little way for me to be able to spend more time with him, and more often than not, we joke around and tease each other and play and be goofy and everything’s cool. So, when my guys finished at 4:30, and I finished stacking at 5:30/6am, I just wandered my way out to the dock, looked to see what Jason was working on breaking down and dove right in. 

My manager found me a few minutes later and was like, “Hey, you’re cool to stay until 8:30. But that’s it. Anything more than that, and we gotta go talk to the warehouse manager. They don’t want anyone to get any overtime right now.” Because of fucking course they don’t want anyone to get any overtime right now. Guuuuuuuuuh!! So, I said that was fine (*cue Morgan Freeman’s narration: “It was in fact not fine,”*) and I set about working to get as much done as I could in what little time I actually had. 

Now, Jason has not been feeling well this week. He called off Friday cuz he wasn’t feeling well, and he still isn’t up to par yet. I dropped cold and flu meds off for him Monday after I finished work (which his dad decided to steal most of, thanks dad...) and yesterday he basically went home straight after work and went straight to bed. Today, he still wasn’t feeling well. And on top of that, his “helper” Oscar was being an utter dumbass again and pissing him off right from the start of his shift. So, he was not in a good mood. At all. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get him to laugh or play or anything with me. He went on his first break at 6:30, I went with, and finally got him to talk and tell me what was wrong (Oscar, of course, was the reason. As he usually is). It seemed to help him a little to vent, but not enough to get him to play with me. 

Now, last week, he and I were being goofy and playful and...yeah alright, inappropriate but in a fairly innocent way (if that’s possible? All talk, I guess you could say?) and then on Wednesday, I was gonna be brave and do something for him at work (*coughs-lethimcopafeel-coughs*) where the cameras couldn’t see. It was Wednesday, I had hit my 8 hr mark, I was gonna head home. Went into the freezer where I knew he was and kinda nudged his side and told him to meet me in the ice cream room...where there’s no cameras whatsoever. He didn’t question it, he just went. I met him in there, he hopped off his forklift, pulled his skimask down, took half a step forward, his hands were reaching for my waist and while my brain was screaming to abort, my mouth was already telling him to close his eyes so I could take his hand and shove it against my chest. I literally missed a chance (and it was confirmed that I missed it) to make out with a sober Jason in the ice cream room at work. So, I decided today I was gonna ask for a redo! I wanted a second chance dammit! It got to be a little after 8, Corie (the coworker who cornered him and told him to go talk to me waaaaaaaaay back in September for the first time) was heckling me and telling me to go do it, I only had 20 minutes left before I was suppose to leave, he was alone in the freezer, there’s no cameras in the 95 aisle either, go fucking make out with him. So, I went wandering in and up to his forklift. We talked a bit, he thought I was leaving so he gave me my hug and I still just kinda hung around trying to get him to talk a little more and finally when he was like, “I should get back to work.” I was like, “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “Damn. I kinda was hoping I could get a redo of last week.” He gave a surprised laugh and was all, “What?” “I was hoping I could get a redo of last week. I blew it last week! I want a redo!” He tried to play like he didn’t know what I was talking about, I nudged at him and told him he totally knew what I was talking about. He finally was like, “Eh...well...maybe...” I just smirked at him and raised an eyebrow and tried to nudge a bit more and he went, “C’mon, really, lemme get back to work. I wanna get out of here at a decent time.” 

I was totally rejected. Turned down. I felt utterly stupid and kind of ashamed of myself for even suggesting it. I nodded and let go of his forklift and was like, “Okay, gimme another hug, I’ll go.” So, got another hug (a nice hug, both arms, sides of our heads tilted against each others), turned, shoved my hands in my pockets and shuffled off out of the freezer. 

Corie was still out on the dock, on her own forklift, talking to their manager, John. She saw me come out, I made a grumbling face, which got her to laughing and then when John looked from me to her and said something, she started laughing more. I went up and tried to play like I didn’t know why she was laughing, and both her and John just waved me off. I went and got my shit together, locked up my locker, felt like a total dumbass, and went to try and leave. Went up to Corie’s forklift and she finally was like, “Alright, so, 1: I was laughing cuz I saw your face. 2: Because John saw you walk out ahead of Jason and went, ‘Oh, they took a trip to the ice cream room, huh?’ Oh, by the way, John totally knows about you guys, totally by my own fault.” 

..........I don’t know whether to kill Corie, or just never show my face around their manager ever again. Either way, Corie got me to stick around a little while longer, until it was basically 8:30 on the nose, and during that time she was all, “Dude. I can’t believe he turned you down!” then look over her shoulder to see where he was and scream, “DUMBASS!” Pretty sure he had no idea she was talking about him. Then, right before I was gonna leave for real, she was like, “I’m totally gonna go up to Jason and be like, ‘Bro, you should give Lyssa a li’l somethin’-somethin’ in the freezer before she leaves.’” I begged her not to! She was just doing it to try and embarrass me and him! She grabbed up a stack of labels, went over to him and I ducked behind a pallet to hide cuz JFC how is this my life?!?! And yeah, she totally did it. Thankfully, he didn’t know she was serious. He just laughed about it. So, I left and felt stupid (though, did feel better once I found out that Purple Haired Bitch had left a while ago and never came onto the dock looking for him, he never left the dock to go with her, I was sooooo happy!) and texted him at like, 11am to apologize and say that I just thought if I could get him to play, it might help make his day a little more bearable. I figured the only response from him I’d get, if I got one at all, would be “It’s all good.” 

I grabbed my pajamas, and a towel, went and took a long, hot shower and when I came back down there was a text from him. As expected, it was, “It’s all good.” But there was more! “Just not feeling well and I don’t want to get you sick.” *Dopey grin and cuddles phone close* It wasn’t cuz he didn’t want to, or because last Thursday he sent me a text saying “I think we should start behaving”. It was cuz he doesn’t wanna get me sick. Which is what I told Corie I figured it was when he turned me down. And the meds I gave him? He’s actually taking. He literally just sent me another text, basically letting me know he was off of work, saying “Time to go take more meds lol”. I just...I know why he’s not ready for a serious relationship, and I know he’s been burned so many times before that he’s scared of it happening again, but I just...I’m gonna keep hoping. And trying, and working at him. I feel like I am chipping away his resolve, tiny bits at a time, but still doing so. And I know his life is an utter wreck right now thanks to his bitch of an ex, but there’s times when it feels like he’s almost willing to give it a shot. I’ve been praying, A LOT, and I’m not one for praying or very religious, but I have been praying a lot, every day...and amazingly enough, in small ways it feels like they’re being answered. 

His mom told me Friday when she and I were talking, if I thought he was worth it, to be patient with him and get him to talk. I’m as ridiculously patient with him as he is with me. I’m gonna keep working at him, keep trying to chip away at the shield he’s got around his heart. At this moment, right now, I have no intentions of giving up. He’s stuck with me. For however long it takes.