#remember that season 10 will be coming soon and there are endless possibilities for an amazing new chapter to begin :D

[isjasz]

Remember, there is always a great big beautiful tomorrow.

[frostpunk-models-lw]

Model Builder: Frostpunk DLC on Steam

💾 ►►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥 Relics are items that can be found in the Frostlands in Endless mode. They are stored in the Archives once brought to your city. Each relic provides some in-game lore. There are 17 relics total. Relics can be found after the first storm cycle in Endless mode by scouting Buried Dreadnoughts. There are typically three relics per storm cycle. When your scouts arrive at a dreadnought, they will have one of three options:. Note: When a Relic is first discovered, a roll is triggered that will determine which of the costs will appear for the Risk option. This roll is based on current resources in storage, thus if the player has no Steam Cores in storage, the risk will be a toxic trap rather than a sooty tomb. The journal of Frederick Stanhope Morton, a year-old engineer employed in the construction of an early Generator. While he believed it to be the very first one, he was most likely misled. I cannot stop thinking how obscenely wasteful this whole endeavor is. To put such an astonishing amount of materials and so many months of hard work into building this marvel here, where nobody but a handful of selected scientists, financiers and assorted notables can see it - words fail me. Supposedly they don't want to get peoples hopes up in case the whole project ends in a fiasco. But I can't see how such a simple and elegant mechanism could fail. The Generator is the key to our future. Once the concept is proven, we can provide everyone with shelter and basic sustenance, using the vast resources of the Empire. We only need time. A page from a set of blueprints for a Chemical Plant that was rejected by the Industry Committee. It contains comments from at least two different people involved in the decision process. It deeply saddens me to say that while the design is elegant and highly practical, I cannot recommend implementing it. Hard liquor is the least dangerous among the variety of substances an unscrupulous leader could use to keep the people in check, and this plant is capable of turning out many drugs and stimulants as well. It is our duty to weigh the benefits for the colony of the various chemicals that can be produced in this plant against the mortal danger some of them pose not just to the well-being of the populace, but to their immortal souls! Transfer to Proposals under Consideration. Comments on a rejected kitchen design, from a letter written by Master Planner Henry Collins to his wife. It was found among other effects of Mrs Collins in her cabin. The design was supposed to be easy to build with rudimentary tools and materials, while being as comfortable as possible, but Mumford's team focused entirely on the former criterion, neglecting the latter. The result is an abject failure: a cramped hovel where the diners would get frostbitten while the cooks would get burnt, turning meals into a particularly cruel torture. I intended to insist on a redesign that meets all of our requirements. But I fear that even in a proper kitchen there will soon be no ingredients nor time to make proper meals, not when hundreds have to be fed every single day. And concerning spices - they're frowned upon as a waste of precious space on dreadnoughts. It is estimated that the average consumption of salt alone exceeds 10 pounds per capita per annum, which means that in less than a year it will be gone. This book was published in and contains 36 plays by William Shakespeare. It was enclosed in an armored case filled with neutral gas. A note was found with it. Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. Remember: not all is lost. The spring will come. Have hope, and endure. With this I leave you, and wish you courage. Henry Wetherby, bookworm. A fragment of a Royal Society member's diary where she's reminiscing on her work in the Arctic Housing Committee, reviewing designs of modern and efficient Arctic housing. Snow huts were deemed beneath the dignity of the English people, and they were also impractical, as they tended to melt in the liveable temperatures. The chair was pushing his "London house," designed to remind the people of the streets of our capital, but I knew that they wouldn't have the means to build the kind of housing Sir Edmund considered adequate. A much more practical, if ugly, sheet metal hut designed by Jenkins also brought London to mind, just its less fancy districts. I added more insulation and dropped the triple bunks at the advice of admiral McClintock, whose people built snow huts to escape the confines of their ship during their wintering in the Arctic. The main objective is establishing and following a set of robust security procedures, and enlisting as needed the help of the technical staff, to protect the scientific members of the expedition from dangers posed by the ferocious Arctic fauna and weather [ The following part of your mission is considered state secret. Report all mentions of anthropogenic sulphur aerosols or the term "Saffron Cloud" while doing your best to refute any and all rumours concerning them. Our operatives have failed to uncover any conclusive evidence of the mere existence, much less use of this alleged doomsday weapon. You must not allow such unfounded theories to distract the scientists from finding out the real reason behind the recent cooling. Object from the British Museum collection of Roman artifacts, about years old. Found among the effects of one of the deceased passengers, along with his journal. You can imagine my thoughts. I rushed back into our cabin, wading in ice-cold water to my knees, but he wasn't there. Desperation seized me, but then I heard the patter of his feet above. He emerged from the tangle of smashed crates. I caught him in my arms and ran. We barely made it. As we cast off, I noticed that Robert was clutching something tightly in his hand. Because he's a horsie, but with wheels. So here it is: the story of how this part of the collection was saved. The rest now lies at the bottom, and I pray that the crates which weren't crushed by the ice hold until we can retrieve them. A page from an engineer's notebook detailing his opinion on automaton designs proposed by Sir Thomas Merton of Nether Wallop in Test Valley. If I had a penny for every letter we got from well-wishers convinced that a machine built to their specifications could face the Great Winter, I'd be a rich man. I'm all for people trying things outside of their domain, but you need a feel for this, or at least a bit of common sense. One look at these abominations is enough to tell they'd topple before they took a first step. With the center of gravity this high, two legs won't do! And what were they supposed to grab with these hands? Perhaps a shovel to dig themselves out of the snow they'd be constantly sinking in. It was found in a steel safe with a note from, presumably, the last Master of the Jewel Office. James, I have already used my connections to secure the other jewels, but you are the only man I know I can trust with this. Now that almost every single piece of the Queen's most prized collections has been auctioned away to fund the expeditions, the Exchequer is starting to mention the unthinkable. The Crown Jewels must not be sold! If I have to steal them in order to save them, so be it. A model of the Steam Core prototype, which was picked from the sea by a corvette searching for Professor Hawkins. A report of the commanding officer is attached. The cause of the accident is at present unknown, but as it's exceedingly unlikely that anyone will ever read this report, I will allow myself the liberty to speculate that it was either a mechanical failure or pilot error. Contributing factors include weather, inadequate crew training and the experimental nature of the aeroplane. It was sheer folly on the part of Mr Hawkins to attempt the crossing in a largely untested machine, and utter, criminal madness to let him board it. A page from the journal of Lieutenant R. Phillips, who was lost with his entire scouting party leading a survey from the dreadnought, HM Resolution. It was the strangest blizzard I've ever experienced, although I cannot say what made me feel that way, if it was the eerie wailing of the wind or the monstrous dark shapes formed by the billowing snow. When we finally got to the village longing for a warm welcome, we found only ice and silence. The disappointment was all the more hard to bear since I remembered the fishermen living there so well. They were cheerful, if somewhat coarse folk, hardened by the cold and work at sea; a close-knit community, but friendly to the outsiders nonetheless. We've looked for clues to their disappearance, but found none. Apparently the whole village has moved out, taking everything they could with them and, to our astonishment, locking the doors. A fragment of Mr Erasmus Quain's diary, describing his experience as a member of a hunting party. Most of the pages were damaged and unreadable. The first thing we learned was that the barrels of rifles carried the usual way become jammed with fine, windborne powder. The second - that when carried muzzle down, rifles get stuck into the snow whenever we stumble or sink to the knees. Thereafter, an old sock put on the business end of the barrel was the preferred solution, although when the picture above was being taken I had removed the sock to preserve my image as a fearless explorer. We soon discovered that hunting in Frostland is an activity very unlike our favorite pasttime back in England. Although the game is not skittish, it is so scarce that to bag anything at all, one has to search for hours upon hours, wading in knee deep snow. This drove us to attempt the first, and the last so far, airborne assisted hunt in Frostland. I volunteered, being the adventurous sort rumours about the existence of a bet are entirely fanciful. We fashioned a string of sturdy kites and soon I found myself dangling from it like a hare in eagle's talons, staring at the faces of my friends looking up at me, their poorly concealed concern rapidly rising in direct proportion to my altitude. Whipped around by the icy wind, I tried to look for prey while at the same time not looking down, a feat which I found quite impossible. Upon my happy return to terra firma, I let my friends know in no uncertain terms that while the idea had promise, we are going to need a more stable platform for it to work, and also another volunteer. Until both can be secured, we'll have to rely more on lowly traps and less on our rifles. A fragment of the patent description for The Lamp, attached to a service manual. It was found inside a fireproof locker in the dreadnought's library. The device affords the user a source of light and heat, and a means to sound a distress signal. As such, it is considered vital for survival, as its malfunction in typical operating conditions is essentially a death sentence. Therefore it is necessary to provide maintenance training for every engineer assigned to the Expedition and to equip every dreadnought with a set of blueprints and operation manuals. We are greatly indebted to the late Mr Henry Heather Bigg, particularly for his seminal book "On artificial limbs, their construction and application" published by the Royal College of Surgeons of England. Building upon his work, we were able to restore to the patient most of the lost functionality, including not only the action of the elbow joint but also that of the wrist in its several motions of pronation, supination, and rotation. The appearance, as can be seen in the drawing above, was deemed secondary. The motion of the artificial limb is assured by small motors, which use the motive power of the Lamp device, or, when the Lamp is removed, of internal springs that can be wound by locking the elbow joint and bending it repeatedly, for example by leaning on it. A set of surgeon's tools that belonged to Sir Thomas Watters, a physician on one of the first Frostland expeditions, with a page from his personal notebook. As a field surgeon I saw my fair share of horrors that required amputations, but nothing could prepare me for the dreadful reality of living in this Hel of Norse mythology. Merely trying to survive in such temperatures is like being on a battlefield. Frostbite is as common as a bullet wound and likewise as dangerous. So it's not surprising that the tools we received in London could have come straight from my field chest, with emphasis on speed and brutal efficiency. For anesthesia I got a small bottle of ether and a wooden gag. God have mercy on us. A letter to the editor clipped from The New Times of London edition published shortly before the fall. In these calamitous times, when people look into the future with trepidation, I am writing to you so you may pass to the readers a message of hope which I have received from my husband, an engineer working on a great public project undertaken by Her Majesty's Government. It's an ingenious device which, when finished, will provide heat for a colony created to safely accommodate hundreds, if not thousands, of inhabitants and protect them from the harsh winter weather. I was told that such colonies are being built for people from all parts of the Empire who could be most affected by the current climate change. Thank you very much for the opportunity you've given me to acquaint myself with the operation of this settlement. Thanks to your inventive scheduling of the deliveries, the usual questions an administrator faces most days weren't troubling me too long. For example, the answer to "what will my people eat tomorrow? I would not presume to know your intentions for cutting our supplies, nor would I second-guess your decision. You must certainly have had your reasons. Nevertheless, I believe I can no longer in good conscience lead our people when I am not able to answer their questions as to the outlook of our colony to their satisfaction. Frostpunk Wiki Explore. Main page Community portal Recent changes Random page Admin noticeboard. Useful pages. Frostpunk links. Gamepedia support Report a bad ad Help Wiki Contact us. Explore Wikis Community Central. Register Don't have an account? Edit source History Talk 0. Do you like this video? Play Sound. Categories : Lore Add category. Cancel Save. Fan Feed 1 Lore 2 Buildings 3 Generator. Universal Conquest Wiki. A Utopia for our times I cannot stop thinking how obscenely wasteful this whole endeavor is. Forbidden fruit It deeply saddens me to say that while the design is elegant and highly practical, I cannot recommend implementing it. Hellish Kitchen [ My dear, can you imagine life without salt? To the finder of this treasure "Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds. Home is where the heat is. Then I forged Sir Edmund's signature and the Bunkhouse was born. Unthinkable theory The main objective is establishing and following a set of robust security procedures, and enlisting as needed the help of the technical staff, to protect the scientific members of the expedition from dangers posed by the ferocious Arctic fauna and weather [ Robert's horsie [ Engineer's Lament If I had a penny for every letter we got from well-wishers convinced that a machine built to their specifications could face the Great Winter, I'd be a rich man. The last of the Queen's jewels James, I have already used my connections to secure the other jewels, but you are the only man I know I can trust with this. The tragic loss of Dragonfly [ Abandoned Fishing Village [ They were good people. I hope they will come back someday. The Peculiarities of Hunting in Frostland The first thing we learned was that the barrels of rifles carried the usual way become jammed with fine, windborne powder. Life-saving equipment [ Function above form We are greatly indebted to the late Mr Henry Heather Bigg, particularly for his seminal book "On artificial limbs, their construction and application" published by the Royal College of Surgeons of England. My everyday tools As a field surgeon I saw my fair share of horrors that required amputations, but nothing could prepare me for the dreadful reality of living in this Hel of Norse mythology. Sir, In these calamitous times, when people look into the future with trepidation, I am writing to you so you may pass to the readers a message of hope which I have received from my husband, an engineer working on a great public project undertaken by Her Majesty's Government. A handwritten note at the bottom reads: "Find and eliminate the source of this leak". Sir, I am hereby tendering my resignation from the position of the administrator of Third Colony. I remain your humble and obedient servant. Frederick Stockton.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

“Elliot Page doesn’t remember exactly how long he had been asking.

But he does remember the acute feeling of triumph when, around age 9, he was finally allowed to cut his hair short. “I felt like a boy,” Page says. “I wanted to be a boy. I would ask my mom if I could be someday.” Growing up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Page visualized himself as a boy in imaginary games, freed from the discomfort of how other people saw him: as a girl. After the haircut, strangers finally started perceiving him the way he saw himself, and it felt both right and exciting.

The joy was short-lived. Months later, Page got his first break, landing a part as a daughter in a Canadian mining family in the TV movie Pit Pony. He wore a wig for the film, and when Pit Pony became a TV show, he grew his hair out again. “I became a professional actor at the age of 10,” Page says. And pursuing that passion came with a difficult compromise. “Of course I had to look a certain way.”

We are speaking in late February. It is the first interview Page, 34, has given since disclosing in December that he is transgender, in a heartfelt letter posted to Instagram, and he is crying before I have even uttered a question. “Sorry, I’m going to be emotional, but that’s cool, right?” he says, smiling through his tears.

It’s hard for him to talk about the days that led up to that disclosure. When I ask how he was feeling, he looks away, his neck exposed by a new short haircut. After a pause, he presses his hand to his heart and closes his eyes. “This feeling of true excitement and deep gratitude to have made it to this point in my life,” he says, “mixed with a lot of fear and anxiety.”

It’s not hard to understand why a trans person would be dealing with conflicting feelings in this moment. Increased social acceptance has led to more young people describing themselves as trans—1.8% of Gen Z compared with 0.2% of boomers, according to a recent Gallup poll—yet this has fueled conservatives who are stoking fears about a “transgender craze.” President Joe Biden has restored the right of transgender military members to serve openly, and in Hollywood, trans people have never had more meaningful time onscreen. Meanwhile, J.K. Rowling is leveraging her cultural capital to oppose transgender equality in the name of feminism, and lawmakers are arguing in the halls of Congress over the validity of gender identities. “Sex has become a political football in the culture wars,” says Chase Strangio, deputy director for transgender justice at the ACLU.

(Full article with photos continued under the “read more”)

And so Page—who charmed America as a precocious pregnant teenager in Juno, constructed dreamscapes in Inception and now stars in Netflix’s hit superhero show The Umbrella Academy, the third season of which he’s filming in Toronto—expected that his news would be met with both applause and vitriol. “What I was anticipating was a lot of support and love and a massive amount of hatred and transphobia,” says Page. “That’s essentially what happened.” What he did not anticipate was just how big this story would be. Page’s announcement, which made him one of the most famous out trans people in the world, started trending on Twitter in more than 20 countries. He gained more than 400,000 new followers on Instagram on that day alone. Thousands of articles were published. Likes and shares reached the millions. Right-wing podcasters readied their rhetoric about “women in men’s locker rooms.” Casting directors reached out to Page’s manager saying it would be an honor to cast Page in their next big movie.

So, it was a lot. Over the course of two conversations, Page will say that understanding himself in all the specifics remains a work in progress. Fathoming one’s gender, an identity innate and performed, personal and social, fixed and evolving, is complicated enough without being under a spotlight that never seems to turn off. But having arrived at a critical juncture, Page feels a deep sense of responsibility to share his truth. “Extremely influential people are spreading these myths and damaging rhetoric—every day you’re seeing our existence debated,” Page says. “Transgender people are so very real.”

That role in Pit Pony led to other productions and eventually, when Page was 16, to a film called Mouth to Mouth. Playing a young anarchist, Page had a chance to cut his hair again. This time, he shaved it off completely. The kids at his high school teased him, but in photos he has posted from that time on social media he looks at ease. Page’s head was still shaved when he mailed in an audition tape for the 2005 thriller Hard Candy. The people in charge of casting asked him to audition again in a wig. Soon, the hair was back.

Page’s tour de force performance in Hard Candy led, two years later, to Juno, a low-budget indie film that brought Page Oscar, BAFTA and Golden Globe nominations and sudden megafame. The actor, then 21, struggled with the stresses of that ascension. The endless primping, red carpets and magazine spreads were all agonizing reminders of the disconnect between how the world saw Page and who he knew himself to be. “I just never recognized myself,” Page says. “For a long time I could not even look at a photo of myself.” It was difficult to watch the movies too, especially ones in which he played more feminine roles.

Page loved making movies, but he also felt alienated by Hollywood and its standards. Alia Shawkat, a close friend and co-star in 2009’s Whip It,describes all the attention from Juno as scarring. “He had a really hard time with the press and expectations,” Shawkat says. “‘Put this on! And look this way! And this is sexy!’”

By the time he appeared in blockbusters like X-Men: The Last Stand and Inception, Page was suffering from depression, anxiety and panic attacks. He didn’t know, he says, “how to explain to people that even though [I was] an actor, just putting on a T-shirt cut for a woman would make me so unwell.” Shawkat recalls Page’s struggles with clothes. “I’d be like, ‘Hey, look at all these nice outfits you’re getting,’ and he would say, ‘It’s not me. It feels like a costume,’” she says. Page tried to convince himself that he was fine, that someone who was fortunate enough to have made it shouldn’t have complaints. But he felt exhausted by the work required to “just exist,” and thought more than once about quitting acting.

In 2014, Page came out as gay, despite feeling for years that “being out was impossible” given his career. (Gender identity and sexual orientation are, of course, distinct, but one queer identity can coexist with another.) In an emotional speech at a Human Rights Campaign conference, Page talked about being part of an industry “that places crushing standards” on actors and viewers alike. “There are pervasive stereotypes about masculinity and femininity that define how we’re all supposed to act, dress and speak,” Page went on. “And they serve no one.”

The actor started wearing suits on the red carpet. He found love, marrying choreographer Emma Portner in 2018. He asserted more agency in his career, producing his own films with LGBTQ leads like Freeheld and My Days of Mercy. And he made a masculine wardrobe a condition of taking roles. Yet the daily discord was becoming unbearable. “The difference in how I felt before coming out as gay to after was massive,” says Page. “But did the discomfort in my body ever go away? No, no, no, no.”

In part, it was the isolation forced by the pandemic that brought to a head Page’s wrestling with gender. (Page and Portner separated last summer, and the two divorced in early 2021. “We’ve remained close friends,” Page says.) “I had a lot of time on my own to really focus on things that I think, in so many ways, unconsciously, I was avoiding,” he says. He was inspired by trailblazing trans icons like Janet Mock and Laverne Cox, who found success in Hollywood while living authentically. Trans writers helped him understand his feelings; Page saw himself reflected in P. Carl’s memoir Becoming a Man. Eventually “shame and discomfort” gave way to revelation. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” Page says, “and letting myself fully become who I am.”

This led to a series of decisions. One was asking the world to call him by a different name, Elliot, which he says he’s always liked. Page has a tattoo that says E.P. PHONE HOME, a reference to a movie about a young boy with that name. “I loved E.T. when I was a kid and always wanted to look like the boys in the movies, right?” he says. The other decision was to use different pronouns—for the record, both he/him and they/them are fine. (When I ask if he has a preference on pronouns for the purposes of this story, Page says, “He/him is great.”)

A day before we first speak, Page will talk to his mom about this interview and she will tell him, “I’m just so proud of my son.” He grows emotional relating this and tries to explain that his mom, the daughter of a minister, who was born in the 1950s, was always trying to do what she thought was best for her child, even if that meant encouraging young Page to act like a girl. “She wants me to be who I am and supports me fully,” Page says. “It is a testament to how people really change.”

Another decision was to get top surgery. Page volunteers this information early in our conversation; at the time he posted his disclosure on Instagram, he was recovering in Toronto. Like many trans people, Page emphasizes being trans isn’t all about surgery. For some people, it’s unnecessary. For others, it’s unaffordable. For the wider world, the media’s focus on it has sensationalized transgender bodies, inviting invasive and inappropriate questions. But Page describes surgery as something that, for him, has made it possible to finally recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, providing catharsis he’s been waiting for since the “total hell” of puberty. “It has completely transformed my life,” he says. So much of his energy was spent on being uncomfortable in his body, he says. Now he has that energy back.

For the transgender community at large, visibility does not automatically lead to acceptance. Around the globe, transgender people deal disproportionately with violence and discrimination. Anti-trans hate crimes are on the rise in the U.K. along with increasingly transphobic rhetoric in newspapers and tabloids. In the U.S., in addition to the perennial challenges trans people face with issues like poverty and homelessness, a flurry of bills in state legislatures would make it a crime to provide transition-related medical care to trans youth. And crass old jokes are still in circulation. When Biden lifted the ban on open service for transgender troops, Saturday Night Live’s Michael Che did a bit on Weekend Update about the policy being called “don’t ask, don’t tuck.”

Page says coming out as trans was “selfish” on one level: “It’s for me. I want to live and be who I am.” But he also felt a moral imperative to do so, given the times. Human identity is complicated and mysterious, but politics insists on fitting everything into boxes. In today’s culture wars, simplistic beliefs about gender—e.g., chromosomes = destiny—are so widespread and so deep-seated that many people who hold those beliefs don’t feel compelled to consider whether they might be incomplete or prejudiced. On Feb. 24, after a passionate debate on legislation that would ban discrimination against LGBTQ people, Representative Marie Newman, an Illinois Democrat, proudly displayed the pride flag in support of her daughter, who is trans. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, a Georgia Republican, responded by hanging a poster outside her office that read: There are TWO genders: MALE & FEMALE.

The next day Dr. Rachel Levine, who stands to become the first openly transgender federal official confirmed by the Senate, endured a tirade from Senator Rand Paul about “genital mutilation” during her confirmation hearing. My second conversation with Page happens shortly after this. He brings it up almost immediately, and seems both heartbroken and determined. He wants to emphasize that top surgery, for him, was “not only life-changing but lifesaving.” He implores people to educate themselves about trans lives, to learn how crucial medical care can be, to understand that lack of access to it is one of the many reasons that an estimated 41% of transgender people have attempted suicide, according to one survey.

Page has been in the political trenches for a while, having leaned into progressive activism after coming out as queer in 2014. For two seasons, he and best friend Ian Daniel filmed Gaycation, a Viceland series that explored LGBTQ culture around the world and, at one point, showed Page grilling Senator Ted Cruz at the Iowa State Fair about discrimination against queer people. In 2019, Page made a documentary called There’s Something in the Water, which explores environmental hardships experienced by communities of color in Nova Scotia, with $350,000 of his own money. That activism extends to his own industry: in 2017, he published a Facebook post that, among other things, accused director Brett Ratner of forcibly outing him as gay on the set of an X-Men movie. (A representative for Ratner did not respond to a request for comment.)

As a trans person who is white, wealthy and famous, Page has a unique kind of privilege, and with it an opportunity to advocate for those with less. According to the U.S. Trans Survey, a large-scale report from 2015, transgender people of color are more likely to experience unemployment, harassment by police and refusals of medical care. Nearly half of all Black respondents reported being denied equal treatment, verbally harassed and/or physically attacked in the past year. Trans people as a group fare much worse on such stats than the general population. “My privilege has allowed me to have resources to get through and to be where I am today,” Page says, “and of course I want to use that privilege and platform to help in the ways I can.”

Since his disclosure, Page has been mostly quiet on social media. One exception has been to tweet on behalf of the ACLU, which is in the midst of fighting anti-trans bills and laws around the country, including those that ban transgender girls and women from participating in sports. Mississippi Governor Tate Reeves says he will sign such a bill in the name of “protect[ing] young girls.” Page played competitive soccer and vividly recalls the agony of being told he would have to play on the girls’ team once he aged out of mixed-gender squads. After an appeal, Page was allowed to play with the boys for an additional year. Today, several bills list genitalia as a requirement for deciding who plays on which team. “I would have been in that position as a kid,” Page says. “It’s horrific.”

All this advocacy is unlikely to make life easier. “You can’t enter into certain spaces as a public trans person,” says the ACLU’s Strangio, “without being prepared to spend some percentage of your life being threatened and harassed.” Yet, while he seems overwhelmed at times, Page is also eager. Many of the political attacks on trans people—whether it is a mandate that bathroom use be determined by birth sex, a blanket ban on medical interventions for trans kids or the suggestion that trans men are simply wayward women beguiled by male privilege—carry the same subtext: that trans people are mistaken about who they are. “We know who we are,” Page says. “People cling to these firm ideas [about gender] because it makes people feel safe. But if we could just celebrate all the wonderful complexities of people, the world would be such a better place.”

Even if Page weren’t vocal, his public presence would communicate something powerful. That is in part because of what Paisley Currah, a professor of political science at Brooklyn College, calls “visibility gaps.” Historically, trans women have been more visible, in culture and in Hollywood, than trans men. There are many explanations: Our culture is obsessed with femininity. Men’s bodies are less policed and scrutinized. Patriarchal people tend to get more emotional about who is considered to be in the same category as their daughters. “And a lot of trans men don’t stand out as trans,” says Currah, who is a trans man himself. “I think we’ve taken up less of the public’s attention because masculinity is sort of the norm.”

During our interviews, Page will repeatedly refer to himself as a “transgender guy.” He also calls himself nonbinary and queer, but for him, transmasculinity is at the center of the conversation right now. “It’s a complicated journey,” he says, “and an ongoing process.”

While the visibility gap means that trans men have been spared some of the hate endured by trans women, it has also meant that people like Page have had fewer models. “There were no examples,” Page says of growing up in Halifax in the 1990s. There are many queer people who have felt “that how they feel deep inside isn’t a real thing because they never saw it reflected back to them,” says Tiq Milan, an activist, author and transgender man. Page offers a reflection: “They can see that and say, ‘You know what, that’s who I am too,’” Milan says. When there aren’t examples, he says, “people make monsters of us.”

For decades, that was something Hollywood did. As detailed in the 2020 Netflix documentary Disclosure, transgender people have been portrayed onscreen as villainous and deceitful, tragic subplots or the butt of jokes. In a sign of just how far the industry has come—spurred on by productions like Pose and trailblazers like Mock—Netflix offered to change the credits on The Umbrella Academy the same day that its star posted his statement on social media. Now when an episode ends, the first words viewers see are “Elliot Page.”

Today, there are many out trans and nonbinary actors, directors and producers. Storylines involving trans people are more common, more respectful. Sometimes that aspect of identity is even incidental, rather than the crux of a morality tale. And yet Hollywood can still seem a frightening place for LGBTQ people to come out. “It’s an industry that says, ‘Don’t do that,’” says director Silas Howard, who got his break on Amazon’s show Transparent, which made efforts to hire transgender crew members. “I wouldn’t have been hired if they didn’t have a trans initiative,” Howard says. “I’m always aware of that.”

So what will it mean for Page’s career? While Page has appeared in many projects, he also faced challenges landing female leads because he didn’t fit Hollywood’s narrow mold. Since Page’s Instagram post, his team is seeing more activity than they have in years. Many of the offers coming in—to direct, to produce, to act—are trans-related, but there are also some “dude roles.”

Downtime in quarantine helped Page accept his gender identity. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” he says.

Page was attracted to the role of Vanya in The Umbrella Academy because—in the first season, released in 2019—Vanya is crushed by self-loathing, believing herself to be the only ordinary sibling in an extraordinary family. The character can barely summon the courage to move through the world. “I related to how much Vanya was closed off,” Page says. Now on set filming the third season, co-workers have seen a change in the actor. “It seems like there’s a tremendous weight off his shoulders, a feeling of comfort,” says showrunner Steve Blackman. “There’s a lightness, a lot more smiling.” For Page, returning to set has been validating, if awkward at times. Yes, people accidentally use the wrong pronouns—“It’s going to be an adjustment,” Page says—but co-workers also see and acknowledge him.

The debate over whether cisgender people, who have repeatedly collected awards for playing trans characters, should continue to do so has largely been settled. However, trans actors have rarely been considered for cisgender parts. Whatever challenges might lie ahead, Page seems exuberant about playing a new spectrum of roles. “I’m really excited to act, now that I’m fully who I am, in this body,” Page says. “No matter the challenges and difficult moments of this, nothing amounts to getting to feel how I feel now.”

This includes having short hair again. During our interview, Page keeps rearranging strands on his forehead. It took a long time for him to return to the barber’s chair and ask to cut it short, but he got there. And how did that haircut feel?

Page tears up again, then smiles. “I just could not have enjoyed it more,” he says.”

[novelconcepts]

24 and 10, just because I'm curious how these two could possibly be combined

confusing a handshake for a fist bump and lifting someone up out of excitement

She hasn’t seen Jamie in two years. Hard to believe that. Hard to imagine. Jamie was such a fixture of her life at Bly, such a steady lantern in the dark for all those months--late-night conversations, endless hands of cards dealt, what felt like half the Wingrave wine cellar drained dry between them--that Dani genuinely forgot what it was to not have Jamie in her world. Jamie, who had been there for a single summer, feeling like the sanest measure of her entire life.

And then Dani had moved on. Hadn’t had a choice. The job was for the summer, and Wingrave had decided to try his hand at fatherhood, of a kind. There was no place for an au pair any longer. And there were other roads, Dani sensed, calling her name.

She’d said goodbye, and it had hurt. Hannah, holding her close. Owen, sniffling back tears without apology. The kids, clutching her around the legs. 

Jamie, extending a hand. 

Jamie, who had so quickly become her best friend in all the world, extending a hand. 

She’d bumped it stupidly, her fingers curled into a fist to keep from properly touching Jamie’s skin. It hadn’t been intentional, exactly, though some part of her--red-faced and replaying the moment on a loop in the cab--thinks it might have been safer to lean into the mistake. If she’d taken Jamie’s hand, given it a firm shake, she’s not sure what would have followed. Not sure she would have been able to keep her balance, with her thumb braced along the backs of Jamie’s knuckles, with Jamie’s palm smooth against her own. 

Better to look stupid, she decided, in the long run. Anyway, their time together had lasted all of three months. Seasons come, seasons go, and Jamie would forget her soon enough. Surely. 

It’s been two years. Two years, and Henry Wingrave--cleverer than he’d looked, sneaking booze into his teacup at an awkward interview--had somehow found her address. The letter was neatly printed, an invitation: Miles’ thirteenth birthday, back at the manor. He hadn’t asked for much. They all missed her.

They all. 

She tells herself not to think about it on the flight over. Tells herself not to pick it apart, calling a cab. Tells herself, remembering with a stutter of mortification how her loose fist had jabbed Jamie’s outstretched fingers, they means very little. A kindness, she suspects. A polite phrasing. We all miss you, Miss Clayton, very much. 

Do you? she wonders, wringing her hands, gazing out at the once-familiar landscape. Do you all miss me? All of you?

As if one doesn’t matter just a little more than the rest.

As if she hasn’t been dreaming of one member of that little family more than she’s comfortable with. 

She hasn’t seen Jamie in two years, and she’s almost terrified to find out what might have happened to their too-easy, too-warm friendship in her absence. Jamie had not been an easy wall to crack open in the first place. She’d been tough and wiry at the start, with wary eyes and a short temper. Kind, yes, and easier to talk to than she’d had any right--but difficult, all the same. It had taken weeks for Dani to coax her into genuine conversation. A month before she’d believed Jamie truly did brighten, to see her coming through the door. 

Two years. How tall could those walls have grown by now? How heavy might the door barring her from Jamie’s life be, with all those months of silence stretched between them?

Why didn’t you write? she imagines Jamie saying, her mouth curled in a grim smile. Didn’t even try, did you?

Not true, though Dani can’t fathom telling her so. Dani did try. Over and over, not just for those first few months, but for two years. Two years trying to put it all down on paper. Two years trying to explain how Jamie--her eyes gleaming in the firelight, her smile sweet, her hand brushing Dani’s without thought--had been the only person on her mind, no matter what she tried to do about it. 

Two years trying to find the words for a letter to explain what she knows, and what she can’t believe, and what she can’t get away from: that it had taken only a single season, to fall in love. That it had taken only a single season to find someone she honestly can’t imagine life without. 

Jamie wouldn’t understand. 

Two years. And now she’s here, pulling up the winding drive to that big old house she’d called home for almost no time at all. She’s here, stepping out of the cab, feeling no older than the au pair who had run from grief and wound up finding a short-lived, powerful purpose. 

They’re waiting for her, she realizes--lined up outside the house like Flora’s dolls. Hannah, as beautiful as she remembers, with a brand new ring on her third finger. Owen, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, his apron dusted with flour. Flora, almost willowy with newfound height, launching at her, and Miles, broader in the shoulders, brighter in the eyes, reaching to kiss her hand. 

Henry, too, looks pleased to see her. He looks healthy, his skin no longer the sallow of a man hidden away from the world. He smiles, and he presses her into a loose embrace, and she thinks it was worth going away, if this little family was able to bloom in her absence. 

They’re all here. They’re all wonderful.

Except.

She doesn’t ask where Jamie is. Tries her damnedest not to let them see the crestfallen expression she turns inward, the plummet of her heart. Jamie isn’t here. Jamie has, perhaps, moved on, too--found a new job, a new life, elsewhere. 

Jamie is gone, and no matter how wonderful the rest of them are--no matter how glad to see them she is--this will never feel quite right. 

“You’re just in time,” Hannah is saying. “Supper’s about ready, we’re just going to set the table. If you wouldn’t mind doing one thing?”

Pasting a smile onto her face, Dani nods. “Anything. Point the way.”

“You remember the greenhouse, I assume?”

A flutter, kicking up in her chest, hard enough to rattle her voice when she says, guardedly, “Of course.”

“Our last party is working late,” Hannah says, sounding slightly grumpy. “Again. Honestly, you’d think she’s growing the key to immortality out there, with the hours she’s been keeping.”

“She--” Dani swallows. Keep it simple. Keep it normal. It’s been two years. “She’s still...?”

“Grouchy?” Owen suggests. “Stealing my best biscuits?”

“Here,” Dani breathes. He looks perplexed, his head inclined in affirmation.

“Of course. Couldn’t pry her from those roses, the stubborn woman.”

They say it like it’s obvious, like the story was only ever going to play out this way--but even as she’s striding across the grounds at a brisk pace, Dani isn’t sure she believes it. Could it be a prank? An elaborate way to get back at her for leaving? Maybe she’ll reach the greenhouse, place her hand on the door, and find the place gaping open with nothing but ghosts for company--

Jamie’s back is to her, the gray of her coveralls stamped with dirt. Her hair is loose, her head bobbing, and Dani--her steps cautious as she confirms, yes, this is the same woman who has been turning up in her dreams for months--realizes she’s wearing a pair of headphones. Her hands are steady, though her boot taps out a rhythm, and when Dani gets close enough, she picks up the hum of Jamie singing under her breath.

Jamie, no different than she recalls. Jamie, exactly the same, bopping along to the Walkman poking out of her pocket. 

Jamie, who turns and leaps with surprise, jerking the headphones down around her neck. 

“Christ,” she breathes. “Scared the living shite out of me.”

“Sorry.” She isn’t, though. Somehow. Maybe because Jamie’s bewildered expression is already giving way to a huge smile. Maybe because Dani suddenly can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the memories of this very room--cards and conversation, wine and laughter. Jamie’s hand, brushing her own. Jamie’s eyes, searching her face. 

Jamie, never quite closing the gap. Never quite daring. 

“You weren’t meant to be here until six,” Jamie is saying now, brushing the hair from her eyes. Dani glances at her watch.

“It’s six-thirty-nine.”

“Fuck,” Jamie mutters. “Lost track of--was supposed to help in the--never mind.” 

She’s staring at Dani like she can’t quite believe her own eyes, her smile so enormous, Dani can’t imagine how she’d ever thought Jamie could be gone. Jamie, who is such a fixture. Jamie, who is so reliable, so wonderfully here. 

“Can I hug you?” she asks, and Jamie all but charges toward her. It’s a clumsy embrace, arms tangling around shoulders, Jamie’s hips bumping her own. Jamie, who hugs her so hard, leaning back, Dani’s feet actually leave the ground.

“Missed you,” she breathes into Dani’s ear. “Wanted to write. Wanted to--didn’t know what I’d fuckin’ say.”

Dani buries her face in Jamie’s neck, inhaling the long-missed combination of soil and sweat, that undercurrent of mint that follows every cigarette. It’s not a polished, pretty scent; it reminds her of summer afternoons, of hard work, of Jamie’s smile flashing over a glass of water. 

It reminds her of the heat in her fingertips, the urge to catch Jamie by the sleeve and pull her close, the reflexive lean of her body into Jamie’s on the couch as they both teetered toward dozing off. 

“We’re supposed to be at dinner,” she says, relishing the slide of Jamie’s skin against her own. “We’re late.”

“M’always late, these days,” Jamie replies. “Think it’s worth it this time.”

“Can we--” Dani swallows. “Not now, I know we’re supposed to--for Miles. But after? Tonight? Can we talk?”

I can’t walk away again, she thinks. I can’t go another two years without this. I can’t put it in a letter, but I can’t let it go, either. Not without knowing.

Jamie can’t read her mind, she’s sure--and yet, Jamie’s hand cupping her cheek, Jamie’s thumb pulling gently across her skin, seems to find everything in the silence. Jamie nods once, letting her hand fall away. 

“Think I’d like that very much, yeah.”

It takes every ounce of self-control, not to hold her hand all the way back to the house.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Interlude - Rewrite POYW - Harry Hook x reader - Part 3 - invitations

=

The Smee twins stared wide-eyed at the crisp white letter that was clearly and openly inviting them, both of them, to Auradon prep, signed by King Ben and Ms. Evie of the isle. They heard that Harriet, CJ, and their older brother Sammy had gotten the same letter around the same time that they had gotten theirs.

His Royal Majesty, King Ben of Auradon, and his Councilor Ms. Evie of the Isle, hereby request the pleasure of your company, Skipper and Sterling Smee, for the upcoming academic year at Auradon city middle school. Please notify his Majesty’s couriers of your response to this request.

-we’d love to have you two with us here in Auradon, don’t worry, your brother has been given the same invitation, will you come? - King Ben

-Don’t let this go to waste boys, I’ll see you soon - Harry H.

Skipper and Sterling looked at each other, then back to the letter, the older twin, skipper, picking up the letter and holding it gently in his hands, reading it over and over for any small hints that might reveal the letter to be a whole joke and they would never be coming off the isle.

Skipper slowly looked at his brother with a grin “it's for real” he whispered, shaking the letter in Sterling's face “they really want us to come to Auradon!” Sterling took the letter and examined it for himself, a bright grin matching his brothers growing on his face.

The twins threw their arms around each other, jumping and spinning around the room. the door to their room opened, the twins pausing in their celebration as their older brother, Sammy, and dad, Mr. Smee, looked in on them with just barely repressed smiles. “Dad look!” Skipper took back the letter from Sterling and shoved it into his dad's face, the old man smiling and picking up his son as he examined the letter “they invited us to go to Auradon! And Harry signed it too!!”

“they invited your brother as well” Mr. Smee hummed, setting Skipper back down on his feet and examining the letter again, smiling at the note from Harry. “Harriet and CJ too”

Sammy flipped his invitation between his fingers “yeah, Harriet said something about how they finally assigned guardians for us so they were finally able to send the invitations, all that’s left is for us to tell the dudes who gave ‘em to us that we accept” Mr. Smee, handing the twins letter back to Skipper, the two going over it once more.

“when can we tell them?” Mr. Smee asked, walking back out of the twin's room to the living room of his apartment that he had acquired after (y/n) had dismembered his ex-captain.

“well, Harriet got a letter from (y/n) saying that the next shipment of goods tomorrow, will have some of the couriers that are expecting our response so we can tell them then.” Mr. Smee nodded, moving into the kitchen to start making dinner for his sons.

“so after we tell them you three are all for Auradon, when will you be picked up?” Sammy pursed his lips, trying to remember what Harriet had relayed to him from the letter that (y/n) sent her informing her of the timeline of events for the vks transfer.

“uh, after we tell the courier dudes tomorrow? the limo should be here sometime next week…no clue what time yet but im sure well be told at some point before the day” Mr. Smee nodded, setting a pot of water onto his stove and turning it on, waiting for it to boil so he could add the pasta.

“I noticed on the twin's letter, it said “Auradon middle school” while yours said “Auradon Prep”, so the twins will be going to a different school?” Sammy nodded at his father's question, helping him get the ingredients ready for the chicken alfredo spaghetti he was about to make.

“Yeah, they are only 10 after all, and Auradon prep is a high school so I’m guessing when they turn 14, they’ll go then.” Mr. Smee nodded again and started to chop up some parsley.

Sammy grabbed the chicken from the fridge and placed a pan on the stove, starting the flame and grabbing some seasonings for the chicken.

The two worked in comfortable silence, the sound of the twins playing in the background providing the much needed “white noise”

Sammy sighed, slicing up the chicken and tossing it into the pan, watching it cook as he thought of the fast-approaching future.

Only a week from now, he and the twins would be across the sea in Auradon, away from their father for the first time. Now Smee wasn’t the best father, hardly anyone on the isle was, well maybe except for Dr.Facilier which was mostly a surprise to…well everyone, the once voodoo doctor turned principal and arcade owner held his daughter in high regard and strived to give her the best life he could on the isle.

But back to his father, while he wasn’t the best, he definitely was far from bad, and tried to the best for his kids when he could. And right now, the best for his kids was sending them to Auradon.

Sammy knew the twins would miss their father, yes, they would have the hook siblings and their older brother but nothing could take the place of their dad. Sammy hummed as he wondered if he could request visitations for the twins to see their dad.

-

CJ balance-walked the curb as she kept pace with Harriet, both heading back to the older sister's ship for the night as darkness began to set over the isle.

“so when are we goin ta Auradon?” CJ asked Harriet, grinning as she gave an annoyed sigh, it being the seventh time CJ had asked that question within the last five minutes.

Then again, Harriet hadn't bothered to answer her so CJ thought it was perfectly reasonable to continue to bug her with it. “at some point within the next week” Harriet muttered; she had wanted to keep her answer as loose as possible as to not get CJs hopes up. Harriet was a cynical person, unlike CJ who was oddly optimistic, and she didn’t want her little sister to be disappointed in case the limo never came.

But thanks to CJ’s constant babbling of the same question, Harriet just decided to blurt it out if only to make her shut up. “sweet~ is Harry gonna be in the limo thing?” Harriet sighed, question after question, and if Harriet didn’t answer CJ would babble it over and over again until Harriet snapped.

“I don’t know, I just know they are aiming for next week to pick us all up, (y/n) said I’ll get another letter about two days before we get picked up so we have time to pack ‘n stuff” CJ hummed at that and lept off the curb, skipping up next to her sister and clasping her hands behind her back.

“so what was (y/n) like? I didn’t get to meet her when she came to demolish dad” Harriet stopped for a moment, of all the questions for CJ to ask that was one she wasn’t expecting.

“well,” Harriet starting, moving forward again as her ship came into sight “she was really…expressive, very protective of Harry, um-damn good with a sword….I don’t know I wasn’t around her for a long enough time to gage her properly but what I've gotten about her from her letters, she’s a thorough person and makes sure everyone is taken care of before going through with a plan” CJ hummed again, Harriet’s “description” of (y/n) was different than the image she had made in her head due to Harrys “description” but either way (y/n) sounded kinda cool and she would have hella fun annoying the hell outta her.

The two hook sisters arrived at Harriet's ship and climbed aboard, moving into the lower decks where the kitchen was to eat dinner.

-

Dizzy hummed happily to herself as she moved about the salon, cleaning up the last of the clipped hair and globs of dye before the salon opened at midnight.

In one week, ONE WEEK, she, Dizzy Tremaine, the daughter of Drizella Tremaine, would be going to Auradon!!! With Evie!! Her idol!!

As the day drew closer to the fateful pickup day, her excitement built up inside her, bursting out in sleepless nights and constant ideas to sketch down in her sketchbook.

She let out a squeal and spun on her heels, sweeping up the last pile of hair and disposing of it. She just couldn’t wait! There were so many things in Auradon that she wanted to try! From ice cream to swimming pools, it was an endless list of joys she had yet to experience!

“Dizzy!!!! Finish up! Time for dinner!” her aunt Anastasia called from the apartment upstairs, Dizzy set her broom and dustpan against the wall and skipped up the stairs, unable to keep the bright grin off her face.

“Coming~!!”

-

Ben looked at the papers the couriers had given him of the responses of the six invites he had sent out the day before.

All of them said yes.

Ben couldn’t help the wide grin from growing on his lips, and he didn’t resist the urge to dance as excitement swelled inside him.

‘Finally!’ Ben thought as he danced stupidly around his office ‘finally! After more than half a year I can finally bring more VKs over! Nothing can stop it now!’

Mal knocked gently outside his office, it was lunchtime and he had yet to arrive at the pavilion where he and the vks plus (y/n) would be eating (lunch celebration for the invitations being sent out). After a few moments of silence, other than the sounds of Bens dancing footsteps, Mal opened the door, calling out for him.

She burst out laughing as she spotted Ben dancing around his office, a wide grin on his face “They all accepted!” Ben sang, pulling Mal into the room and making her dance with him “they all accepted! Six more vks next week!”

Mal laughed again and let herself be pulled into the moment of joy, gigging as Ben spun her around and lifted her into the air “Six more vks!” she echoed, squealing a bit as Ben dropped her into his chest and spun them both around some more “Ookayyy!! Im gonna throw up lemme down!” Mal smacked at his shoulders until Ben grinned at her and set her on her feet, laughing a bit as Mal tumbled into a chair from dizziness.

“Come on, let's go tell the others!” Ben grabbed onto Mal's hand, dragging a still slightly out of it fae from his office and to the pavilion, where the rest of their friends waited for them.

“There yeh are, an’ here I thought yeh keeled over from paperwork” Ben let out a few sarcastic laughs as he looked to Harry, who just grinned back.

“harde har Harry, but! All six of them accepted the invitation!” Evie and Carlos let out a gasp and Evie stood from the table, bounding over to Ben and slamming into him for a hug “I know! Next week we’ll finally have more vks!”

Gil and Harry burst out laughing as Evie took Ben's arms and spun them around in a dance, “He was doing that in his office” Mal sniggered, sitting down next to Jay and leaning on him, Jay holding up his phone and laughing as he recorded Evie and Ben dancing.

“adorable” you purred, curling against Harry's side as his arm wrapped around your waist. Carlos and Dude ran around for a moment, hyped up from Ben's visible excitement, and slid to a stop in front of the table.

“come on! Let's eat! Then we get ice cream! For celebration!” everyone cheered at Carlos' suggestion and Ben and Evie quickly sat down, Ben tapping his hands on the table to rid of his excess energy.

A few moments later Ben's personal chefs appeared with trays of food, setting them down in the middle of the table and pouring their drinks “thank you, Cherise, Tulio” the two chefs smiled at Ben and nodded, waving the eight teens goodbye and moving back into the castle.

“to the new vks!” Ben called, raising his glass and laughing as the rest of you followed his action.

“to the new vks!”

“and many more~!!” you finished, the vks grinning even wider than that. That was the plan, as soon as Harry's sisters, the Smee kids, and Dizzy were in Auradon, the process to bring another six would be immediately put in action.

The only question to that was ‘who would be chosen?’

-end of part 3-

 yeeee P3~!!! the new vks have been invited to Auradon and things are lookin up~!!! and writing excited Ben was so fun, hes a fun character to write and create for, i don't get why the official writers pushed him to the side so much, after all without him the Descendants storyline wouldn't exist (yes this is heavy side eye to the writers of descendants) 

anyway Permtaglist!

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @random-thoughts-003

@remembered-license @rintheemolion

@verboetoperee​ @imtryingthisout​

@thecaptainsgingersnap​ @jatp-rules-my-life​

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 29

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week oh god it’s only gonna get worse

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28

Wei Ying has watched the lanterns on every fifth night of his birthday festival for as long as he can remember.

His earliest memories are pale and indistinct, a collection of images and sounds, slithering through his fingers even as his grip tightens. The cold rooftop tiles under his hands, being lifted up onto his father’s shoulders, his mother’s delighted laughter. The Empress of the Shan Empire, a cool and dignified statue in the daylight hours, dancing over the moonlit roof peaks in her bare feet. Falling asleep in her lap while the lanterns drifted above, the soft murmur of his parents’ voices lulling him into sweet dreams.  

Eighteen years, and eighteen lantern festivals, but most of those he remembers clearly are filled with an ache of loss. He has often cursed his unreliable childhood memories, lamenting the cruelty of recollections that deny him access to those early years. Guilt usually follows after, as relentless as the passing of time. He has never had a cause to feel abandoned; not one festival has gone by where he was allowed to sink into despondency and isolation. Even on those years when copious amounts of wine were needed, his brothers had always been by his side, prepared to chase away the loneliness by any means necessary. Without Nie HuaiSang and Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying is certain that he would have grown twisted and warped by the loss, forever attempting to lean into the warmth that no longer existed. All that he is, and will still become, he owes to them. To shijie, to Wen Qing, to Wen Ning and A-Yuan.

But the easy, uncomplicated joy of watching the lights dance across the sky, that had gone away on his twelfth birthday. He had been convinced that it would never return. Not because of the loss, or the accompanying ache which had, over time, grown dull and heavy instead of sharp and bright, but because he believed it impossible, to feel a child’s joy once having reached adulthood.

There are many things he believed to be impossible before meeting Lan Zhan.

The outskirts of YiLing are sparsely populated to the east, a few sprawling farms and long pasture fields stretching between the town and the river. They have a small hill to themselves; the ground is still warm from the sun, the air saturated with the syrupy scent of the late autumn harvest, the fireflies rivaling the lanterns with their lights. They can hear the sounds of celebration from YiLing, but the noise is far away and muffled, barely penetrating the comfortable cocoon of silence between them.

Wei Ying’s little finger is hooked around Lan Zhan’s.

They are lying down, eyes locked on the sky. Wei Ying is sure that he will have grass and dirt in his hair, and probably a liberal smear of both on his robes. He is also sure that Lan Zhan’s hair and robes will be as pristine as they were before he cautiously stretched himself out by Wei Ying’s side.

Their shoulders are almost close enough to touch. Lan Zhan’s hand had trembled once, then settled into stillness. Wei Ying can hear him breathe, the rhythm slow and even. He thinks, if he were only to shift a little closer, if the din of YiLing were to fall quiet, perhaps he could hear Lan Zhan’s heart beating as well, and discern if it flutters as restlessly as his own.  

The touch is small and insignificant. Wei Ying has already held Lan Zhan’s hand in his own, had tangled their fingers together, had felt the warmth of his palm. But it does not feel small. The contact overshadows the lights above; a bright, single point of happiness that Wei Ying would give anything to keep.

“Lan Zhan,” he says.

“Mhm.”

Wei Ying bites his tongue.

It is not the lack of words that gives him pause. He possesses a river of words that relentlessly rushes whichever way it pleases, paying no mind to his intentions or wishes. He has had to learn how to dam this river; the Emperor must always take care of how he speaks, least he means to start a war with an offhand remark. But Lan Zhan is not a an overbearing sect leader, or a supplicant asking for favors. Nothing Wei Ying wants to say can ever be simple, because complexity is rooted in his birth, his status, his entire existence.

And yet.

What can be more simple than a feeling of emptiness finally filled, a sense of completeness, of irrevocable rightness?

Lan Zhan turns his head to look at him. There is a firefly hovering over his temple, a tiny burst of light traveling across a flawless cheek. In the gloom, his eyelashes seem thicker, his eyes black, their depth an endless abyss.

Wei Ying wants to look at him forever.    

“Lan Zhan, I really like you.”

The dark eyes widen, then immediately return to their study of the sky. Wei Ying watches his throat move, a heavy swallow that could mean anything at all. He cannot tell if there are words building behind the movement, and despite the obvious surprise in his gaze, as brief as it was, Lan Zhan’s expression has not changed.  

No, Wei Ying is wrong. It has changed.

There is a faint tremble to his eyelashes. The tips of his ears appear slightly darker. His throat moves again, but his mouth does not.

His little finger is still hooked around Wei Ying’s. It has not pulled away.

There is an entire language being spoken in front of Wei Ying’s eyes, but it is a language he does not yet understand. It is frustrating and painful to think, that he may never have an opportunity to learn, that Lan Zhan may not want him to know.

His future stretches in front of him, a lone seat on top of a dais, as decades endlessly melt into one another, seasons coming and going, favors given and taken away, a continuous tedium of birthdays, and festivals, and sect leader meetings. Lan Zhan nothing more than a cool and collected face, glimpsed twice a year among the sea of others, forever remaining a half-met stranger.

It is unbearable.

“Lan Zhan--“

“You are the Emperor,” Lan Zhan says, his voice stiff.

“Yes, but--“

“Young Master Lan!”

Startled, they both jerk upright, reaching for their swords.

“There you are,” an annoyed voice comes from the bottom of the hill, “if not for the Lan Sect funeral robes, I would have passed by this hill a dozen times.”

Wei Ying cannot make out the small shape climbing closer to them, but he recognizes the voice easily.

Lan Zhan has already gotten to his feet and moved back, placing himself a respectable distance away. Wei Ying was right. His hair and robes are as immaculate as they were before. Wei Ying, on the other hand, is pretty sure that he has grass sticking to his entire back.

“Why is it always you?” he snaps at the small disciple.

The boy, now close enough where he does not need to shout, offers him a sloppy bow and a disgruntled greeting.

“Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty” Wei Ying grumbles, “not two days ago you tried to bite me. I should have you tossed in the dungeons.”

“If it pleases Your Majesty,” the boy says, “this one would rather spend the night in the dungeon than traipsing through the YiLing countryside. Sect Leader Nie asks Your Majesty to meet him at the Lan Sect camp. There has been a development.”

“The Lan Sect camp?” he glances at Lan Zhan, but this time, the other boy’s face is truly unreadable.

“What is a Lan Sect camp? What development?”

“This one does not know,” the disciple says with exaggerated patience, “but if Your Majesty were to go there, I am sure it will all be made clear.”

Wei Ying ignores him.

“Lan Zhan, what is he talking about? What camp?”

Lan Zhan is silent for a few moments before he speaks, “The Lan Sect escort. The disciples that accompanied us to YiLing. There are no accommodations to be had in the town itself, so they have made camp on the outskirts.”

“Why?” Wei Ying asks, feeling bewildered, “all the other disciples are in the Immortal Mountain City. Why would you leave yours in YiLing?”

Lan Zhan’s throat moves again, but he does not need to speak. Wei Ying understands the moment the words have left his mouth.

They were not invited.

Uncle has always been the one to send out invitations, the Jiang Sect lotus prominently placed next to the Imperial Seal, his signature replacing Wei Ying’s, who could not be bothered with such minor formalities.

Fury rises in him for the second time that night, but this one is cold and already settled, not likely to wane any time soon.

“They will be coming with us,” he says, turning to head back down the hill.

What other small formalities have been left to Jiang FengMian over the years? Many more than Wei Ying can count; if he is to begin questioning his uncle’s methods, each must be addressed, reinspected, and altered if necessary.

This will take weeks. Possibly months.

Striding ahead, wishing he could kick something, he turns to the small disciple.

“Little beast, what is your name?”

The boy grimaces, but offers a half-bow, even sloppier than the one before, “This one is Nie XuanYu.”  

“Nie XuanYu,” Wei Ying says, “You have a bad temper and a terrible attitude. Try and pay attention to the Second Young Master, and you may yet learn how a disciple is supposed to behave.”

[imshatteredbutnotbroken]

The wonderful world of Desiree Nguyen: A character analysis

This is a season three, episode 14-18 character analysis of everyone’s favourite MacGyver protector, Desiree “Desi” Nguyen. (Or, A.K.A, my attempt at sounding much more intelligent than I am.) If people want to read more, I’ll cover the rest of the seasons.

Now, I won’t always sound unbiased in my feelings towards Desiree, but I am going to really try my best to be. And, like I said, I am attempting to sound much more intelligent than I am, so if I miss anything or sound incredibly stupid, feel free to correct me.

There are spoilers, so if you haven’t seen season three, I recommend skipping this analysis.

It’s important to note that this is not a commentary on Levy Tran herself, and that it’s only about her character (EXTREME EMPHASIS ON CHARACTER).

There is also a Tl;dr at the end of each episode summary starting from episode 15.

Let’s begin.

Desiree (hereby known as Desi) was first mentioned by (actual) fan favourite, Jack Dalton, in season 3 episode 14, Father+ Bride + Betrayal. He first mentioned her in a conversation with Mac during the wedding:

Jack: “Matty let me handpick my replacement to watch your back.  I think you’re really gonna like her. Or, kill her. One of the two.”

Mac: “That’s oddly specific. Should I be worried?”

Jack: “No, man. You’ll meet her soon enough. And, trust me, there’s nobody I’d trust more than this woman to watch your back. She is really good. Well, other than me, obviously.”  

Now, there’s not much to go on, but we do get some hints. She’s tough, she’s a badass, and Jack likes and trusts her. So, Desi’s initial set up isn’t so bad. We love Jack, and if Desi comes at Jack’s recommendation, we know she can be trusted to watch everyone’s backs. Like I said, we’re off to a good start.  

It’s also important to note: Jack specifically says “there’s nobody I’d trust more than this woman to watch your back.” Does this really happen only a season later? Honestly? It’s debatable. But, we’ll get there when we get there.

Season three, episode 15:  K9 + Smugglers + New Recruit

Desi is initially introduced — through Mac — as advertised: a tough badass who will take her job as the team’s protector seriously. While she admits to Mac that she will hate her job as their bodyguard, she is doing it because she owes Jack. What she owes him exactly, we’re still not sure. It could be anything from repaying Jack for a chocolate bar to repaying a debt to him after Jack saved someone’s life. Who the hell knows?

In the war room, at her second meeting with Mac, Riley, Bozer, Leanna (remember her?! Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone, T.V. show?!), and Matty, Desi reemphasizes that their safety is her top priority. Like I said, Desi (in her initial intro) is a tough badass who takes her job seriously.

On the mission, Cody, (our story of the week’s gun sniffing dog) immediately finds two guns on Desi’s person. She really is like Jack in that respect! But, we soon find out she doesn’t like them (she’s really not like Jack that way!), telling Mac she only carries it because she has to, will only pull a gun when necessary, and that she’d “rather put bad guys in an interrogation room than the morgue.” Another special exception that allows her to pull a gun is against “anyone who hurts animals.”

While Mac and Riley notice Desi isn’t the warmest, Riley acknowledges that Desi is well-accomplished. She was one of the first women to graduate from Ranger school, was part of a special ops team made up of SAS, Delta, and the CIA, and, apparently, “has more awards than Michael Phelps.” So, Desi is no slouch. She also impresses everyone even more when she parkours up several shipping containers to get a better view for the op they’re on. Desi proves herself again during a fight scene by single-handedly taking out several guys with guns (and gets shot in the process, her bulletproof vest stopping every bullet). Let’s add bravery to the list of qualities Desi has shown in just over 10 minutes.

Later, she talks to Riley, who emphasizes their group’s need for Desi to be reliable (and this is interesting because Desi’s reliability is questioned in episode 21 this season). Riley found out Desi went AWOL while she was in Afghanistan, and Riley wants to know why. As Desi explains, one of the Afghani civilians she was working with was kidnapped, and she went to find him. Which Desi successfully did. As she tells the story, Desi becomes emotional, showing that she does have a heart and a vulnerable side, and you can tell she is speaking sincerely. Desi is also adamant that she would to do it again. This is an interesting contrast to her behaviour during the Codex storyline, but we’ll get there.

Desi doesn’t much like Mac’s fly by the seat of his pants behaviour because she was trained to always have plan and she can’t work spontaneously. We also learn Desi is knowledgeable about some sort of technology having to with RFID chips that I can’t personally understand, and that she went to the University of Michigan.

At the end of the episode, Desi makes an appearance at Mac’s house, saying Jack made her promise to go. She leaves as quickly as came though, not wanting to get too close to everyone…in case she has to bury them. Which, I understand, but morbid, jeez. It’s also kind of odd when you think about it because Desi is the group’s protector and is responsible for their safety. But, on the other hand, she can’t fix every situation, and there may be a time when one of them gets killed on a mission. So, while I understand Desi’s hesitation, I am not entirely a fan of it. And, this behaviour is even odder considering Desi goes on to date Mac at the end of the season. I guess Mac really did break down her walls (and that’s something I didn’t notice until writing this).

Overall, we’ve learned a lot about Desi. She’s tough, yet cold, smart, athletic, reliable (supposedly), likes a plan, and hates guns and animal abusers. Seeing her introduced this way (and introduced well) is interesting because I know future storylines and have seen how much Desi has changed as a character. She was always somewhat cold, but she initially had an adamance, confidence, and determination to do what is right. Knowing how the Codex storyline in particular goes down, the way Desi changes is interesting, to say the least.

Tl;dr: As Desi is introduced, the audience learns that she takes her job as the team’s bodyguard seriously, and owes Jack for some (still unknown) reason, and that’s really why Desi is there. We also learn she hates guns and animal abusers, is brave, athletic, reliable (supposedly), and well-accomplished. She also doesn’t want to get too close to the rest of the team in case she has to bury them, so she leaves the Phoenix’s group hangout session as quickly as she joined.

Season three, episode 16: Lidar + Rogues + Duty

At the beginning of this episode, Desi is ‘familiarizing’ herself with the lab and ‘helping’ Bozer with Sparky (really, she’s flipping through a magazine and complaining about the music Bozer is playing while he works). She says she’s lending moral support, though, so, whatever works, I guess. Anyway, Bozer asks for her help with running diagnostic tests on Sparky, and Desi agrees. But, her help is a riddle that sends the robot on an endless loop for the rest of the episode. I do like her shit disturber behaviour, though, so I’ll give Desi that.

For the main operation, Desi and Mac are on a recovery mission in Azerbaijan to bring back one of Mac’s friend’s bodies. His friend, Robert Reese, was on a covert flying mission when his plane crashed, and Mac and Desi are the only ones who can get the body.

While looking for the wreckage, Desi notices that Mac is distracted. She asks him what’s going on, and he explains why he’s distracted. And, knowing that Mac feels responsible for what happened to Reese, Desi asks Mac to tell her about his friend. After Mac does, she gets angry with him and tells Mac to compartmentalize, seemingly a turn around from being caring like she was in the previous episode. But, I understand where she’s coming from because Desi and Mac have to stay focused, or else, like she says, “Matty will be sending a team to recover us.” Fair, because if Mac lets his emotions get the best of him — while he and Desi are in a country they’re not supposed to be in — he could get into a situation he can’t get out of.  

Later, we learn that Desi speaks Turkish (what can’t this girl do?!) as some of the Azerbaijani military arrive at the wreckage site. After escaping and driving away, Desi notices a parachute in the trees, indicating it’s possible Reese isn’t dead. Mac is hopeful that his friend is alive, while Desi is more logical, saying, “there are a lot of reasons why the Azerbaijani military would grab a dead U.S. pilot.” They spot footprints of U.S. Army issued boots, so their mission goes from recovery to search and rescue.

Mac and Desi are led to a small town after hearing about sightings of an injured man wearing a flight suit. There, they figure out which building Reese is hiding in. Mac and Desi find him alive but with a broken clavicle. And, while Mac provides Reese with first aid, Desi becomes all business. But, in her defence, they’re in danger, so it’s not weird Desi reacts this way.

After escaping and another mission change (this time to stopping rogue CIA agents and recovering chemical weapons), Mac improvises a plan that goes awry and has Desi and Reese held at gunpoint by the agents. Desi has to stall while Mac tries to save them and, as she talks, she uses the info Mac told her about Reese, proving Desi listened to Mac. So, while we thought Desi was being callous, she actually showed that she sincerely cared about what Mac had to say.

Later, Desi meets with Bozer to make up for sending Sparky into an endless loop. Maybe she truly feels bad, or maybe she’s doing it selfishly because she’s new. Either way, it’s hard to tell because we’re not in Desi’s head. But, I’ll give it to her because I really think Desi knows she messed up and she wants to fix it. She tells Bozer the answer to the riddle and Sparky is able to break the loop.

We are still learning about Desi, but we get so much info in the small details. My favourite part about her this episode was her shit disturbing. We also learn she speaks Turkish, prefers to be all business when she’s on a mission, and pays attention to what’s going on around her. Desi is actually quite deep in this season, and she shows that she cares about people and robots alike.

Tl;dr: At the beginning of the episode, Desi is ‘helping’ Bozer while he works on Sparky the robot. She sends Sparky on an endless loop after telling him a riddle he can’t figure out, annoying Bozer.

Desi and Mac have the main operation, which was initially a body recovery mission for one of Mac’s friends, Robert Reese. She gets Mac to open up about Reese, and then immediately tells him to compartmentalize so they can get through the mission alive.

They find Reese alive, and their mission changes to stopping rogue CIA agents and recovering chemical weapons. At the chemical weapons site, Desi and Reese are held up at gunpoint by the agents, and Desi is forced to stall while Mac saves them. She uses the story Mac told her about Reese earlier in the episode, proving she paid attention to what Mac said.

At the end of the episode, Desi goes to Bozer to help fix Sparky. She tells him the answer to the riddle, getting Sparky out of his loop, and showing Desi cares about those around her.

Season three, episode 17: Seeds + Permafrost + Feather

This episode opens with Mac and Desi in bed together. But, it’s not what you think. It’s for a mission and part of Mac’s plan to escape from the people chasing them. Desi is annoyed by the plan (because she had to get undressed) and she argues with Mac. He tries to convince her it was their best option — until the bad guys return and hold Desi and Mac up at gunpoint. I can see why she would be annoyed with Mac, but is fighting during a mission necessary? Somehow, they escape, and we can move on.

Mac, Riley, and Desi have to travel to the international seed vault in Greenland because an employee is missing. Since Mac’s dad, James (also known as Oversight), was involved in the vault’s development and planning, he’s the person to call when something goes wrong. But, James has other business, so the mission falls to Mac, Riley, and Desi.

In the vault, thanks to a comment Desi made about the employee disappearing into the mountain (causing Mac to do his Mac thing), the trio discovers an access tunnel someone dug to get into the (extremely secure) vault. And, whoever dug that tunnel killed Karl, the missing employee, in the process. There is also a possibility of seeds being stolen.  

So, Mac, Riley, and Desi use Karl’s cell phone, which he had on him, to figure out the path he took and identify which seeds may have been stolen. Mac and Desi, who plays the murderer, recreate the fight, and they’re having a ball doing it. They fight, and Desi gives Mac all she’s got. She’s not subtle or gentle, but she gets the job done. Soon, they figure out which box (one of North Korea’s) the thief rifled through, and which seeds were taken (a rare form of a pea plant).

Desi explores the access tunnel and finds a room that is scattered in schematics, seed reports, and drilling equipment. From there, Mac figures out that the pea seeds are an ingredient in making a toxin, and that the seeds can be weaponized and used to create as much of the toxin as desired. Riley discovers their thief has been making monthly payments to a flower shop in Brussels, so a plane ride it is for Mac, Riley, and Desi.

On the plane, Mac calls Bozer so Mac can find out what’s going on with James. But, after hanging up, Mac slams his phone down and Desi comments on his annoyance and asks Mac about it. He says it’s the mission, but Desi isn’t buying it. When Riley mentions it’s about Mac’s dad, Desi says that Oversight seemed distracted. And, while she admits it’s not her business to know what’s going with Mac’s dad, Desi tells Mac it is his business.

The three of them go on a chase that takes them from a cemetery in Brussels to a park in the Czech Republic. The man they are running after, named Jules, wants revenge on a crime boss named Passer for killing Jules’ wife and child after Jules testified in court. At the park, Riley and Desi fight Passer’s men while Mac starts to talk Jules (who is holding Passer up at gunpoint) down. Eventually, Jules relents, and he is arrested. Mac, Riley, and Desi recover the stolen seeds and avoid an international incident with North Korea.

Desi has more of a background role in this episode because the episode focuses on Mac and his dad. But, her fighting skills, knowledge (she helped explain the seed vault to Riley and the audience), and empathy shine through. This is particularly true when she encourages Mac to figure out what is going on with his dad. This side of Desi is nice to see because while she’s tough, she is sincere in her efforts to help others.

Tl;dr: Desi is in the background this episode, but, she displays her intelligence, empathy, and fighting skills. She also encourages Mac to figure out what is going on with his dad, saying that it’s not her business to know what is going on with her boss, but it is Mac’s.

Season three, episode 18: Murdoc + Helman + Hit

This episode opens with Nicolas Helman’s return. And he gets to work immediately by murdering an FBI interrogator in a karaoke bar. How this happened, Mac, Riley, Matty, Bozer, and Oversight aren’t sure because the last time they saw him, Helman was dead — or, so they thought — because Matty had his coffin exhumed and it was empty. Since the Phoenix is responsible for Helman, they have to figure out his next move so they can capture him.

Mac, Bozer, and Desi are with Oversight this episode. Their mission? To speak with our favourite psychopath Murdoc who is still at the Phoenix Black Site. Desi gets the Helman story explained to her, but it doesn’t seem like she entirely believes how serious dealing with Murdoc is because she asks Mac, “What kind of monster are you keeping down here? Indominus Rex? King Kong? That kid from The Omen? These questions also reveal another detail about Desi that could easily be overlooked: She likes horror and monster movies. Anyway, upon meeting Murdoc, Desi seems to get it because she has a face similar to McKayla Maroney’s unimpressed face plastered on (and, really, who can blame her?). But, Mac, Bozer, Desi, and Oversight need Murdoc’s help, so they press on.

There’s a quick scene with Bozer and Desi observing Mac and Oversight questioning Murdoc. Desi acknowledges they weren’t kidding about Murdoc and notes that James is just as much of an enigma because he’s still exerting himself, despite the toll doing so takes. Bozer thinks Desi is talking about the effects having cancer has on Oversight himself, but Desi immediately corrects Bozer and says “I meant on Mac.” So, again, there’s that compassion for others Desi has displayed since her introduction.

After getting more information from Murdoc about Helman’s possible whereabouts (because Helman has killed again), Mac, Desi, and Oversight jump into action to find Helman. They, and a Phoenix tac team, storm an apartment building with Desi leading the way with a gun. They leave Bozer behind with Murdoc (which, rude). Anyway, the team starts going up to the apartment, but before they can really make their way, James starts having trouble physically. Mac, worried about his father, tells him he doesn’t need to go upstairs, but Oversight insists. Desi encourages Mac to be open and honest with his dad, but Mac says Oversight is fine. Desi tells Mac not saying anything to his father shouldn’t be an emotional decision because lives hang in the balance. She also says she’s worried about Mac, and tells him to not get distracted. This attitude harkens back to episode 16 when Desi was worried about Mac’s emotions getting in the way of their mission. So, I understand where she’s coming from and why she’s concerned.

Skipping ahead, Mac, Desi, and James go on a road trip because Riley and Matty discovered Helman had the transportation route for an FBI transport truck moving someone who is supposed to testify in a trial against his former employees. While waiting for the FBI truck, they see another (unknown) vehicle approaching. Concerned it may be Helman and that it could have explosives in it, Mac, Desi, and Oversight have to stop the vehicle. James tries to take matters into his own hands by borrowing a tac team member’s rife, but he’s having trouble steadying himself, and Desi notices. Oversight is eventually able to get his bearings and shoots out the van’s tires. While they stop the vehicle, it turns out to be a distraction so Helman could get into the Phoenix Black Site. Desi figures out that the FBI murders and attack on the transport truck were all a ruse so Helman could kill Murdoc.  

Later, they realize Murdoc’s entire plan was a jailbreak so Mac and Oversight go on a car chase to capture Murdoc while Desi flies in a helicopter overhead (side note, I’m not really sure why Desi is there because it doesn’t seem like she needs to be. She doesn’t do anything in this scene other than fly overhead and worry about Mac). James and Mac do their thing and figure out a way to stop Murdoc’s truck. But, with Desi’s words in the back of his mind (probably), Mac tells his dad he shouldn’t be the one to stop the truck. Oversight agrees, and Mac does his thing. You can see as he tries to overtake the truck, everyone (including Desi) is concerned. Eventually succeeding in stopping and capturing Murdoc, there’s a shot shown of Desi’s relief.

At the end of the episode, Desi says she suggested security upgrades for the black site so no one can escape or attack the site again. This reflects her security knowledge because the Phoenix trusted her enough to give her the task. Again, Desi isn’t so useless and demonstrates her intelligence.  

Throughout the episode, Desi shows she cares about other people, especially since she’s worried about the effect Oversight’s need to keep going has on Mac. She also encourages Mac to be honest with his father. And this is a thread that is shown throughout these episodes. Which leads to the following questions: What happened to that particular characteristic? Where did Desi’s empathy and compassion go?  

Tl;dr: Desi’s character development takes somewhat of a backseat this episode because it mostly focuses on Mac and Oversight (again). Still, throughout their mission, Desi encourages Mac to be open and honest with his father and tell Oversight his concerns. This, again, demonstrates her empathy and her concerns for others. Mac is eventually able (probably with Desi’s words in the back of his mind) to be honest with Oversight and take over in order to do the physical labour required on the mission.

Lastly, Desi suggests security upgrades for the Phoenix Black Site that held Murdoc so that no one can break in or out again. This demonstrates her intelligence, and leads to the following question: What happened to her intelligence and compassion and empathy for others?

We learn so much about Desi in just four episodes. From her bravery and boldness, to enjoyment of monster and horror movies, she isn’t so one-note. The biggest thread is her compassion and concern for others. She wants to help people and ensure they’re safe, and Desi is adamant and determined about it. She continually displays this characteristic, especially when it comes to Mac and ensuring his feelings don’t get the best of him while they’re on a mission.

During season three, Desi is written well! She’s introduced to us based on the trust a fan favourite has with the audience and she never deviates from that. She also displays many characteristics that actually make her interesting. She’s smart, athletic, brave, and bold. So, I have to ask (again): WHAT HAPPENED?! Where did go so wrong and why?

If you want more of my character analysis, let me know! I procrastinated way too long on this, so if it seems like episode 18 is disjointed from the rest, I apologize. I had fun with this, and I feel like I like and understand Desi a little more (at least for season three).

[smol-and-grumpy]

Sharing Is Caring

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Demon!Reader x Demon!Dean

Summary: Season 10, where Sam started to drink Demon blood again because his brother was gone. Sam was determined to get his brother back and Dean? Well, Dean was glad that Sam and Y/N found him and share him.

Warnings: NSFW, wincest, threesome, dark fic, oral, voyeurism, anal play, anal sex, bare backing, finger fucking, felching, come play, knife play, Sam drinking demon blood from his brother.

WC: 2091

A/N: This is a fic I once wrote for SPN Kink bingo 2019. I edited it and am now bringing it back. Heed the warnings! If you don’t like it, don’t read.

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Sam knew that he had to find his brother — at any cost. 

He was not going to lose Dean. Not again. 

He still remembered how it was when Dean went to hell. How it was when Dean went to Purgatory and Sam practically gave up on Dean. Dean was mad when he came back. 

Sam still remembers as if it was yesterday. So now? He isn’t going to make the same mistake again. Even though Dean first didn’t want to be found because he hid himself from Sam and instead he went on a prowl with Crowley.

This time, though, Sam doesn’t want to save Dean. 

No. 

Dean’s past saving and so is he.

The moment Sam noticed Dean was gone, he knew that he had to search for his brother because after all, Dean was the only thing Sam had left. The only constant in his life was gone and he needed it back. 

After a couple of days, Sam decided to lure in Demons, in the hopes to find Dean, but when neither of them knew Dean’s whereabouts, he began to slice them up and drink their blood. That was the story of how he came to drink demon blood again, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Sam found himself a companion, too. Y/N was a demon who wasn’t following Abbadon and he came to trust her. It was almost the same as with Ruby, only she was much kinkier, and she knew that Dean was Sam’s priority.

They found Dean in a bar - where else would he be? He was singing karaoke that night when Sam walked in with Y/N, and got booed by the audience, but that didn’t seem to faze Dean. Sam watched from the back, smiling brightly because all the hard work had finally paid off. His heart started to flutter strangely when his brother’s emerald green and empty eyes met his.

Dean walked down from the stage and disappeared through the back entrance right after, not really wanting to see Sam, but Sam was quicker.  He had sent Y/N to the back, in case Dean tried to make an escape, and it turned out to have been the right move. She could hold Dean back until Sam arrived.

Dean didn’t need a lot of persuasion to come back with them. Maybe he knew that there's no running away because Sam would always find him. They’re like magnets drawn together. 

The bunker days were passé; Sam didn’t want to go back to his old life after Dean left, he also didn’t want to save the world anymore. If he couldn’t save Dean, there’s really nothing for him to save anyway. He just wanted Dean back and he always knew that they were stronger together than apart. 

Sam’s sitting in the easy chair as he watches Dean go down on Y/N. Her hand fists in Dean’s short hair, pulling and pushing his face deeper into her pussy while she grinds on that fucking pretty face, and Sam can smell her, can literally taste her. The scent of her tang lingers thick in the air. Sam knows how she tastes, having been down there countless times himself, but tonight? Tonight is Dean’s turn. Mainly because Sam is a good brother and also because Sam wants a piece of Dean’s sweet ass.

“Ass up, Dean,” Sam commands and Dean growls against Y/N’s pussy. 

It seems like Dean’s a little annoyed that he has to shift his stance, but he does what Sam asks him to. 

That’s going to become their game now, and Dean can’t say that he doesn’t  love everything about his demon blood drinking brother.

“Mmmh…good boy,” Y/N chuckles, sitting up a little more so that she can watch Dean feasting on her swollen cunt. And when Dean pushes in two of his thick fingers and curves them just right while he still sucks on her little nub, she can’t help but bite down on her tongue and drive her nails into his scalp, drawing blood from Dean and she tastes copper on her tongue.

“Hey, careful, baby. I need that blood,” Sam laughs from the chair, his hand stroking up and down his impressive cock. 

The tip of it is already an angry shade and he’s leaking precum that she wants to lick so bad. She wants to taste Sam in her mouth, and has always loved it when Sam drove his dick to the back of her throat and made her choke on it. But she knows as well as everyone in the room did, that tonight Dean will get Sam’s dick, and she’s okay with that because she’ll get Dean’s after.

“You look so good, Dean. Go on, make her come,” Sam coos, and she can see him squeezing more precum out from the head of his dick before he smears it around, coating the tip of his dick with the clear liquid. Her mouth starts to water at the sight.

“Fuck, Dean…” She throws her head back as Dean hits her spot, sending her legs trembling. He hums as he sucks her clit harder and drives his fingers in even deeper, hitting that spot right inside of her. 

“Does my brother make you feel good, baby? Huh?” Sam stands up now, one hand around his throbbing cock and Y/N is taken aback by Sam’s posture. He looked so good. So broad and big as he looms over them. And Sam’s big in every department, alright? Not that Dean isn’t big, oh god, he is. Just that Sam was slightly bigger and honestly, she doesn’t mind being stuffed by both of them, which should happen as well when she thinks about it.

“Come for me, will ya?” Dean whispers against her pussy before he flicks his tongue against her nub frantically. He then seals his lips around her clit, slurps up all her juice and drinks from her like a starving demon.

“Yeah, Dean. Make her come and you’ll get my cock, that’s only fair, isn’t it?” Sam’s standing behind Dean now, his big hands spreading his brother’s asscheeks apart and kneading them roughly. He accumulates all the saliva in his mouth and lets the spit drop down Dean’s crack. Dean moans into her cunt as he feels Sam’s spit running down his crack.

Sam lets his fingertip trail around his brother’s puckered hole as he rubs his cock against one of Dean’s asscheeks, letting the older man feel how heavy and hard his cock and balls are. 

“No, Sam, I don’t want it stretched. I want to feel you.” Dean’s voice was muffled as he still had his mouth full of Y/N’s pussy. She winces as the vibration of Dean’s voice hits her cunt. Sam can see that she’s so fucking close.

“Harder, Dean! Fuck!” She calls out, pushing her hips further up and grinds them against Dean’s face. 

Sam uses their trance to lay his big cock in Dean’s crack and he pushes Dean’s asscheeks together, fucking himself up and down Dean’s crack. He hopes that Dean would make Y/N come soon because damn, he can’t wait to get a piece of that sweet ass. Sam’s head is spinning when he thinks about how tight and warm his brother must be. 

“Come on, Dean, make her come…” Sam growls impatiently, and Dean knows it. He is impatient too, and begins to push his ass back against his brother's groin. Sam pushes forward with a chuckle and drive Dean’s head into her pussy. 

That’s a place Dean likes to be. Slotted in between the two of them. Hell, what is he saying — under them, on top of them, in front of them, behind them — he would like it in every possible way, and Dean is fucking glad that Sam never gave up on him, because otherwise Dean wouldn’t be here, eating out that sweet pussy while his brother is desperate to fuck him into oblivion.

“Nnnngg..fuck! Yes, yes, Dean! Fuuuuck!” Y/N yells out, doesn’t mind that the neighbors could hear her because Dean’s tongue felt so fucking good and his fingers were so thick and oh god, her insides are quivering when she feels the tidal wave roll over her. She throws her head back, releasing Dean’s head from her grip and bathes herself in endless bliss.

That’s Sam’s cue. He drives his spit and precum-coated dick right into Dean’s ass, not stopping until his pelvis was flush with Dean’s asscheeks, bottoming out in one swift thrust, and he lets out a moan of satisfaction as Dean groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

Y/N opens up her eyes again and then she meets Dean’s black ones. She flashed him her black eyes too, smirking as she does it, while she produces a knife from under the pillow, “Who’s it going to be tonight, Sam? Dean or me?”

“Cut him up,” Sam pants, hips thrusting hard against Dean’s ass, “I want all of my brother tonight.”

She nods, takes the knife, and gets on her knees to get close to Dean. He still has his eyes screwed shut and doesn’t even object when she cuts into Dean’s shoulder. Dean keeps biting on his bottom lip and opens his mouth to moan out loud when Sam hits his prostate. 

Sam grabs Dean by his short hair and yanks his head up, pulls his brother’s back flush against his chest. One of Sam’s hands grabs around Dean’s throat as he still fucks him shallow and hard. 

He mouths his way from the back of Dean’s neck over to the place where blood was oozing out of the wound and starts to lick and suck at the patch while he still tries to fuck his brother good, but the angle is all wrong and his dick can’t hit Dean’s sweet spot like that. Neither of them cared though, because the bond they are having right now is stronger than anything.

Y/N watches them, her hands roaming freely across her body until she starts rubbing softly against her swollen and sensitive clit. She loves watching them. Loves how they fuck each other because the love they have is so pure, so raw, and she can’t say that she isn’t jealous. There’s a tiny part of her that’s always going to be jealous.

“So fucking tasty,” Sam hisses when he finishes, and then he releases Dean back into the position he was in before, with Y/N’s pussy right in front of his face. Dean licks his lips, his saliva already dripping down his chin. Sure, he loves Sam’s dick but he also still fucking loves pussy.

“Get it, Dean. I’m good to go.” She chuckles, spreading her legs some more and wriggles her hips.

“Oh shit, oh shit..” Sam mumbles low in the back and Dean knows that he’s going to come. “Fuck!” A last growl, one last thrust and Sam spills his hot seed into Dean’s ass, coating his insides with an enormous load of Sam’s spunk.

Sam pulls out soon after with a squelching sound but she almost can’t hear it above Dean’s slurping and humming. Sam’s all sweaty and shiny and oh god, if she ever said that the sight doesn’t make her wetter, she’d be lying.

“Fucking love your ass, Dean,” Sam huffs out breathlessly and places a kiss on either of Dean’s asscheeks before he brings his palms down and spanked his brother, driving Dean’s face deeper into Y/N’s pussy, which in turn makes her yelp up in surprise.

“Gonna have a taste now, can I?” Sam asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer, because he knows that the answer would be yes. 

Sam drives his tongue into Dean’s used hole first, feeling his own cum on the tip of his tongue, as Dean pushes out some more cum that drips onto Sam’s lip and down his chin. Sam seals his lips around Dean’s hole and starts to eagerly suck his own cum out of it, swallowing some but the rest, he keeps in his mouth because he knows that Y/N is dying to get a taste too. 

She’s fucking filthy and Sam still doesn’t know how he deserves her, how they both deserve her. She’s all that they’d ever dreamed of and more. They’ll make damn sure that they’ll never let her go after tonight. She is theirs as much as they are hers. Because after all, sharing is indeed caring.

@dean-winchesters-bacon​ @atc74​ @flamencodiva​ @amandamdiehl​ @hoboal87​ @mollmom​ @petitgateau911​

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Silmarillion as a TV/Netflix Series (Part 6)

This is by far the trickiest part, because I have no specific ideas for adapting the strategy and tactics of the War of Wrath. But there are a few big points to settle first. One of the major questions is whether the Valar themselves are going to be involved in the war.

If they are, it’s hard to imagine how the war could take 50 years.

If they aren’t, it’s hard to imagine how it could be won at all: the Vanyar-Noldor army of Valinorean elves is not especially larger than the original Noldorin forces in Middle-earth, and the remaining forces of the Sindar and Noldor of Middle-earth are so far depleted as to be neglibible. So, if it was virtually impossible for the Noldor to defeat Morgoth when they first arrived near the start of the First Age, or during the Long Peace, before he’d had the time to develop more and more dragons and other monsters within Angband, it’s hard to see why it would be possible for similarly-sized Elven armies to defeat him now. (Remember, the Valinorean Noldor are only 10% of the original group of Noldor.) Also, if the Valar aren’t involved, it’s hard to see how the war could be so cataclysmic as to literally destroy the landmass of Beleriand.

The Silmarillion states “The Host of the Valar were arrayed in forms young and fair and terrible, and the mountains rang beneath their feet.” I take this as meaning at least some of the Valar did go to war themselves; while it’s possible to read the phrase as referring to only Maiar, that seems like far from the most obvious reading. Manwë and Varda would not go (I think Tolkien said or implied this somewhere), but Tulkas and Oromë, whose purposes specifically include combat against evil things, certainly would. Ulmo, also, would undoubtedly be involved. And I think Aulë and Yavanna would as well, for love of the shapes and creatures of the world that Morgoth had destroyed and corrupted. I’m not as good as imagining Vana and Nessa in battle-shape, but it’s certainly possible. Of the Fëanturi, Lórien, Estë, and Nienna would come at some point, but in non-combat roles and to do what healing and cleansing of land and spirits as they could. And all these would be accompanied as well by large numbers of Maiar. (Including Melian! Likely including Curumo as well, he seems like the type of person who would want to be involved.)

If there’s a question as to why Eönwë would be commanding when Valar are there, I don’t see a contradiction. The general of an army is neither inherently the most powerful warrior nor the person of the highest social status. If he’s generalling, it’s because that’s the role he’s suited for.

The second major question lies in the basic contradiction between timelines indicating the War of Wrath took about 50 years, and the statement that the onslaught of the winged dragons lasted for “a day and night of doubt” and is one part of the battle noted where the Host of the Valar was on the defensive and retreating. Now, I have no military knowledge, but even to me it seems obvious that a war which lasts for fifty years and in which the largest setback for the victorious side lasts for one day make no freaking sense.

And on top of that, cinematically a fifty-year war would be very difficult to depict. So for the show, I think we’re better off having events proceed considerably more quickly than that.

As far as individual episodes go:

Episode 1: This episode is set-up. In Valinor, preparations for war, and the rising of the Star of Eärendil, seen in Middle-earth (including by Maedhros and Maglor, and Elrond and Elros). In Middle-earth, some scenes of Maedhros and Maglor raising the twins (I think it’s stated somewhere that they went far south, beyond the regions where Morgoth’s for es had a heavy presence). Some scenes on Balar dealing with the aftermath of the Fëanorian attack on Sirion. (What do they do with Fëanorians who surrendered afterwards? What do they do with Fëanorians who changed sides and fought on in their defence but who they still don’t trust?) The episode ends with arrival of the Host of the Valar.

Episodes 2 through 8 are the War itself, which, again, I have no idea how to construct. The Elves of Valinor are arriving by boat; and I expect that the Valar and Maiar would, for the most part, accomoany them. The landing would take place mainly all along the Falas, from Nevrast to the Mouths of Sirion, as well as farther north around the First of Drengist where Fëanor first landed.

Morgoth’s forces are spread throughout all of Beleriand, but vary in type. Hithlum stands out because it is not mainly inhabited by monsters, but by Men - the Easterlings and those among the Edain who are their thralls. I have an impression - partly from the Manwë’s reaction to the later Númenorean invasion, yielding authority to Eru even though the Valar certainly had the capacity to defeat Ar-Pharazon’s army - that the Valar and Maiar would be very uncomfortable about making war against Eruhini, even those who served Morgoth. So the portion of the invasion force at Drengist would be in large part the Edain, with some Elven and Maia support, and soon aided by uprisings among the Edain thralls. The role of Maiar or Valar here would largely be to keep the orcs and wolves and monsters of Morgoth at bay outside the mountains of Hithlum, but to leave the conflict against the Easterlings of Hithlum largely to the Edain and Eldar.

This would bring the northern portion of the army quite close to Angband, but they couldn’t attack from there - the Anfauglith would be packed with monsters and defenses, never mind the ever-present threat of Morgoth flooding the place with lava.

The greater part of the Valinorean forces would sweep east and north from the coast, facing substantial armies’ or Morgoth’s creatures (including cold-drakes, non-winged dragons, wolves, giant spiders, and really anything else horrifying you can think of; but the balrogs are being held in reserve by Morgoth for the defense of Angband). Various Maiar of Morgoth would be involved, including Sauron. One thing to note is that despite the presence of Valar, the Valar aren’t (aside from Tulkas and maybe Oromë) inherently suited to combat - that’s why Tulkas showed up in the first place. Even back in the Ages of the Stars, the Valar’s attack on Utumno was a hard fight - and that was when Morgith’s forces were far smaller than during the War of Wrath, though Morgith himself was personally more powerful then). So it’s not implausible for things to take some time and be challenging.

Episode 7 is the fight against the winged dragons and death on Ancalagon, and Episode 8 is the destruction of Angband and the casting of Morgoth into the Void.

Episode 9 includes Maedhros and Maglor’s demand for the Silmarils, Eönwë’s response, the brothers’ attempts to steal the jewel, and Maedhros’ death and Maglor’s departure from the known lands. This episode would also include scenes of the aftermath of Angband’s overthrow, the freeing of thralls and of captive spirits, in which the Fëanturi and their associated Maiar would have a large role (shout-out to @thearrogantemu’s latest fic!). At least a few of the Maiar who served Morgoth would genuinely surrender, which could be contrasted with Sauron considering surrender but ultimately choosing against it due to being unwilling to face consequences.

Episode 10 is the journey of (some of) the elves of Middle-earth to Valinor; the choice of others to stay (including Galadriel and Celebrimbor’s choices, and Galadriel’s last conversation with her father); and the promise of a new land for the Edain. It would also include the rebirth of Finrod in Valinor, giving hope that many of the audience’s favourite characters are not permanently dead, though it may be a long while before they return to life. I think having this at the very end is the best way to deal with elven rebirth without it feeling like a bit of a cop-out. If Finrod’s alive at the start of Season 6, you’re going to have pragmatically-minded viewers asking why the Valar don’t revive the Noldor as a whole and chuck ‘em at Morgoth - after all, if they die again, they can just come back again! Elven rebirth needs to be treated seriously, not as convenient respawning, so I think introducing it just as a possibility, for many years in the future, and at the end of the series, is the way to go.

This is also a great episode to show all the different reasons for different elves’ decisions on whether to return to Valinor. Returning out of weariness, or desire to see their families, or repentance, or simply having had enough of the endless wars and suffering of Middle-earth, or wanting to see the beauties of Valinor. Staying because they’re attached to Middle-earth; or want to make their own decisions outside the tutelage of the Valar; or are too ashamed to return and see the people they once knew; or, for some (especially Sindar) being unwilling to go to Aman if the Kinslayers can go there and be pardoned as well (“I’d rather live in the Anfauglith than have to share Valinor with them”); or still being curious about what the lands of Middle-earth beyond Beleriand are like; or wanting to know more of the Edain and Dwarves; or feeling a responsibility to aid and heal the world rather than leave it. I could even see a small handful of Vanyar or Valinorean Noldor choosing to stay for a while out of fascination with this world and its people, despite so much of what they had seen of it being horrible.

[voltrontranscript]

VLD S8E10: Knights of Light, Part 2

Season 8 Episode 10: Knights of Light, Part 2

Transcript by @dragonofyang

Summary: As the Paladins travel further into Honerva’s consciousness, they make shocking discoveries that will alter their reality forever.

[Google Doc]

Hunk: Woah. Wait, where are we?

Alfor: On Daibazaal.

Gyrgan: It’s pristine. Last we were here, all was decimated.

Allura: The landscapes of her mind must be made up of places from her past.

Lance: Wait, hold up. If all this is a big, old Honerva thought bubble, then wouldn’t she know we’re here?

Pidge: About twenty years ago, the Garrison was able to map the human brain. They used a ventral metatronic reactor to read the theramagnetic wave signatures of each of the subjects.

Lance: Get to the point, Pidge.

Pidge: A person’s mind is an endless landscape of constantly shifting thoughts and ideas. We must be hidden in the chaos.

Keith: Do you know this for sure, or is this just a theory?

Pidge: Well, it’s a theory, but if Honerva finds out we’re in her mind, I have a feeling we’ll know about it.

Hunk: Good point.

Keith: Allura, where should we go next?

Allura: The entity wants us to enter the palace.

[Scene change to the doors before the great hall.]

Alfor: Allura, please listen to me. Alteans are life-givers. The entity you possess is a dark, ancient evil. It is not the key to winning this war.

Allura: I understand your concern, but the entity granted us access to Honerva’s mind. Without it, your spirit would still be cursed.

Alfor: If you’re looking for real power, the ability to become a true Altean alchemist, there is a place where you can train.

Allura: Oriande, I know. I’ve been there and passed the guardian’s trials.

Alfor: That’s wonderful news. You were able to gain the power of Oriande.

Allura: It isn’t enough. That is why I must learn another method. The entity will guide us toward the answers we seek.

Alfor: But at what cost?

Lance: Whoa! Where’d that thing come from?

Hunk: Guys, it’s the monster from Arus!

Keith: Form Voltron!

Hunk: Wait, where are the original paladins?

Keith: What the heck was that?

Hunk: He couldn’t do that the last time we fought him!

Pidge: This is Honerva’s mind! Anything can happen.

Lance: Wait, does this means she knows we’re here?

Allura: It appears she has guardians to protect her thoughts and memories. The original paladins, they’re still with us!

Alfor: Voltron, keep going. We’ll hold off the beast.

Keith: Thanks for the help, Paladins.

Lance: But where do we go?

Keith: Any ideas, Allura?

Allura: Yes. I know what we must do.

[Scene change to Oriande.]

Keith: Is everyone okay?

Hunk: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m good.

Pidge: Yeah, I’m alright.

Allura: Just a bit shaken.

Lance: What the heck just happened?

Pidge: These are traps, just like that monster. They’re failsafes Honerva is using to protect her secrets from any unwanted intruders--us.

Hunk: What? I thought the entity was supposed to be helping us.

Allura: It’s pulling us back to its source. Unfortunately, that source is being protected.

Lance: Great, so the thing that is guiding us might get us killed.

Allura: What we’re looking for is in there.

[Scene change to a barren plain of fractured earth, with frequent lightning strikes all around the paladins.]

Keith: Honerva.

Allura: Father. These must be her memories.

[Transition through a series of still shots of Honerva’s life from childhood into the flashback where the original paladins are fighting Zarkon after he’s resurrected.]

Zarkon: Where are the lions?

Blaytz: They’ve been destroyed.

Zarkon: You dare lie to me?

Trigel: It’s the truth. You’ll never see your lion again.

Zarkon: Neither will you.

[Transition back to the paladins in the barren mindscape.]

Pidge: She… she killed them.

Hunk: What she did to them was terrible.

Allura: I always assumed they sacrificed themselves, but I--I didn’t realize what that entailed.

Pidge: That's how the original paladins ended up trapped here. She took their quintessence, trapped their minds inside her consciousness. It drove them mad.

Keith: He was the leader of Voltron. And he just turned on them.

Allura: That is why we must destroy Honerva.

Lance: Allura, please. What we just saw, it was all because of the entity. The same one that’s inside you. You need to get rid of it.

Keith: If Allura loses the entity, then we lose our connection to Honerva.

[Scene change to the paladins standing in a clearing surrounded by thick glowing web-like structures.]

Hunk: Aw, now where are we?

Keith: Stand back.

[Flash through a series of wordless flashbacks of Honerva on the colony, then Oriande.]

Pidge: The deeper we get into her mind, the more recent the memories.

Allura: Good.

[Flash through a series of flashbacks that show the retrieval of the Sincline mech from the rift as the paladins destroy the web-like structures.]

Honerva: Lotor. We’ll all be together soon.

[Cut to the paladins standing Honerva’s memory of the corrupted rift.]

Hunk: Pidge, any idea what part of her brain we’re in now?

Pidge: No, I’m not sure.

Honerva, disembodied and overlapping: Wait… Voltron. Voltron! My son… I will find you. This flame represents Lotor. Son, I will find you. The end for anyone who dares oppose me.

Allura: Keith, grab my hand!

Honerva, disembodied and overlapping: Rise and avenge my son. And my Altean…

Keith: Hunk, over here!

Allura: Everyone, feel the energy of the entity within you. Don’t fight it. Let it guide you.

Honerva, disembodied and overlapping: ...deeply coiled in traditions of evil that tempt us. Voltron and Galra will pay for what they did to my son.

[Scene change to the paladins awakening in a field of juniberries beneath a glowing sky.]

Hunk: Oh, man. Oh, boy. Whoo, that was rough. Ah!

Allura: Altea! It looks… different.

Pidge: This must be the way Honerva remembers it. It must be a place she holds dear. We should be close.

Lance: Ugh, I wonder what kind of weird, freaky thing is gonna attack us here.

Hunk: Ah! Does that answer your question?

Keith: Find safety! I’ll distract it!

Lance: What? No way!

Keith: Just go! You were their leader! They trusted you, and you betrayed them! You don’t deserve the Black Lion! Hunk, shoulder cannon!

Hunk: I can’t! Ah!

Keith: Form sword!

Pidge: Uh… guys?

Alfor: Zarkon?

Zarkon: Alfor. Blaytz. Gyrgan. Trigel. Melenor? What are you doing here?

Allura: Melenor was my mother, and you murdered her! You’ve killed millions!

Lance: Allura, what are you doing?

Allura: Reminding him of the suffering he’s caused.

Zarkon: No.

Allura: You did that. All of it!

Zarkon: I’m sorry, I… I didn’t realize what I--

Allura: You knew exactly what you were doing. You deceived and betrayed your friends and allies!

Zarkon: The quintessence… it blinded me. And you all suffered because of it.

Allura: If you’re truly sorry for what you’ve done, then help us stop her. You must have been placed here to protect something. What is it?

Zarkon: I… don’t know. I… I’m sorry.

Allura: What are you protecting?

Zarkon: I don’t… That moon. It is a moon of Daibazaal.

Alfor: He’s right, that moon is not of Altea.

Allura: That is the source. No. It’s impossible.

Zarkon: They’re her deepest desires. Everything she hopes to achieve.

Hunk: How could she possibly achieve any of this? Zarkon and Lotor are both gone.

Pidge: Unless she’s going to use Lotor’s ship to pierce through realities and find the one where she can live with her family.

Hunk: Is that even possible?

Pidge: Not without destroying all other realities in the process.

Lance: What’s going on?

Zarkon: She knows you’re here!

Hunk: How?

Lance: Allura!

Alfor: Allura?

Lance: What’s happening to her?

Zarkon: The princess holds the entity within. Honerva controls it now.

Keith: Everyone, get to your lions! Where did they go?

Zarkon: You’re in her mind. She’s more powerful here.

Keith: What do we do?

Zarkon: There’s nothing you can do but accept defeat.

Keith: No! We won’t give up!

Zarkon: That’s your Galra lineage. It’s what makes you a great leader of Voltron. You and I share that trait, but look where it has led the two of us. My desire for unlimited quintessence was the catalyst for ten thousand years of destruction. Your quest to save the universe took you into the mind of a psychopath.

Keith: Yes, to gain the knowledge of what she’s doing. And now we know.

Zarkon: Yet you still don’t know how! She’s too powerful.

Alfor: Zarkon, Honerva may be more powerful than each of us alone, but the strength of ten paladins working together as one is the strongest force in the universe.

Zarkon: The lions are gone, Alfor. Voltron is gone forever.

Keith: No, Voltron isn’t gone. Voltron is within each and every one of us. We’re bonded to it, and to each other.

Alfor: We have one last chance to set things right, but we cannot do it without you. Ride with us one last time, Zarkon.

Zarkon: Form Voltron! Form Blazing Sword!

[Scene change as the old paladins crack through the barrier in Honerva’s mind and the modern paladins wake up inside Voltron.]

Pidge: We did it!

Hunk: Yes! Yes.

Keith: Nice work, team.

Lance: Allura, are you okay?

Hunk: Allura?

Lance: Allura?

Pidge: Allura, are you okay?

Keith: Allura, do you copy?

End.

[bornintartarus]

Posted for the annual Jason Todd Birthday Week! Also on AO3

i.

Jason's feet are numb as he walks the lonely streets of Gotham. They are barely protected against the ice and snow he treads upon, covered in the remnants of shoes that had been brand new five years ago. He wiggles his toes to bring back some warmth as he walks, hands tightened in his tattered jacket pockets. One of his hands is clenching the leather wallet he picked off a businessman chattering on his phone, the other a bracelet he stole from a woman when she helped him up after falling to his knees in the snow.

A stab of guilt worms its way into his young heart and he squashes it down resolutely. His mom needs this money, he needs this money. It's the only way they'll survive past this stupid winter.

Winter in Gotham City is much like everything else he's experienced in his life this far, brutally unforgiving and a death trap on the streets if you weren't careful. It makes him shiver in his sleep, the wind's screaming jolting him awake in the middle of the night. He loves his city, it's the only home he's ever known, but that doesn't stop him from being tired.

The stealing is rough, but it hurts less than coming back to his mom without anything to feed her. It doesn't help that she's getting weaker by the day, barely accepting anything to eat anymore. Jason fondly remembers the days before his life became a living nightmare, before his dad left and they were living out in the cold.

His mom was filled with life back then, her cheeks pink and eyes glowing. She was healthy, not starved and always exhausted. He had sobbed at first when he realized what the drugs were doing to her, depriving him of a mother who was actually capable of taking care of him. There is no sparkle in her eyes now, all traces of mischief and adventure gone.

Jason realizes that he doesn't really know his mom anymore.

Wind whips at his cheeks, pushing hair in front of his eyes. He brushes it aside with trembling fingers and readjusts his hood to cover more of his face, gasping when the wind steals its way through the cracks and engulfs his ears in the freezing cold air.

Better hats, better socks, better gloves- there's a list of clothes he needs to survive this season, all with expensive price tags. It's either being cold or going hungry, and even at eight years old Jason's smart enough to know which one will get him killed first.

He has an actual list too, one back in that ramshackle shelter he and his mom call their home. He used to carry it with him, but just looking at the store windows made him want to tear it to pieces with desperation. They need food that isn't stale, water that's hot, clothes that actually fit. He doesn't know how much longer he can go on like this.

They've only been out on the streets for two years now, and a part of him swears he's never been this cold. He spent the last couple of days nailing scraps of wood and plastic garbage to block up the cracks at their little shelter, trying to root out where the cold air forces its way in. He spends the rest of his time out on the streets, scrounging for anything that can substitute for blankets and stealing things here and there from people to buy food from the dingy convenience store around the corner.

He takes the time to check on his mom, usually just to reassure himself that she's still breathing.

"Hi mom."

His throat closes up and not for the first time he wishes he was less of a crier.

"I have to run out to get some things."

No response.

Jason sniffles and holds back tears. He can do this, it's been two years, but seeing his mom like this never fails to cripple him.

He clears his throat. "I'll be back soon."

He doesn't expect a reply as he whispers a quick "Love you" and bolts away.

So that's what he's doing now, out in the cold. As he passes the Gilzean's Turf he keeps his head as low as possible, making himself smaller as he inches away. He's perfected the art of being invisible over the years, the only way to get away with trespassing on another gang's land. He knows that the gang members in Gotham have no qualms about killing children, hell, half of them make a living by selling drugs to kids in public schools. The thought makes his blood boil with anger.

He skirts around one of the drug dealers, hands inadvertently clenching around his stolen items. If he's caught with the wallet and the bracelet he'll be a prime target for life.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally passes safely, but something bright stops him in his tracks.

The store window is closing for the day, but the lights are still on and the cakes are on display. He hasn't seen anything this beautiful in the two years he's lived on the streets. The cakes come in all shapes, colors and sizes, but the one that catches his eye is fire engine red, yellow and orange icing swirling on top to imitate flames. The whole thing has a ridiculous toy fire truck on the top, and at that moment all Jason desperately wants to know is if it's edible or not.

He's stomach is growling with hunger while his mouth waters in vain. His fingers twitch at his sides restlessly. He doesn't know how long he stands there, cold, tired, hungry.

It's his birthday.

He's turning nine, he knows he's turning nine. It's his second birthday on the streets and he misses everything he's lost.

He misses his full stomach, his friends at school, his warm bed. He misses his books and toys, and the way his mom used to laugh when they spent time together.

He misses it all, and none of it is coming back. The feeling hurts more than anything he's ever felt, and he wonders if the hollow feeling in his chest will subside over time.

Suddenly, someone in the store shuts off the lights and the cake vanishes from view, a pang of misery resonating within him. It's gone, and some lucky kid will probably eat it tomorrow.

He stuffs his shivering hands back into his pockets, hands immediately finding the wallet. At least they'll have food tonight.

He makes his way back home after stopping at the convenience store, purchasing two cans of microwavable soup and a bottle of water with a $20 bill. The cashier looks suspicious as he hands over the change, and unease ripples through his empty stomach until he leaves.

He wastes no more time getting back, drinking the cold soup straight from the can. It's the cheapest he could find, greasy and too salty, and the chilly liquid does nothing to prevent the chills racking his skinny frame. Pouring the other into a chipped ceramic Tupperware container, he makes his way to his mom.

"Mom?"

She's awake this time, eyes glassy. Catherine Todd is right in front of him, but all Jason wants to do is cry about how far away she is.

"I brought you soup. You need to eat some this time, alright?"

She turns her head to face him briefly but doesn't respond. He sits next to her and tries to stop his hands from shaking as he feeds her small spoonfuls of soup.

She gets through half of it before she's pushing him away. He leaves the bottle of water next to her, knowing with a heavy heart that he'll find it unopened in the morning.

He pecks her on the cheek and pulls their best blanket over her, pausing to say goodnight before he leaves.

He knows that it'd be warmer if they slept together, but he knows he can't handle seeing her so frail for longer than an hour, and his crying upsets her.

He pulls out his raggedy piece of carpet to cover himself with to bed. He found it a couple of weeks ago in a garbage can, it's the warmest thing he possesses.

He makes a wish, hoping that his mom will live long enough to be there for his tenth birthday.

He dreams of red fire trucks.

___________________________________

ii.

It doesn't take long for time to pass; the days blur into weeks and weeks into months. The cold fades away and suddenly Gotham is warm again, bathed in summer light. The trees grow new leaves, the birds come back, and in no time at all the world moves on.

Wayne Manor hasn't changed in the slightest. The famous Robin costume hangs in the cave, Batman's proudly standing next to it. The manor is spotless as always, the endless hallways and rooms free of dust. The banisters are polished, the fireplaces cleaned of any ash.

Bruce's life simultaneously feels normal and completely out of order at the same time.

He still gets dressed in the morning, still eats breakfast and leaves for Wayne Enterprises. He still deals with boring meetings and pesky co-workers who won't stop staring at him.

It's difficult to get out of bed nowadays.

That, at least, is new. The wretched feeling of hopelessness weighing him down like an anvil. It makes his head hurt and his hands shake. His chest is left feeling tight and it’s always hard to breathe.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it, he knows almost everyone can see the change in him now, and a part of him hates himself for being weak while another part can't muster up the energy to give a damn. Lucius gives him pitying looks whenever he drifts off during a conversation. The league members are more gentle with him now, speaking in low tones without the biting remarks from before. Alfred tries his best to hide his concern when Bruce wakes himself up in the middle of the night screaming his son's name.

Everyone treats him like glass now, fragile, delicate, and liable of shattering. It doesn't help that it's exactly how Bruce feels, like one wrong word could break him for good. The only time he can remember hurting this bad was when he was eight years old and kneeling in front of his parent's bodies in that god forsaken alley.

He lets out a whimper of despair when he remembers finding a 10 year old Jason in that very alley, wrench in hand and grime on his face. He shoves his head into his hands to try and bury the memory, pulling at his hair.

The boy had looked so guilty, crouching in front of the Batmobile. He reminded Bruce of a scared cat, frightened to come forward but fierce in a fight.

He brought the kid a burger.

It had seemed logical at the time, Jason was obviously starving and he figured it was a smart way to get the boy to trust him.

That memory used to make him feel proud, now all he feels is nausea churning through his stomach.

If Jason never met him in the first place he'd still be alive. Maybe hungry and out of school but still breathing.

Adopting Jason had been different from adopting Dick. Dick was cautious as a child, still grieving over his parent's gruesome deaths. When Bruce looked into the acrobat's eyes he saw himself, someone desperately alone who needed love and support. When Jason was brought into his life it was sudden but welcome, and it made Bruce feel a little less lonely in the Manor since his first child spent most of his time in the Titans Tower.

Loving Dick felt like a responsibility, in a way. The boy deserved the attention Bruce had been deprived of after Martha and Thomas Wayne were murdered. It made him proud to witness Dick's journey through teenage years, standing by his side in some of Gotham's darkest moments. He's fought Penguin and Scarecrow and Riddler, and he gets better every time.

The arguing was new, but Bruce knows it's normal. He just wishes it didn't rile him as much as it does. Their fighting is loud, angry and sharp. Words are tossed around, ones that hurt, and they make Alfred sigh sadly. He can't help but feel annoyed at Dick acting out, but he knows that Dick hates it more when he gets left out.

It doesn't take long for Dick to realize he needs some space, and Bruce doesn't stop him when he leaves to train with the Titans.

But in that amount of time Jason Todd has wormed his way into his heart, slowly but surely. He manages to fill the gaping hole in Bruce's heart, and he comes to love the boy more than anything. While his love for Dick is as natural as breathing, instinctual at this point, his love for Jason is all-consuming, and it burns inside of him like a roaring flame.

Dick was never happy about Jason's presence in their lives, and he'd told Bruce once that it made him feel replaced and unwanted. It was hard work, but eventually the four of them had learned to make it work, coexisting with some semblance of normalcy. Nothing made Bruce happier than seeing his sons get along, and it made his heart swell with pride.

Life was good. Dick came by the manor more often and they fought less, Jason was settling in nicely, Alfred was overjoyed. Their small family wasn't normal, but Bruce gave up tradition when he put on the cowl for the first time.

Bruce wants that life back so badly. His heart aches and his head burns with memories. Dick is grieving as well, in his own way. It hurts to see Dick at his worst, awakens something primal in him that screams and shouts, demanding his attention. Dick runs himself ragged, stubbornly contributing to the Titans Team and Gotham at the same time. When Bruce voices his concerns, Dick shouts at him, cries out that he’s doing the best he can.

It makes Bruce feel even more like a failure.

In the end he holds Dick while he weeps and tries to pull himself together, because Dick’s grief is his fault, Jason’s death is his fault.

Today is as bad as any day, his legs feel like dead weights and his brain is mush. He knows how to get past this, he’s been battling this feeling for almost a year now. He swings his legs to the side of the bed and pulls himself upright.

He picks up the phone lying on the bedside table next to him and starts scrolling through his notifications. He reads through the schedule Lucius has made for him for the day, making mental notes as he goes along. He makes adjustments when needed, planning on the meetings he’ll attend. He swears internally when he realizes he’s overbooked for 5:00. He wastes no time switching to his calendar, searching for a free spot when he freezes.

The date is there, staring him in the face like a warning sign. He gazes at the letters almost hypnotically until they’re etched into his brain.

August 16.

He barely gets the chance to register the fact that his legs are moving until he’s crouching on the bathroom tiles, throwing up his dinner from the night before. Sweat beads his forehead as heaves, unable to focus on anything except the fact that it's August 16.

When it finally ends he pulls his legs forward and haunches himself up into a ball on the floor, head tucked inwards. Tears escape and he sobs, grief tearing his heart in two.

17. His little boy would have turned 17 years old.

The realization makes panic seize his chest until he’s gasping for air, fingers trembling as they scramble for purchase. There are hands on his shoulders, warm steady ones pulling him out of his head.

“Bruce, it’s gonna be alright.”

The words float towards him like distant echoes.

“I need you to breathe for me B, c’mon.”

He’s had panic attacks before but in his experience there’s no way to be fully prepared for one. His throat feels like it’s closing up, palms sweaty. His eyes bounce back and forth manically, finally settling on his eldest son.

“That’s good. Focus on me now.”

He tries his best, and eventually his breathing slows. Dick eases himself onto the floor gracefully, covering Bruce’s trembling hands with his own.

“Talk to me Bruce.”

After months spent alone, struggling to get through the days and dealing with his grief alone it’s all that’s needed to break the dam.

“He would have turned 17 today.”

The words are barely a whisper, but he can’t stop the tears that roll down his face from the confession. Dick squeezes his hand and gives him a silent nod of encouragement.

“If I hadn’t gotten him involved with being Robin in the first place he’d still be alive today.”

Dick shakes his head firmly.

“This is my fault, Dick, I-”

“Remember when he put on the suit for the first time?”

His brain scrambles as he's taken back to that day. Like he’d ever be able to forget. Jason was so excited he’d been worried about him falling off one of the buildings while he ran and leaped, doing somersaults in midair.

“He put it on and preened in front of a mirror, then jumped onto a table and screamed about it being the best day of his life, remember?"

Dick laughs softly and Bruce can't help but return the favour with a watery chuckle.

They sit for a few more moments, collecting their thoughts. Dick turns to face him.

"Here's what we're going to do B. You're gonna change, I'm going to help Alfred with breakfast and call Lucius to tell him you're taking the day off."

Bruce groans. "No, Dick, I've got the product launch meeting to supervise, the company's been working on it for months-"

His eldest gives him a hand to help him off the floor and glares at him. "You're taking the day off. Don't make me bring Alfred into this."

He finally relents, heading back to his bedroom to find some clothes. Dick retreats to the kitchen, grinning victoriously.

He abandons the suit he was preparing to wear to work and picks out the softest sweatshirt he owns instead. His phone rings unexpectedly and he grabs it, expecting it to be Lucius.

"Bruce?"

Clark's soft voice rings through the phone and Bruce's breath catches. He hastily presses it to his ear.

"What's wrong? Is it Metropolis or the Justice league?"

He's already running the scenarios through his head, calculating the amount of time it'll take to grab his batsuit and get there.

The voice on the other end halts, Clark clearing his throat. His unease grows.

"No, Bruce." The kryptonian sounds surprisingly gentle. "This is about Jason."

Ah.

Bruce takes a minute to wipe the tears stubbornly forming at the corner of his eyes again. Clark uses that silence to continue.

"Look, I know what today feels like for you and your family. I've been there."

The emotion in his voice instantly lets Bruce know that his friend is talking about Jonathan Kent. Clark's father had passed away two years ago from a heart attack. The memory is still fresh in his mind, Clark barely holding himself together as he spoke at the funeral, clutching his mother's hand.

He swallows. "It's just hard-" his voice cracks with emotion and he starts over. "Hard to move on. A part of me feels like I'm just leaving him behind if I forget the moments we spent together."

He doesn't feel like locking his emotions away this time, he's been doing it for the last couple of months and it's definitely making him worse. The reasoning makes him feel significantly better about his breakdown.

"How are Dick and Alfred holding up?"

"Better then I am, but at this point I have no idea. A part of me is afraid that Dick's distracting himself from his grief by taking care of me instead. He's spreading himself too thin with Gotham and the Teen Titans and-"

Clark stops him before he starts spilling his soul into the phone. "Alright, so work through this together. It's pretty obvious that you both need each other right now."

"I know he needs me but I don't know how-"

He can hear Clark's smile through the phone. "Bruce, c'mon, you're overthinking this. Just be there for him, trust me."

Bruce swallows audibly. "Alright."

"I'm here too, if you need me. For anything."

And shit if that doesn't make him want to start crying again. He manages to whisper his thanks and accepts Clark's casual "Anytime."

He hangs up, and heads downstairs, eating breakfast with Dick and Alfred. The rest of the day passes without incident, Dick calls Lucius and they spend his day-off relaxing in the manor and taking strolls around the grounds. Overall the day is one of the best he's had in a long time.

That doesn't stop him from going to visit Jason's grave in the middle of the night, shakily opening up his copy of Oliver Twist and reading it out loud until his tears start to blur the words.

___________________________________

iii.

He spits out curses as he walks down the street, breathing laboured under his signature red hood. His ribs are bruised and he can't seem to muster up enough energy to hide his brand new limp.

Black Mask's men had attempted to take over some of his turf once again. Usually Jason didn't mind, it was pretty low on his list of concerns. He let them have it for a couple of days before moving in, killing most of the idiots on sight. He figured Black Mask would get some better men by now but it seemed he was as much an idiot as they were.

The problem with this particular spot was that it was home to an apartment he'd brought earlier and rented out to a couple of street kids. They were all minors, some of them living on their own while others lived with roommates. If Jason was loyal to anyone it was those kids and he wasted no time going in with guns blazing.

Not exactly the nicest way to start off his 23rd birthday but hey no one could say it hadn't started off with a bang.

At least all the kids were safe. Most of Sionis's men were dead, but that was normal at this point. One of the kids stopped him as he left, concern painting his features.

"You look like shit man, stay here."

At least the kid had spunk; not all of them were brave enough to approach him. He looked about 15, barely fitting into clothes that were dirty and about two sizes too large. Jason searches his memory for a name, comes up blank. He might have been one of the kids who tagged along when he'd picked up someone else.

His musing is interrupted as the kid steps in front of him.

"I'm serious, you look like you're about to keel over."

Jason ignores the lightheaded feeling as his surroundings spin lazily around him. He clears his throat.

"I'm good. Make sure you lock the windows and doors tonight, call me if anything happens."

The kid nods, looking unconvinced. Jason pushes forward.

All he wants to do is spend the night snoozing in one of his safe houses, but the thought of sleeping in one of his cots makes him groan with discomfort. The possessions he keeps in his safe houses are always meager, he doesn't want to lose his supplies over something as stupid as being caught.

He prepares to walk home and scowls when he realizes he's going to need to stop somewhere for food, his stomach is growling. He makes a right on the next street and propels himself to the nearest grocery store, grateful that it's a dingy place with hardly any customers.

He ducks into the alley next to it and ditches his helmet, breathing in the fresh air as it comes off. He swaps it for a baseball cap and covers up his suit with a light jacket. He zips it up as he makes his way into the store, head down and steps purposeful.

He browses the shelves and picks out some water bottles and stops at the freezers to grab microwave lasagna. He grins at the thought of Alfred shuddering at his meal choices, he could practically hear the man complaining about the unhealthy ingredients used.

On his way to check out he finds a table cheerfully advertising cupcakes that are 50% off. They look like they're on the verge of expiring but it's been a while since he's had something sweet. He shrugs and picks up a pack that isn't too crushed.

He dumps his items on the conveyer belt and roots through his pocket for money, groaning internally when the price totals to $27.88. Money isn't hard to find nowadays, what with all of the connections he's gathered over the years, but a small part of him is still a starving nine year old desperate to feed himself with the little he has.

He wonders dimly if that part of him will ever fade.

He's startled out of his thoughts for the second time that night but the woman behind the cashier. He knows he needs to bandage his wounds and sleep it off, but he can't do that unless he focuses and gets his ass back to the safe house.

The woman's name tag indicates that her name is René and she peers at him worriedly from behind her glasses.

He flashes her a tired smile. "Sorry, I'm a little distracted tonight." He hands over the cash and she busies herself with the register, printing out his receipt. While the machine spits out the paper she turns to face him again.

"Are you alright? You look like you were hit by a car."

Even when Jason was a street kid, he loved to watch people. It was a great way to practice his thieving skills, finding out who would be an easy target long before slipping his hands in their pockets. One thing all citizens in Gotham had in common was their bluntness when it came to the crazy crime sprees and sudden robberies. Barely anyone batted an eye when there was a home invasion, and unless the body count was above five it wasn't even featured in the local newspapers.

To outsiders the cold disinterest might've been considered cruel, but it didn't take Jason long to figure out that it was the way that people coped. Keeping yourself numb kept the pain at bay, and he could probably relate to that fact more than anyone.

So René's reaction to an injured young man showing up at her store instead of a hospital wasn't surprising, but at least he could deal with this.

"I'm fine. Just ran into some people, you know how it goes."

She nods as she bags his items, pausing with the cupcakes.

"You sure you want these? I know it's technically my store but you seriously don't want to know how long they've been on these shelves."

He can't stop the sudden bark of laughter at her words and tries to stop himself from doubling over and crying out. He's starting to reconsider his original evaluation of the state of his ribs.

In the end all he manages is turning away and wheezing, trying to quell the coughs that makes his insides feel like they're on fire.

René stares at him with unease, looking like she wants to simultaneously pat him on the shoulder and take a couple steps back at the same time.

She settles for grabbing him a bottle of cold water from the fridge behind her, unscrewing the cap and pushing it into his shaking hands. She glares at him until he relents and takes a gulp, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat. He keeps his eyes on her as he finishes it.

"Thanks."

"If you start coughing up blood like the dude in the horror movie I saw last night I'm kicking you out. I'm not staying overtime, I got a girlfriend to binge Stranger Things with," she warns, not unkindly.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He gives her a smirk, or tries to. He'd like to think he pulled it off. "And yeah, I'll take the cupcake. I am the birthday boy after all."

She raises an eyebrow. "No kidding? I'm guessing the blood and twisted ankle is from a surprise party gone wrong?"

He doesn't grin this time, eyes focused on the bags containing his items.

He keeps his tone carefully uninterested. "Nope. Decided to celebrate the occasion on my own this year."

He doesn't miss her sigh. Once you move to Gotham you see some things on a daily basis that make you stop questioning the why behind the crimes. It's just a fact of life at this point, trees are green, pizza is good and Gotham is where bloodthirsty maniacs call home sweet home. She's probably seen thousands of tired, ragged kids on their own stumbling into her store just like he's done tonight.

The thought stirs up the familiar rage he's been carrying with him since he was little. The sick feeling that haunts him as he sleeps, the knowledge that the children in his city are raped, beaten, kidnapped and killed almost regularly.

He grabs his purchases and avoids René's gaze, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He knows he's practically running out of the store but can't seem to give a damn.

He's already outside when he hears it, the shout muted through the glass doors.

"Happy birthday!"

It's enough to stop him in his tracks as he contemplates going back. She was nice to him, there's no reason to leave things awkward.

He settles for sticking his head back in the door and yelling out a "Thanks!" before bolting.

He heads back home, head throbbing in tune with his heart. He shrugs off the dizziness as he walks, pausing to catch his breath as he leans against the wall of a building. He inhales the sharp smell of cigarettes and gasoline, a combination he's been familiar with for longer than he can remember.

Cars speed past him, the bright lights almost dizzying as they flash across his vision. He rubs his hands against his eyes to get rid of the bright spots, trying to quell his rising nausea.

Miraculously he makes it back in one piece, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse on his cot and pass out. He heads to the small shower and runs the water until it's hot, shedding his jacket and dirty armour. He climbs in and sighs out loud at the blissful feeling. He shampoos his dark hair, fingers dragging through his scalp as he works in the soap until it starts to foam.

He rinses it all off, wincing slightly when the hot spray of water hits the worst of his bruising. He grabs a towel and grabs some clean clothes, settling into a comfortable tee and a pair of sweatpants. He dries his hair methodically, swiping the first aid kit from his bathroom cabinet, an ice pack from the fridge and his plastic bag of items from the store.

He settles on the cot and cleans out his wounds with antiseptic. One of the cuts is deep enough for stitches, and he clenches the muscles in his jaw as he passes the needle through his skin. It's a task he's done countless times before, usually without anesthetic. He finishes the job neatly, snipping the thread and dabbing it with antiseptic before wrapping up the whole thing in gauze bandages.

He works on the bruising on his torso next, which is covered with black and blue. He rubs salve over the worst of them and bandages the rest.

His leg is last, his ankle throbbing from the walk home. He focuses on the part that's swollen and red, grimacing as he alternates between pressing the ice pack to his ankle and the bump on his head. He's fairly certain it's not bad enough to be a concussion but it's giving him a headache. He makes sure to keep his ankle elevated and rifles through his purchases, pushing the conversation with René out of his mind.

He's starving, hasn't had anything to eat all day. He's too exhausted to muster up the energy to get back up to heat his frozen dinner, so he leaves the lasagna for now and grabs the cupcake instead.

It's minuscule, barely the size of his palm and covered in bright yellow icing. Little blue sprinkles are scattered on top. He unwraps the white wrapper and takes a cautious bite.

It doesn't take long for him to register the taste and he spits it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeves. The cupcake is definitely stale, rock hard and inedible. Imagining Alfred's disapproving face makes him grin.

He decides that at least alcohol is worth getting up for and heaves himself off the cot. He's careful with his ankle, maneuvering his body to ensure that most of his weight is on his good leg.

He scoops up the frozen lasagna from the floor and heads to what substitutes for his kitchen, containing just a tiny fridge and a microwave. He puts his meal in a microwave safe dish and watches it as it cooks, grabbing a spoon and a can of beer while he waits.

The friendly beep signals that it's done, and he curses when the plate burns his fingers slightly as he walks back to his cot. He studies the books kept carefully organised on his shelf, picking one at random.

Finally he settles, sighing in relief when his twisted ankle is cushioned and iced once more. He pops the lid and takes a satisfying swallow, putting it aside to eat the lasagna.

Happy birthday to me! He thinks sarcastically. The lasagna is warm but doesn't even come close to some of the after-school snacks Alfred had made him when he was 13.

He digs through his food, pausing momentarily to flip through the book. His heart hardens when he realizes that it's a battered copy of Gone With the Wind. Memories flit through his head, Bruce reading it to make him fall asleep and Dick taking him to a library to renew his borrowed copy for the billionth time.

He figures that it's poetic enough for the occasion and opens it up to page one.

“Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. …eyes… brows… lashes… magnolia-white skin…so prized by Southern women… bonnets, veils, mittens… against hot Georgia suns.”

He smiles at the familiar words, nostalgia overtaking him as he reads.

___________________________________

iv.

Steph and Cass were the first to bring it up, crashing into his current safe house like they owned the place.

He will grudgingly admit that it isn't entirely unwelcome, spending time with his sisters makes him feel less like a bastard.

That didn't mean the topic was a good one, and Jason is willing to ditch his very nice safe house in an attempt to escape.

"Please, Jason? For us?"

Steph is practically begging at this point and Cass is looking more and more like a kicked puppy every minute.

"No. Not a chance in hell."

Steph rolls her eyes. "C'mon big bro, live a little! It's not like it'll kill you."

Cass, the little devil that she is, grins at that while he groans.

"You did not just bring up the death card." He stabs a finger in her chest. "I'm the only one who gets to use the death card."

She blows a raspberry at him at him and winks. Cass tugs on his shoulders.

"It'll be fun."

Jason snorts. "Yeah right. Spending a whole evening with my greatly extended family for a birthday bash sounds exactly like fun to me." sarcasm drips from every word as he puts air quotations around "birthday bash".

Cass hits him and glares at her.

"Alright, ow, you don't have to be mean!"

Steph grins. "Does that mean you'll come?"

Jason shakes his head and dodges the expected blow from Cass. He smirks. "No, that means I'll consider coming."

Step shrugs. "Good enough." 

Thankfully that's the worst of it and they spend the rest of the time eating chips and playing Mario Kart.

His luck doesn't last though and Tim is next. They're barely halfway through staking out a weapons drop-off when the interrogation starts.

"So, your birthday's Sunday huh?"

Jason lets out a laugh. "Subtlety was never your element."

"Everyone's hoping you'll-"

Jason waves him off. "Yeah, yeah, show up at the manor out of the blue and spend the evening with you guys, Cass and Steph already gave me the rundown."

Tim smiles at that. "I'm not surprised.” He frowns thoughtfully. “I am surprised that you didn't agree right away though, those two are fierce when they want something."

"And I'm not?" Jason can't stop himself from asking or the annoyance that comes with it.

Tim puts on a mock expression of sadness. “Don’t worry Jason, I’m sure the street thugs are still scared of you. But face it, Cass is a full blown assassin, you couldn't compare in the slightest.”

Jason shoves the younger teen and Tim cackles. “Fuck off!”

As Tim regains his balance the truck beneath them finally starts its engine. He knows Tim still wants to continue the conversation but he brushes him off hastily.

“Too bad, guess we’ll have to finish this later!”, He sings, unable to contain his smugness.

Tim scowls. “Whatever dude, but don’t come crawling back to me when Dick finally makes his move.”

And with that happy thought the pair are off into the night, conversation forgotten almost immediately.

As the week progresses he isn’t surprised to see Dick’s number ringing on his cell in the middle of a turf war. He ducks behind a car as the gunfire gets progressively louder as he groans out loud.

“Dickiebird, make this quick. I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Are those guns?”

Jason smirks despite his situation. “Nah, just some moron doing fireworks in his backyard.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“Who are you to judge, going out in spandex at night-”

“It’s not spandex, dammit, how many times are we going to argue about this-”

Jason cuts him off again. “Whatever dude, told you, I'm a little busy-”

His brother snorts at the end of the line. “Sure. What a busy life you lead, without a day-job and any personal relationships that haven’t been forced onto you by your loving family.”

Jason grins. “Hard day at the police station, Officer Grayson?”

Dick sighs audibly. “We’ve had three complaints filed at the station for incidents relating to this one stupid cat who invades people’s backyards. The little guy’s a menace and has no owner. I’ve been talking to angry neighbors all day today and i’m pretty sure Rowell broke the coffee machine too but he won’t admit it and I haven’t had any goddamn coffee all day today-”

Jason rubs at his eyes, trying to quell the headache that’s already forming. “Slow down, you’re starting to sound like Tim. Remind me why you work at the police station again?”

Dick sighs again and the sound flashes Jason back to Bruce after he used to return from a long day at Wayne Enterprises.

“To help people legally”, Dick drawls, annoyance creeping into his words.

Jason snaps his fingers intentionally knowing his brother can’t see him. “Exactly! If you weren’t so hell-bent on being a good person you might be less miserable on a daily basis!”

“Shut up, Jason.”

“Make me. Any reason you’re calling me in the first place?”

“Just wondering if you have plans for Sunday-”

Jason hangs up.

He’s starting to tick off the family he has left, he doubts that Bruce or Alfred will approach him and that leaves Barbara, Damian and Duke.

He decides to grab some coffee and a croissant before heading out for the day, stomach rumbling at the thought. For once he’s not in a hurry, so he smiles at the woman at the cafe who brings him his order and settles down to enjoy it on one of the park benches.

He’s taken his first bite when Damian slides in next to him, trying not to choke at the sudden appearance of the youngest Wayne.

Damian notices his reaction and smirks like the little shit he is, folding his hands neatly in his lap. After he gets over his shock he’s taken aback at how casually Damian’s dressed.

“You look relaxed”, he points out, sipping his coffee.

Damian scowls. “Tt. Jonathan’s convinced I need to blend in using civilian attire.”

Well that makes him grin. “Jonathan Kent huh?” He elbows his brother in the ribs. “Spending a lot of time with him lately, aren’t you?”

The shade of red peppering Damian’s face is gratifying and he can’t stop himself from laughing out loud as his brother fumes silently.

"There's nothing going on between me and Kent, you imbecile, and even if there was-"

Jason puts his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, jeez. But if you ever need advice or someone to talk to, I'll be here."

The offer seems to take Damian aback and his shuts up, looking thoughtful. "We'll see," he finally mutters.

Jason claps his hands. "Awesome. I'm guessing you're up next to torture me about my birthday?"

Damian nods. He puts a warning hand on his arm.

"Don't even think about running away. I'm a trained assassin, I will find you."

"Having fun is hard for you isn't it?" Jason replies idily, staring up at the blue sky.

Damian ignores the jibe. "Think about Bruce's face, Todd. He'll think he's finally gone delusional if you end up showing up."

Jason opens his mouth with mock surprise. "Are you trying to bribe me with the opportunity to give your own dad a heart attack?"

The younger boy sniffs. "He can handle it. The others just want you to be there."

He doesn't include himself in that sentence but Jason gets the message. Damian wouldn't be here if he didn't care.

Oh, how he hated to disappoint.

Damian shakes his head resolutely, a gesture so Bruce-like it gives Jason deja-vu.

"I thought that'd be your response. Which is why I came up with a back up plan."

Well fuck if he doesn't like the sound of that, recalling Damian's earlier threat when he consideres running away for the hundredth time. Damian bends over to rummage through the bag he brought with him, and Jason smiles when he sees the amount of knives instead and something that resembles a katana sheath.

Eventually his brother finds his phone and presses a few buttons, handing it to Jason with a smirk as it rings steadily.

Jason contemplates dropping the phone and stamping on it until it shatters when the person on the end picks up.

"Master Jason, I assume that's you?"

He freezes like a deer in headlights and Damian's smirk grows impossibly wider. The little shit! He knew this was going to be a deathtrap.

"Master Jason, you know it's rude to leave someone waiting."

The british accent is one he hasn't heard in a while, and the familiarity of it makes him want to tear up. He holds the phone up to his ear with a shaky hand.

"Hi, Alfred."

"Ah, you're alive. I'm assuming Master Damian has explained what this is about?"

He shoots his brother a dirty look, the other inspecting his fingers smugly.

"Yeah, he may have mentioned it."

"Excellent. You'll be at the manor on Sunday then?"

His throat is dry. "Or course."

"Wonderful. Come no later than 7, Master Jason, the others will be delighted."

"I'm sure they will", he mumbles.

Alfred hangs up after they exchange goodbyes and he hands the phone back to Damian.

"You're a cheater."

Damian shrugs. "Honestly, you should have expected that to happen eventually."

"Demon spawn," he mutters under his breath.

"Piece of shit," the younger retorts.

Jason raises his eyebrows but can't exactly say that he's surprised and resigns himself to his fate, but not before delivering some well-deserved pay back.

"So, about Jon-"

Damian shoots him a warning glare and leaves.

"Karma's a bitch little wing!" he yells at the quickly retreating form, ignoring the annoyed looks of the people around them. Jason sighs and finally finishes his croissant in peace.

So now he's standing in front of Wayne manor, trying to school his features into something that doesn't look like apprehension. He's wearing casual clothing, jeans and a sweater. A part of him wanted to wear his full Red Hood suit just to get under the idiot's skins but there was no way he was wearing full bullet proof armour all evening long.

He jogs past the fancy garden sculptures and fountains, letting himself into the unlocked house. He makes his way through the foyer, finding his family huddled around an Xbox playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare.

The group is laughing, smiles all around as they banter back and forth. His heart aches dimly to be a part of that something, an intense yearning to be integrated into their family dynamic. It looked so easy.

The moment's ruined as soon as Dick spots him and wraps him up in a hug. "You made it!" The grin on his face is blinding. "Guys, birthday boy has arrived!"

Fuck this. This family sucks.

"Jesus Dickface, get off-"

"You're crushing him Dick", Barbara says, tone reproachful.

And jeez, literally everyone is there. Tim, Duke and Steph are crouched on the floor, still engrossed in the video game. Damian is standing beside Dick, looking too smug for his own good. Barbara and Cass are right behind them.

Someone starts to ruffle his hair as they walk past. He's about to shove the hand away when he sees who it belongs to.

"Aunt Kate?"

Kate grins. "Good to see you kid. Happy birthday!"

"I wasn't expecting you to be here."

Kate shrugs. "Life's been slow recently and besides, there was no way I was going to miss a Wayne party!"

He laughs at that, making his way over to give her a hug. Kate has always been one of his favorite people, he distinctly remembers the chocolate she used to smuggle to him when Bruce wasn't looking and she hung out during patrol.

Bruce and Alfred are next to enter the room, and Jason smirks when he sees Bruce stop his sentence abruptly when he sees his second son. Jason catches Damian's eye as he winks.

"Hey Bruce."

Bruce cautiously steps forward, unease rippling across his features. Things have been better lately but some wounds take longer to heal then others. He squashes the guilt as Tim's bloody face flashes beneath his eyelids.

"It's good to see you Jason."

Jason spreads his hands. "It took some convincing," he replies, words directed at the others. Tim smiles and Dick laughs.

Alfred wastes no time drawing him into a tight hug, one that no one comments on after Jason gathers his composure.

Alfred smiles brightly at all of them, and fuck, Jason knows that coming was worth it.

"Dinner will be served shortly, if you all want to follow me to the kitchen?"

There's a mutter of agreement around the room and Jason is soon swept into various activities. Dick grabs the plates while Bruce helps Alfred with the dishes. Cass and Duke chat as they swipe cutlery while Tim and Steph set the table. Damian carries the knives, rather ominously in Jason's opinion but no one bats an eye.

There's some jostling as everyone finds a seat, Damian and Tim shoving each other to get the chair next to Dick. Cass finally sighs and switches with Tim, whose face brightens considerably.

He chats to Dick quietly about things in Blüdhaven, Bruce resuming his conversation with Alfred and Tim. The girls talk about school, Damian bringing up the art show he's participating in next week. The food is as good as he remembers, roast paired off with potatoes and countless salads, sauces and side dishes. Unfortunately there's no alcohol but he eats enough for two.

As the food is cleared away and multiple praises are directed Alfred's way for the meal, they drag Jason to another room. He grins when Steph pulls out the alcohol.

Damian and Tim groan out loud and Kate shoves them. "Don't worry, I'm sure there's juice in the fridge", she teases. Damian scowls at her.

Alfred informs them that he'll be in the kitchen preparing dessert and he leaves promptly, Damian following him to the fridge.

Bruce raises an eyebrow at his daughter. "We do have better drinks."

Steph shrugs. "I'm convinced there's a difference between getting drunk on fancy red wine and getting wasted on cheap beer that's past its expiry date."

Bruce relents, an incredulous look on his face. They sit in a circle, passing chilled bottles around.

Steph grins. "We're gonna play 'Most Likely'."

A mixture of gasps of delight mingle with complaints as the room descends into chaos again.

Steph raises a finger and whistles piercingly. "Ah ah ah, no buts. We're playing. It's simple, one person says a scenario and everyone else chooses a person in the group who they think is most likely to do it. The person with the most votes takes a drink."

Duke opens his bottle and takes a gulp, laughing at Dick' expression, Damian returning with cranberry juice for Tim and himself.

Cass laughs. "I'll start. Most likely to set the manor on fire?"

Bruce chokes at that one, eyes flashing dangerously. Jason grins. The votes are casted here and there but when he counts most of them are on Kate.

The woman in question smirks and gives a mock bow as she takes a swig of her beer.

"Can't say that I disagree."

That makes a bunch of them nod and laugh out loud. Kate swallows and starts the next question. "Most likely to get punched in the face by a stranger?"

Jason can count six other hands pointing at Dick, including his own.

The five others are pointed in his directions, but like Kate's answer earlier he can't really argue. He's gotten punched by tons of strangers, usually people undercover for Roman Sionis or other drug dealers he's managed to piss off. He takes a mouthful of beer, smiling from the burn.

"What are you talking about?" Dick complains. "I'm a nice person!"

"Sure, but you're also oblivious as fuck-"

"Language." Bruce mutters.

"-and you can't catch a hint to save your life. I can name some of the girls and guys who've flirted with you and didn't get a reaction," Tim finishes.

Dick pouts dramatically and takes a drink. "Most likely to giveaway hints by accident while playing poker?"

That one causes an uproar and Jason can't really choose who gets this one. They're all pretty decent liars, they have to be in their line of work. He ends up picking Barbara, only because she's had trouble keeping Batgirl a secret from her dad.

He's not the only one who brings that up and the votes are tied between her and Duke. The pair each take a drink.

Duke chews his lip as he thinks, brow furrowed in concentration. His face lights up when he figures out what to say.

"Most likely to use their kids as an excuse to get out of commitments?"

Simultaneously, everyone points at Bruce, who looks guilty and amused at the same time.

"How many times did you tell Wayne Enterprises I was sick as a kid to leave a meeting early, B?" Dick asks with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce smirks. "Not nearly enough times, those meetings give me migraines."

He unscrews the cap and takes a long swallow, his kids cheering. He shoots Steph a look. "You prefer this to red wine?"

Steph grins and nods, Cass and Barbara agreeing along with her.

Kate claps him on the back. "That's more like it!"

Bruce smiles and proceeds with the game. "Most likely to kill someone out of spite."

Jason counts two fingers pointing in his direction, one at Tim while the rest point to Damian.

The youngest Wayne scowls, raising his glass and taking a grudging sip of his juice, eyeing Dick's bottle wistfully. Dick gets the memo and pulls his beer away from his younger brother, tightening his hold just in case.

The game continues for the next hour, all of them getting progressively more drunk as the sun sets. Tim's declared to be the 'one who's most likely to be a criminal mastermind', Bab's 'most likely to run for president'. Alfred steps in just in time to win 'most likely to manage to survive while being stranded on an island'.

Overall, Jason is happy and sleepy and wasted.

The cake is brought out, cheers ringing out as plates and forks are passed around. The cake is shoved in his hands, and he takes a moment to blink with surprise.

"You made a cake in the shape of my helmet?"

It's really the only possible explanation, the cake is absolutely drenched in red frosting. It's in the shape of an oval, frosted white slits substituting for where his eyes would be. It's bigger than his actual helmet, and Jason turns it around to inspect it from all angles. A single candle glows brightly on top.

He stares at them. Dick and Alfred are squeezing his shoulder supportingly, Tim and Duke flashing him grins. Kate looks nostalgic as she hands him a knife, Damian's face carefree. Barbara starts to sing happy birthday softly, Steph joining in while Cass gives him a hug.

"Happy birthday chum," Bruce whispers, eyes bright as they reflect the flames. He smiles in response and blows out his candle.

Tim nudges him. "What did you wish for?"

To stay here forever.

Jason snorts. "I wished that one of those birthday presents you all suck at hiding contains a new gun."

Dick laughs at his response and Alfred smiles. Cass gives him a comforting look however, and not for the first time Jason's taken aback at how well she can read him.

It doesn't take long for everyone to settle down with a piece of cake. Jason takes his first bite and sees stars. It's just moist enough and the icing melts perfectly on his tongue. He gives Alfred an appreciative nod.

As the plates are returned to the kitchen they all find themselves in front of the TV, arguing on which movie to watch.

"For the last fucking time Dickface, no one wants to watch Dumbo because it makes you cry every single time his mom gets taken away!" Jason retorts.

Tim opens his mouth hopefully.

Damian cuts him off before he can even speak. "The same goes for you, asshole. No more Lion King fiascos."

Tim shoves Damian and he stumbles, both of them tackling each other to the ground. Kate claps slowly while Bruce breaks it up.

Jason takes the opportunity and steals the remote, grinning with triumph.

"It doesn't matter what you losers want, it's my birthday so I'm picking." There's a chorus of groans and Jason's smile widens. He scrolls through the Netflix suggestions and finally decides on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

Steph yells with excitement and throws a pillow at Duke who groans, Cass's features morphing into one of confusion.

Barbara shrugs. "It's a classic."

Jason whoops as the movie starts, all of them fighting for popcorn and soda. Halfway through the film the mood gets increasingly more relaxed. Dick’s head is on his shoulder, Damian’s fighting for more leg room with Tim on his other side. The girls are spread out on the floor, Cass’s head in Steph’s lap, Babs sitting comfortably in her wheelchair beside the couch. Duke is falling asleep on Bruce, who Jason realizes is already asleep, snoring lightly into the cushions. Kate’s perched on the edge of the sofa’s armrest, watching the movie with interest. The only person who still looks dignified is Alfred, lounging in a chair he’s pulled up.

The movie marathon continues with Steph’s suggestion, Mean Girls, and they’re halfway through King Kong when they finally shut off the TV. Alfred wakes Duke and Bruce, Cass and Tim pulling Jason through the room for presents.

The pile of presents is larger then he would have guessed, boxes covered in shiny wrapping paper and small parcels. Everyone scrambles to sit around Jason, pushing their gifts forwards. He doesn’t know if he should be amused or terrified at the looks of eagerness around the room.

Kate gives him her present first, grinning slyly at her cousin. Bruce frowns, knowing he’s not going to appreciate what’s in the package. Jason tears the wrapping paper and lovingly pulls out one of the knives from its sheath.

He holds it out and tests the balance. “Well these’ll be useful.”

Steph hands him his present next, the weird object decked out in black wrapping paper with comic style font all over it. He squeezes it and scowls immediately. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Steph shakes her head, eyes bright with mischief. The plushy Jason’s holding is a frog that looks like it’s seen better days, a dirty brown color that may have originally been green. One of the buttons used for eyes has popped off and he's pretty sure the hole at the bottom has been leaking stuffing for years.

He holds it up to face her and she smirks. The others are laughing as well. "What the hell is this?"

"Your birthday gift!", she sings. "Found him at a thrift store last week and I couldn't just leave the poor guy there, his eyes are so full of love, you know?"

"You mean eye, singular,” he points out.

"So he's a cyclops, why does it matter? Turn it around."

He does, biting back the urge to start laughing uncontrollably. The front of the sorry looking toad indicates that his name is Jason. He groans out loud when he sees the tell-tale smear of sharpie under the frog's name.

Jason Toad.

Dick throws his head back and laughs, while Babs gives Steph a high five.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny. Now shut up or I'll leave him here." He abandons the plushy and grabs the nearest gift instead.

The package is soft and he crinkles the wrapping paper as it tears. His breath catches when he finally sees his present in its full glory.

"Whoever brought me this is automatically my favorite sibling." his gaze slides over to Damian and Tim and reconsiders. "Unless it's Replacement or Demon Spawn, they can be promoted to third."

Tim rolls his eyes and Damian shoots him a disinterested stare.

"Be nice Master Jason", Alfred chides lightly.

Duke puts a hand on his shoulder. "Guess I win then."

Jason grins at the other man. "Thanks dude, way better choice then the toad."

He wastes no time pulling on the soft leather jacket, stretching his shoulders out comfortably and digging his hands into the pockets.

Tim's present turns out to be a key-chain with a mini chainsaw attached, because "Bruce wouldn't let me buy you a real chainsaw."

All of his other gifts are just as good, Alfred gives him Bluetooth headphones, a brand new copy of Life of Pi from Dick plus boots and eyeliner from both Barbara and Cass respectively.

Damian's present is one of the last and when he pulls apart the wrapping paper he’s left with a thin rectangular box. He stares at his younger brother.

“If this is jewelry it better be nice.”

Damian shakes his head, a small smile forming on his lips. “Better than jewelry.”

The gift turns out to be bullets, all of different sizes and shapes. They’re organized carefully, each with a label attached underneath.

Jason studied one that’s sleek and silver, little slits in the sides. The little lettering in the case lets him know that this one is filled with gas. He grins.

“Are these personalized?”

Damian nods. “Each and every one, tailored to your favorite gun. I modified the version father uses for his Batarangs and transferred it to work with bullets.” He shrugs. “I figured they were more your style.”

Jason stares at him, silent for a beat before turning back to the weapon. “Fine, I guess you can be my fourth favorite sibling.”

Tim huffs. “I helped him with the tech.”

Damian elbows him smugly.

He almost doesn't register Bruce standing in the back until the chatter dies out. His adopted dad looks like a kicked puppy and Jason feels an unexpected fondness shoot through his heart.

"You have something for me Bruce?"

Suddenly something is roughly being shoved into his hands and he stares at the thin object for a second. The room goes silent, the entire group fixated on Jason and Bruce.

The slips of paper are familiar and he swears he's held them before. He turns them over to read the minuscule writing.

Gotham City Knights vs Gotham Giants

Featured in Gotham City Stadium

Mon Aug 31 2020 7:30 PM

“You got me baseball tickets?”

Bruce clears his throat and presses on, looking uncomfortable. “You used to love going as a kid, and I brought two so you could take someone with you if you wanted.”

Jason’s voice catches and he swallows around the lump in his throat. “Sure, are you free Monday?”

Bruce’s “Yes” sounds more like a croak but it’s there, an open invitation to spend some time together. It’s not an apology but it’s a start, and he’ll take it. Jason’s heart swells.

After that they all goad him into sleeping over, an offer he would have declined if not for Alfred’s stern glances. They decide to grab some pillows and blankets and settle on the floor, everyone comfortable and sleepy.

Well, if anything, it’s not the worst birthday he’s ever had.

[patricia-von-arundel]

Of Boar & Beast: Part I - The Lucky Charm - 1

Rating: T

Summary: “As though there’s finally someone who understands how I truly feel” - words Marianne never dreamed that she would say; words Dimitri never dreamed that he would hear. Theirs should have been the perfect ending to a perfect love story. But in the inferno of war, endings are so rarely happy ones… 

Crimson Flower Route

The land was barren, endless, and frigidly cold. Rocky, uneven hillocks gave way to expanses of scrubby plain, colorless and shelterless, which in turn rose again: up and down. Up and down. There was no longer a beginning - days long since blurred together in the pulsing, dizzy remains of her mind. A twisted wasteland of twisted trees and twisted reality - and would there ever be a more appropriate place for her twisted soul to remain trapped for all eternity? 

The hubris of coming here at all - she had defied the wills of those who had sacrificed so much for her, and in doing so, likely defied the will of the Goddess herself. Why would the Goddess have placed in her such circumstances, if she was not expected to obey? Here was her proof: disobedience had brought her here, where she would eventually lose what little strength remained. She would curl up against one of those grotesque, stunted trees, and wait to die like an animal.

“Like a beast.” Even her own voice sounded battered by this land - raw and weak. But she could not deny, even to herself, the truth of those words. 

And how often, in the lost expanse of days past, had she longed for such a clean, simple end? How many mornings had she blinked her way from a cold, stiff, trembling doze, and wondered how long she might last if she remained there, rather than once more staggering to her feet and stumbling onward? She could not even be sure she was still going the right way - the map she had stolen from her father showed roadways, not how to traverse the mountains and hills and barren wasteland she had foolishly believed might be the quicker, safer route - so why disappoint herself at the end of another day? Surely the Goddess would not see it as taking her own life, if she succumbed to the cold, the wind, and the desperate emptiness in her belly? The Goddess, of all creatures, would know her incapability of finding success in anything but death. 

More foolishness, and right from the start - her frantic attempt, late in the night as the house slept around her, to gather enough provisions for her journey. She had already taken the map by then, and made clumsy, amateur attempts to figure out just how long she was likely to be traveling. Two or three days, no more, she believed, so she gathered enough food for five - just in case. Two hundred gold from her father’s study - and a solemn, silent vow to him and to the Goddess that she would see it paid back, with extra for the food and for the map, just as soon as she was able.

She would. She would. 

She had left before dawn, not sure how to secure a place on a coach, but determined to do so. Something almost like confidence - until the driver told her the journey she wished to take would cost almost three times the money she had brought. There had been sadness in his eyes - or perhaps it was merely pity. “Sorry, little miss. Never know when the roads might shut down, thanks to the Saints-bedamned Emperor and her war. I got to make a living while I still can, y’understand?”

She tucked the gold back into her bag, looking down and feeling rather ashamed of herself for her assumption. “Yes. I… I understand. I’m sorry.”

It seemed, at the time, only a very small setback. Surely, she could find another option? She considered trying to pay for a ride on a merchant’s wagon - something she knew she had read of in storybooks, as a child - but she wasn’t certain anyone actually did this, or of how to find where a particular merchant was going. She couldn’t very well ask all of them. And if a coach cost almost 600 gold, how much might a merchant charge - more, or less? She didn’t want to risk all the money she had brought. 

So she had decided to at least begin the journey on foot - it was late spring, almost summer, and the air breezy and warm, the sky cloudless. Looking at her map, it seemed possible in the first day to pass through Derdriu and into Daphnel territory, where she could perhaps find a town or village with an inn with a room for the night? Inns were for travelers of all stations, so they must have rooms for a pittance - she would only require a small one, for a few hours’ rest. 

That tiny confidence was with her once more as she set out, then still following the road that began above the Margravate, snaking down the Alliance from the fisheries and textile factories of the north, through the major cities of the central territories, and then all the way to Garreg Mach. The same road she had traveled with her father over a year before - on her way to the Officers Academy. There had not been even this shred of confidence then - only cold, clawing terror, sharp as the talons of the Beast she might become. No matter how many times her father assured her that her Crest would be kept secret, she knew he could not truly guaranty it. If she was lost to the essence within her blood, there would be no way at all to hide it. 

It had not happened. By the goodness and will of the Goddess, it somehow still had not happened. 

But it still could happen. It was time to leave. 

She stopped by an apple orchard for lunch. The trees were just beginning to blossom - she had always liked the little pink-and-white flowers: silken, delicate, and falling so soon. Already, they littered the ground where she sat cross-legged to eat: half a roll, some cheese, and a bit of a little cake. There was a blackbird nest in the crook of one of the trees, and she crumbled the other half of the roll and tossed it where the parent-birds might gather the crumbs, reassuring them softly to take as much as they wished, and see that their babies were well-fed. She smiled, watching them hop and peck. She liked to be able to share. 

But once on the road again, she was faced with the niggling of her first true worry since sneaking into her father’s study the night before: the sun had begun its slow afternoon descent, but she had not yet reached Derdriu, much less gotten through it to the landholdings that would bring her to the border with Faerghus. 

She was going the right way - she knew that much. She had passed things she could remember seeing on the journey to Garreg Mach: an abandoned farmhouse slowly, haphazardly in the process of collapsing to ruin. A roadside tavern with an inexplicably detailed picture of a bright green horse painted on its swinging sign. A field of tulips - only buds, the last time, but now, later in the season, they were in full bloom: like a painting, all vivid reds and purples and yellows. 

But by carriage, the distance from the Edmund lands to Derdriu could be traveled in less than three hours - so why, after twice that, was there no sign of it? A horse was faster than a person, of course, even when pulling a carriage, but a person could keep up with a walking horse at a jog. 

Had she truly miscalculated so badly, already?

She had. She failed to reach even Derdriu, that first day. She finally stopped at an inn in a tiny hamlet of a community, her feet dreadfully sore from exertion, and her head from her growing worry. The cost was a relief - only 30 gold - and the room, though drafty, was comfortable enough. Still, she slept little. She found herself lying still, late into the night, trying to picture the map in her mind, as if that might somehow tell her just where she had gone wrong. It seemed to warp and grow, morphing and twisting against endless darkness, until it bled into sleep, where she dreamed of reaching desperately for the lines of roads as they wiggled away, only to realize they were ropes, and the map was tilting, and she was sliding - sliding towards a bottomless nothingness, no matter how desperately she clawed for purchase against the waxed surface. 

She woke with a startled little gasp, her hands clutching the bed’s threadbare quilt. She gulped down shaky breaths, her eyes blinking rapidly before seeking the meager comfort of the shuttered window, the wan, grey light of dawn seeping through. 

But that second day remained grey, clouds hanging low and heavy, though fortunately the rain held off until late afternoon. By then, she had finally reached Derdriu - just barely. Her legs hurt now as much as her feet, as did her lower back, and her shoulders from carrying her bag, though all it contained, besides the map, money, and food, was a single, warmer change of clothes and her thickest cloak - because she had heard summers in Faerghus could be chilly and damp, and spring still like winter for much of the rest of Fódlan. 

She sought out a room for the night as rain began to fall in earnest - it quickly turned heavy and hard, soaking her through, and when the innkeeper quoted her 120 gold, dinner included, she could not find the physical strength, much less the mental, to venture back out into the gloomy, growing darkness and the rain. Stringy beef, mealy bread, and beans that tasted oddly fishy - this was the last hot meal she had had. 

The last, she now realized, she was likely to ever have. 

It was drizzling the next day; her clothes still damp despite a night laid out as close to the fireplace as she had dared. That was the first time she had put on her cloak - she had not removed it since - and the day she had decided to leave the road in favor of traveling due west. She used 10 gold to buy a compass from one of Derdriu’s markets - she had a rough idea of how to use it. It would have to be enough. The last of her money went to a bit more food - a loaf of crusty round bread, more cheese, and some dried fish. 

She had hesitated, for the first time, at the last bridge leading from the city; it crossed a wide, lazy waterway whose name she did not know. She looked to the north - back towards the way from whence she had come. There was a harbor - one of so many scattered around Derdriu - and she watched men jump from a fishing boat, tying it to the mooring with quick, expert ease. One shouted to the others, words she could not make out, or perhaps a foreign tongue, but there was no difficulty understanding their shared laughter.

Where was home, for them? Here in Derdriu, or elsewhere in the Alliance, or Almyra, or even Sreng? People came from all over the northern lands to Derdriu to sell their fish, their crabs and shrimp and clams. But they had homes.

And… did she? Margrave Edmund had been kind to her, even if stern, and never particularly warm and affectionate - not that she could hold such disinclination against him. He had taken her in despite the distance of their blood relationship, and despite - an even greater burden upon his good name - the cursed Crest that dwelt within her. For four years, he had seen her fed, clothed, educated. He had paid the considerable expense for the Officers Academy without a word of complaint.

He would have said he had offered a home. More of his generosity and his kindness. But she had chosen to squander her right to call it so when she had silently refused the one thing he had asked of her in return:

To side with the Empire.

She had been lying to herself. But she knew the truth of it. This time - and perhaps it would be for the only time in her life - she had been using her Crest as an excuse.

If her Crest was the culprit, why had she left for Faerghus?

The chaotic day before Edelgard returned to Garreg Mach: she and Lysithea were to leave with Hilda’s brother Holst. Lady Rhea had ordered all the students to leave, but some - those already well-seasoned in battle - had remained to see the others off. Among them…

“Dimitri.”

He was at one of the smaller side gates, where students might head north or west along the side roads, far from the advancing army. There were none there yet, when she found him - it was early still, cold and foggy, the dawn no more than a bright smudge within the mist. There had been a solemn, dark mood clinging to the monastery for several weeks, and the chill of late winter morning did nothing to dissipate it. 

Dimitri, in cloak and thick gloves, his hair in even more disarray than usual, wore an expression as dour and bleak as the weather - until he turned at the sound of her voice. Surprise, then, in his eyes - but a smile on his lips. 

How would he respond, if she were to find the courage to say she felt as lucky to see his rare smiles as he claimed to feel to see hers? 

She would never find that courage - and certainly not now, when their time together would be so short. There was something far more important she needed to say. 

“Marianne!” He took a step, as if to approach her, then seemed to think better of it. “I thought surely you would have left long before now. Is everything well? Do you have safe passage back to the Alliance?”

“Yes - please don’t… don’t worry about me. I leave later today.”

A strange expression, very briefly, crossed his face - something almost dark. Then it was gone, and he gave a curt nod. “Good. I am glad to hear it. Please, stay safe on your journey.”

She knew the reason for the darkness and conflict in his eyes - she had come to understand where his attention truly lay many months before. It was no surprise recent events had left him in such turmoil. And this was the other reason she did not mention the joy she found in his smile - she feared it might only make the tumult within him even worse. 

But there was surely no harm in attempting a smile for him - just a friendly one. “You as well, Dimitri. The Goddess will watch over her home.”

He nodded again. “As she will. And I will be gone soon, I assure you - as soon as the others are safely away. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Um…” This was the awkward part - she was not used to asking things of others, except that they keep far away from her. “I… I have something for you. And… there is something… would you really… do something for me? Well… not just for me, but…” Her voice trailed off and she looked down, embarrassed at her own presumption, despite all the time she had spent convincing herself it was acceptable to ask. 

“Anything,” he said - sure. There was no hesitation. “Anything at all it is within my means to do for you, I give you my word that I will do it.”

She fumbled from the pocket of her cloak the tangled, soft, familiar strands of leather. “Please - would you… take this?”

She managed to look up again as he did as asked. He turned it over in his hands, his expression curious. “A bridle?”

“It’s…” Feeling foolish again. Ridiculous. A flush rising in her face. “It’s Dorte’s. He’s still here. I… I’m worried for him.”

“No harm will come to him.” Again, Dimitri spoke without hesitation. His hand reached out - stilled - then brushed, very softly, against her cheek. “I can swear that to you.” There was red in his cheeks now too, though perhaps it was just from the wind beginning to pick up. 

You’re a good friend, Dimitri. But even that felt a presumption too far. “I… Thank you. I, um… I asked Dorte to… to keep you safe, as well.”

“That was very kind of you. You have my thanks.”

She bit her lip - this was the hardest part. The part she had dreaded even more than the asking. “I should go. Lysithea already warned me - not to be late. I…” For just a moment, her eyes met his. “Goodbye, Dimitri.”

She had to force herself to turn and go - such an alien feeling! Her heart was beating too quickly; it was difficult to catch her breath.

“Wait - Marianne!”

Another alien feeling - she stopped. She looked back. 

Even at a distance, she could see Dimitri swallow hard. “If you ever have need of anything else, anything at all, please - come find me. Please.” He was holding the bridle, still - both hands almost seeming to clutch it. 

She attempted a smile. It would not come. “Thank you, Dimitri.”

She had not seen him since. Some small, practical part of her had tried hard to accept she never would again. The alliance as a whole had yet to declare a side, but the Kingdom had not been so cautious - they had offered sanctuary to the Church and issued a proclamation of war against the Empire almost immediately after the fall of Garreg Mach. Dimitri would head the army. Of course he would - it was the kind of leader he was, no matter the turmoil within him.

Standing on the last bridge heading west from Derdriu, all these months later, there was as yet no sign of war. But it was here - it was everywhere. She would soon be joined by many, many others with no place to call home. 

This was not home. The Margravate of Edmund was not home. Perhaps she had no home. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps it was only to be expected. 

Perhaps home was more than she deserved. 

She crossed the bridge. She left the wide, meandering road. 

She finished the last of her food as the fields of the western Alliance gave way to the forested mountains that separated Leicester and Faerghus. Already, it was becoming harder to keep track of the time since she had left - five days now? Six? It was hard to focus on anything besides the throbbing pain in her legs and back; the blisters on her feet. However long it had been, however far she had traveled, it seemed a lifetime since she had eaten beef and beans that tasted of fish, or slept with a blanket wrapped around her and a pillow beneath her head. 

There would be food in the woods, surely? Berries, wild fruit - acorns? Had she once heard someone say it was safe to eat acorns? And water, at least, would be plentiful; there was always water to be found in the Alliance. Water would also mean fish, but she wasn’t sure how to catch one, and even if she did, she very much doubted she would have the nerve to kill it, and if she somehow managed that much, how was she to eat it? She did not much fancy a raw fish, but she lacked any ability to start a fire - even if she’d known how to use a flint, she had none. 

Berries she did find, initially - small, sour strawberries and blueberries, but food was food. Rhubarb, as well: even more sour. She always tried to remember to save some, only to gorge herself as soon as she had tasted it. Her stomach felt often as if it were completely hollowed out, beginning to collapse in on itself. She shoved blueberries into her mouth by the handful, ignoring the stains on her hands, the juice running down her chin. 

Like a beast, like a beast, like a beast. 

She still truly slept then, some; the nights were growing colder as the land began to veer upward, but wrapped tightly in her cloak, she could find a few hours of dreamless oblivion: no pain, begging her not to take another step. No hollow, echoing emptiness in her belly. No fear of herself, and all the mistakes she had once again made. No Beast. 

The map was useless now, though she kept it - it did not belong to her. She used the sun to make sure she continued to go toward the west and the north, when she wasn’t sure of the compass. 

Everything, not just days, blending together - trees and mountains and trees and now… nothingness. Eternal nothingness. 

There was no food. 

There was no sleep. 

She spent the darkness huddled against the base of a tree, shivering desperately, closing her eyes, and sure she could hear the whisper of clawed footsteps. 

The Beast. 

Her bag was gone. She had no memory of losing it. 

Her feet stumbled. And again. She had fallen - more than once. Yet still, she walked. She couldn’t remember getting up. The cold was like needles, penetrating her fingers and toes. It made her cry, and the tears froze on her cheeks. One of her gloves was gone - when?

This was the Beast. There was none of her left. 

This was death.

“Goddess…” 

One step. Another one. Swaying, her head weightless, and yet leaden. Another step. 

“Goddess forgive me…” Hardly a sound.

But there was another.

A sound that she knew. 

Horses…?

“Stay where you are!”

One of the horses was chestnut brown, the other piebald. Pretty. They were pretty. She reached out. She wanted to pet them. There was shouting, but it was just babble-babble-babble. The piebald horse snorted, nervous. Of course he was nervous. All that noise. 

“What is going on? What are you -”

She stilled. She blinked. Something…

“Your Highness, wait!”

She blinked again. Slowly - slowly - she raised the heaviness within her head. 

He wasn’t in uniform. She’d never seen him not in uniform. 

Her eyes blurred. Burned. Lids heavy as her skull. 

“Marianne?!”

His voice. His voice. 

She opened her mouth, but had no sound left within her. None at all. 

Her eyes found his. 

When she collapsed, he caught her. 

[sederhannaindah]

Here comes January.

1. Maybe if you are brave enough to leave behind your past and your memories, and willing to accept and redha to everything that happens to you and also prepared to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, maybe you will find hope, you will heal, and you will love again.

2. At the end of the day, people only have themselves. A lot to think, a lot to do, but people still need to keep on living no matter what. And with or without someone on our side, we can't stop from moving forward.

3. Don't let go of your faith, your hope, your du'a ; because you still need saving.

4. Don't blame yourself if you can't be better for someone else. Don't blame yourself if you can't be better for yourself. You are not useless. You exist, and that's rare and beautiful. Keep strive ahead. Do little things and find joy in it. Smile, and live life to its fullest.

5. Tears after tears, you will be loved again.

6. Where there is light, there is also a shadow. Life is about cause and effect. Reason and why. For every happiness and sorrow, it's the same. In sadness, we will understand true meaning of joy. With a broken heart, transformations begin. Grief is just a phase to reach blissful.

7. You're beautiful, you're kind. You'll find your happiness and joy, inshaallah. Now, is time for you to appreciate yourself and live life with the best you can give.

8. Let every little fracture teach us how to be better.

9. Maybe we have little luck in fate. But yet we thrive. We have faith. We make a du'a. And the sadness might turn into something beautiful. And we evolve from loveless to blissful person.

10. Whenever we lost hope, remember that we come too far already to give up who we are. All that memories, remind us of growing up. Remind us of the beauty in this life. So we can carry on with our life.

11. Sometimes we make mistakes. We try so hard yet we fail. But honestly, without failing how would we experience grace, or have faith? How would we know how to overcome hardness in the future? So be happy that we make mistakes. It always have something to teach us.

12. Sometimes we feel sad. We don't want it but we must experience it. No one wants to go through pain. But it will help us to remember that we are human. We are alive. And we will moving on.

13. Sometimes we just want to cry. Experiences something so sorrowful and unpleasant, it's not enough to be express just by words. So we cry. But it's okay to cry. Everything passes like falling rain. Like seasons change, things also happen. No need to feel hopeless.

14. Remember that it's okay to be imperfect. To make mistakes. And even doubt. We might wondering why we are here. Everything has it purpose. You too, have purpose. So live. Dream. Love. Despite everything, you still you. You are unique and beautiful. You will be happy.

15. There are a circle in this universe that can't be break. A lover turns into sad people. Birth followed by death. But remember after the darkest night comes a bright morning. After a cold winter comes summer. One phase to another, we are never the same. Be brave, have courage.

16. How unique each life is, how unique I am as a person, and how unique others are as a person. All that uniqueness combined into a beautiful harmony experience. Life is beautiful. And it's rare for us to even exist. So appreciate life.

17. You may have a sad story, you may have an unrequited love, you may want to give up at this moment in life, but the most precious thing you can have is yourself. All your perfect flaws, all your other perfect traits make you a beautiful person. Stop thinking that you're useless.

18. It doesn't matter what you do as a job, or what your social situation is, what income you have. It's your decisions and your words that define you. Be your own self, independently and proudly. Have faith in you, and in God. You will be okay.

19. Make a sincere du'a from deep inside your heart. Hold your hand close to yourself. Whisper that it's going to be alright. We've made it this far and we'll make it through more. It's what we do in this life. We survive.

20. So many memories. Too many possibilities. Regrets, forgiveness, relationships, life and death. But life is a journey, and we have to keep moving on no matter what.

21. The world isn't such a bad place, let alone your life. There's always a constant battle within ourselves. To become better and not let our old ways resurface. There will always be a struggle. But until then, let us fight the good fight, and never give up.

22. Not everything works out. Fight a good fight, and let it go if it's need to go. There are a better things and a better day ahead, inshaallah. We are a survivor and we'll get back up soon.

23. Even though you don't have things you want yet, you have your life to live for. And that's more than enough. Is tomorrow going to be okay or still the same as yesterday? It's your call and your move to decide. Have faith and take a step forward.

24. Happiness is about effort. You fight for it, strive for it, and never stop looking for it. Don't forget to count your own blessings instead of regretting things you already lost.

25. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender to fate and keep making a du'a no matter what, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have hope.

26. Eventually and sadly, everything goes away. People, things ; it all goes away. But life is also full of surprise. Choose happiness over suffering. You don't know what you gonna find next. So don't lose hope.

27. Maybe we should stop looking at the world through our head. Maybe we need to start to look through our heart, instead. Maybe that way, we will know God, and we will somehow understand how He do His job. Because this world isn't lasts and we can't always get what we want.

28. Revolusi hati. Bersedia untuk terima perubahan (sama ada yang dijangka atau tak dijangka) dan bersedia untuk berubah (walaupun sukar). Life is a non stop endless loop of transformation and we must always be prepared.

29. Lets make a du'a ; for you, for me. Until sadness disappear ; from me, from you. Now it's time to leave things to fate and turn to Allah.

30. We are all too lost and hurting to carry our own load. We all need someone or something to hold. Remember that we are not helpless. God is always with us. He will fix us and show us hope. He is the one who can keep us safe. He is the one who love us the most. Hold on to Him.

- sederhanaindah

p/s : selamat tahun baharu, juga selamat menempuh dekad baharu. Moga kita selalu beriman, moga kita selalu dekat dengan Tuhan. Apa yang telah berlalu biarkan pergi. Apa yang belum ada kita usaha dan doakan. Apa yang masih bersama kita jaga dan hargai sebaiknya. It’s rare and beautiful for us to even exist. So be grateful, and live life to the fullest. Stay good, stay beautiful!

[the-trashy-phoenix]

Supernatural season 3 review (part 1)

Link to part 2:

Having also finished the third season, I have to admit each one until now is better than the one before. Of course that’s because you grow fond of the characters, but I honestly think it gets more and more original and involving going on. Starting with the tight link with the previous season, which in this case is Sam’s death. If you’ve never watched Supernatural, don’t worry, these guys die and come back to life on average once a season; if you’re a Supernatural fan, well, you surely know it better than me.

Resuming quickly, in the last episodes of the second season Sam dies killed by one of those guys who, just like him, have some sort of psychic abilities and are supposed to take part to the upcoming war fighting in the Yellow-eyed demon’s (whose name is Azazel, as I learnt reading Carly’s review) army. Dean is of course devastated and can’t just leave Sam dead, so he manages to make a deal (rings a bell?) with the Crossroad demon, who had appeared at some point in the second season: Sam can be brought back but the price for Dean is extremely high, because the demon would make him live for just one more year, after which he will go directly to hell. It’s understandable that he does it because he can’t live without his brother and it’s been his duty to protect and save him since when they were children, but it’s also undeniable that it’s kind of Dean’s way to get partly rid of that sense of guilt he constantly feels because of John’s sacrifice. It reminded me of Greek tragedy, because some plays have a usual pattern, whose main feature is that parents’ faults fall onto their children in an endless chain of guilt and grief from which it is impossible to escape. Dean feels like his life isn’t worth living anymore and it seems more than right to him to give it to his beloved brother, that’s why when Sam wakes up he doesn’t seem to worry about his end, at least at the very beginning. On the other hand Sam now experiences Dean’s same sense of guilt and is mad at him for imposing it to him, even if deep inside he knows he would have done the same thing, but he also can’t understand how his brother could and can accept so easily the idea of dying. In fact he can’t, he’s just pretending once again to protect Sam, who tries to save him, just like he himself did, in every possible way. At a certain point this pretending is revealed and underlines powerfully the lack of communication between the two, just like what happened after John died, when Dean kept hiding his grief because he’s supposed to be the strongest, as a big brother. I do comprehend they lie to one another for the best, but it always turns out to be a really bad choice.

Before proceeding with the episodes and the single characters, I’d like to point out one thing I feel like I delayed too much. I’m talking out about Dean’s obsession for girls (or hot chicks, if you prefer). I know it’s a part of his characterization as the prototype of the heterosexual strong man, but still I think it’s a bit exaggerated at some point, giving the impression he objectifies women. By the way let’s also consider that ten or fifteen years ago maybe there wasn’t exactly the same sensibility we now have.

This time I’ll be more schematic in commenting the episodes, because I think I’ve something to say for nearly each one of them, as they are full of events and of some new interesting characters.

In the second episode we meet Lisa, a sweetheart of Dean’s from when he was younger: he wants to meet her again, but he soon finds out she has a son, who he suspects being his. For how we know Dean we would swear he’ll be terrified by the idea of having a son, but at the end he’s unexpectedly disappointed that child is not his. This is just apparently weird, for we can explain it well considering Dean’s recurrent desire and thought of having a “normal” life and a family of his own, and maybe also all that looking for the hottest girls is nothing but a means of hiding his strong will for a stable life and partner. I have to say this episode is also really scary and disquieting because of the demonic children.

The third episode welcomes a more permanent character, Bela Talbot, a cunning thief who keeps bothering Sam and Dean during their hunts. She’s the typical bad-but-fascinating kind of character: she’s so smart you’re naturally driven to sympathize with her. The boys have a strange relationship with her, as further on, in episode 6, they’re forced to cooperate with her to solve a case and they even succeed in saving her life even if she didn’t really prove to deserve it. It sometimes seems like her mean attitude takes over her just because it’s her nature; so, even though, as I said, the brothers saved her, she steals the Colt, putting them in serious difficulty. No surprise the boys quit relying on her and refuse to save her again in the last episodes: we learn she wanted the Colt for herself because she is soon dying due to a deal she had made years before with a demon that killed her parents. Her story is quite sad, but of course she could have saved herself giving up her dark side and trusting Sam and Dean.

I really enjoyed the fifth episode, in which the fairy tales of the brothers Grimm come tragically true from a girl’s fantasy. It’s funny how supernatural events grow stranger as the episodes go on, and how sometimes the protagonists can’t believe some things actually exist even if they’re used to that. This episode is also a turning point in the general plot because Sam, desperate for saving Dean, kills the Crossroad demon with the Colt (before Bela steals it) hoping to free his brother from his deal, but the creature unexpectedly tells him that another mysterious and very powerful demon holds the contract. Sam is puzzled and he and Dean will dedicate the rest of the season to hunting that one.

I’ll mention episode 7 because we meet again an old friend, Gordon, one of the main villains of the second season who comes back to have revenge, but, as I anticipated in the previous review, he’s finally defeated in the most ironic way. In a sort of ring composition, the episode is about vampires, the same creatures Sam and Dean are hunting when they meet Gordon for the first time, and the hunter gets bit by one of them and he becomes the monster he hated the most. I don’t wanna sound mean, but he actually deserved that.

I liked the episode set at Christmas, first of all because it’s truly the best time of the year (at least for me), secondly because I think it fits perfectly Dean’s situation, being a joyful period, but also full of sadness and melancholy for another year is passing by. Of course Dean can’t but feel it strongly and I think that’s why he gets so emotional, wanting to celebrate as a proper family. We also feel so sorry for the brothers as we see flashbacks from their childhood representing their memories of their sad time on their own following their dad in his continuous hunting.

I can’t but give a special mention to episode 11, which Carly expected, and made me expect, impatiently. It’s just so funny and frustrating at same time, with the same day repeating all over again without Sam being able to stop the loop, and leading him to lose his brother for six long months (kind of a preview of what will happen when Dean will be “permanently” dead) and at the end to bring him back making the trickster (the same one we met in the first season) stop creating alternative realities.

We also see again some other recurrent characters: Bobby, who I analysed in the previous review, in episode 10 in particular, because the boys are called to save him from his own dreams, and to do so they have to enter them (in this way we and the brothers have the chance to know more about him and his past); the so-called “Ghostfacers”, a group of clumsy fake hunters Sam and Dean had met in the first season (and meet again now in episode 12) and have constantly to save from themselves and the hunts they put themselves into; the FBI agent Henricksen, who is “hunting” the brothers as he thinks they’re dangerous criminals. Nevertheless, in episode 12, he has to change his mind and reconsider his opinions about them for the police station where Sam and Dean are kept is attacked by a demonic army and Henricksen himself gets possessed. While deciding how to fight them, they are helped by Ruby, a demon who seems to be different from the others: at first she seems willing to help Sam saving Dean, and help the boys in general (as in episode 12 against the army), but at the end her purpose comes out. But let’s go a little bit back to Henricksen and the police station: they manage to defeat all those demons really smartly (they read out the exorcism formula though speakers which spread the sound all over the place), but when everything seems to be going well, Sam and Dean learn from the news that another demon came at the police station after they left and killed everyone. It is called Lilith, and she’s the real villain of the season, mainly because it’s her who holds Dean’s contract. So of course the final fight is to defeat Lilith, but also to save Dean’s life. That’s when Ruby intervenes again to suggest Sam could use his psychic abilities to defeat her. He’s tempted by Ruby’s ideas because, even if he doesn’t know how to manage his powers, he’s so focused on saving his brother’s life he could be a bit naïve trusting Ruby without really knowing what’s her real purpose, even though she seems to be the only good demon living. On the contrary Dean doesn’t believe her at all. We can’t know how the things would have ended up if they listened to Ruby’s advice, but they don’t and they can’t kill Lilith, so Dean is chewed up by the hellhounds and goes directly to hell. This scene is so heartbreaking because Sam’s pain is nearly unbearable and you find yourself having hoped, or having been sure, Dean would survive in some ways. That’s how the third season ends, with Sam broken into tears, Lilith still strong and free, Dean covered in blood deep down in hell. Hope seems far away. Or maybe we just have to wait for the next season.

- Irene 💕

[chlostertalks]

My Best Guess on the Westworld Timeline

I started watching Westworld during this lockdown and...

HOLY SMOKES. 

I like theorizing about shows, but this is the first time where my brain feels fried from overthinking. 

Here’s my best guess of the timeline up to Season 3, Episode 3 (S3E3). I’ll make an updated timeline as the show progresses (probably towards the season finale).

*MAY 4TH UPDATE: Here’s the new timeline*

2015: Arnold creates Dolores. All the interrogation sessions are of Arnold and Dolores, not Bernard and Dolores. All the times when hosts freeze all motor functions are with Arnold, not with Bernard.

2017: Dolores kills all the robots, Arnold, and herself to stop the opening of Westworld; opens anyway

In the Years in Between:

Akecheta, chief of the Ghost Nation, was on a different loop. He was peaceful, and had a wife. He discovers the massacre and the maze but before he knew the voice inside his head, his narrative was changed, and the Ghost Nation was born.

Ford has Dolores build a new Arnold that they will call Bernard. Dolores knew Arnold best, so she creates Bernard and tests the copy for fidelity (if he was faithful to Arnold’s personality), but allows him to have behaviors unlike Arnold to be separate from Arnold and function in the Mesa.

Dolores is tested by Arnold, but can’t remember that she made Bernard because Ford wipes her memory clean soon after.  

Logan sees the prototypes for Westworld; park needs funding

2021: Dolores meets William during her quest to find the center of the maze; William’s experience leads to his funding Westworld and saving them from closure; leaves photograph behind, showing that William’s tale from Episodes 2-9 set up the pilot and the season finale

After William leaves the park….

Akecheta finds Logan in the middle of a desert after his horse dies. William had spanked the horse with Logan tied to it, and the horse ran as far as it could. Logan is insane and doesn’t know his way out. He told Logan that his kind would come for him, but he learned from Logan that there is another world. Possibly why the system within the Valley Beyond takes on Logan’s image.

In the Years in Between....

William’s daughter Emily meets Dolores at Mr. James Delos’ retirement party. Logan is permanently insane.

Akecheta looks for Logan at Westworld, but he is already gone. He instead finds the Valley Beyond, a door to another world—the Sublime, a safe haven or Garden of Eden, if you will. He tries to take his wife from his former life, Kohana, to the Valley Beyond, and she remembers him, but the Westworld staff takes her away for decommissioning. He was afraid that, if he would die, he would lose her memory. He also noticed that more of his family was decommissioned and replaced.

William convinced Mr. Delos (Logan’s dad) to back Westworld after William bought Logan’s share; shows the possibilities of market research, explaining the ton of data they collected over the years.

The market research turns into achieving immortality, preserving their conscious minds in robot brains/control units and placing the control units in drones. It’s pivoted as the next step in human evolution. This becomes the Delos Project.

William tries, over the next 30 years, to preserve Mr. Delos and bring him back to the real world after he dies of cancer. Mr. Delos’ mind is preserved as a perfect virtual copy in the Valley Beyond, but the problem is bringing that copy into being as a drone in the Mesa and in the real world. If William can do that, the possibilities are endless. However, it fails 149 times, Mrs. Delos dies of a stroke, and Logan goes insane and ODs.

Mr. Delos’ last conversation with Logan becomes Mr. Delos’ cornerstone of his copy in the Valley Beyond.

William visits Dolores frequently at the park, and tells her of the plan of the Valley Beyond.  

Akecheta looks for his love and, for the first time ever, allows himself to die. He hasn’t been updated in 10 years because he had never died. He finds B83 and his love, but sees that she will no longer live. Thus, he dedicates his life to recreating the maze throughout the park so that the other robots can find themselves and be free.

2039: Solomon Build System initiated (we know this from the Westworld Season 3 date announcement)

2049: Francis Beaufort, Caleb’s friend, dies April 4th. It triggers Caleb’s PTSD, and temporarily forces him into a psych ward. This is why Caleb talks to an AI Francis when we are introduced to him S3. 

We know the date from S3E3 when Dolores shows Rehoboam’s prediction of his suicide.

2051: Juliet commits suicide after seeing William’s card from the Valley Beyond. It details the things he did in Westworld, videos and all. She leaves the card behind for Emily to see; it’s inside her 16th birthday present.

William does something truly evil (below) and feels nothing.

In exchange for her saving his life, Akecheta tries protecting Maeve’s daughter. However, William has other plans, shooting Maeve and her daughter, leaving Maeve to die on the maze Akecheta drew, and forcing the Westworld staff to assign Maeve to a new story.

Akecheta finds Ford as he constructs a new story. Ford knew that he was going to die by Dolores’ hand, and told Akecheta that when that day comes, he needed to gather his people and go to the Valley Beyond.

2052/Seasons 1 and 2:

Sets up Westworld for the audience

Maeve tries escaping the first time. (we know this date from the Westworld website—since removed)

Peter Abernathy is decommissioned after he sees a photograph of the real world; turns out to be William’s wife, Juliet

Dolores notices her father’s replacement and her mind gets scrambled; follows the maze once again to find herself and her voice

2052/The Attack (season 1 finale):

Dolores achieves consciousness again via the maze and kills Ford and some board members

Maeve achieves consciousness again and creates an escape army

Charlotte plants Westworld’s entire history and guest data in Peter Abernathy’s head to smuggle out the park; breaks him mentally

In season 3, Charlotte leaves a message for her son Nathan via a host

2052/One Week after the Attack (meat and potatoes of season 2):

Elsie had similar interests as Theresa, who had similar interests as Charlotte. Would make no sense for real Charlotte to kill her, which is why I think Dolores disguised as host Charlotte did.

2052/Two Weeks after the Attack (season 2 premiere and finale)

Bernard washes up on the beach to start season 2. Strand and the Delos security team are in the middle of an investigation, and Strand, Stubbs, and host Charlotte bring Bernard along to see if he can piece together what happened two weeks ago.

Host Charlotte reveals to the team that Bernard is a host (because she’s Dolores in disguise). They enter the house where Ford’s original robots (designed in his own and his family’s image) and discover all the copies of Bernard hanging on meat hooks. Bernard is basically in custody, and host Charlotte forces him to give directions to the security team on where Peter Abernathy’s control unit lives: the Valley Beyond

Bernard and the security team head there. Charlotte sends the info to Delos, and Delos finally sends help off the island after two weeks. Bernard reveals what he did after the attack. Charlotte reveals herself as Dolores and kills everyone.

In the Months in Between….

In the season 2 finale, Bernard and Dolores are back in their host bodies. Dolores saves Bernard’s pearl and implants it in one of his clones. Host Charlotte is functioning, but with a pearl from another host in her control unit. 

Dolores also smuggled 5 pearls out the park.

Bernard shaves his head and tries getting by without people recognizing him. Has a remote that he presses when he wants to attack people or be unbothered. Reads questions off a tablet, one being “would you lie to me, Bernard?” His response: “No. No, of course not.”

Is the ”real” Bernard controlling one of his own copies?

No one’s picked up on Charlotte’s host status other than Stubbs, who is a host himself. He gives Charlotte clearance, and she’s free to leave the park.  

2052/Season 3:

Bernard returns to Westworld after months of hiding (and in spite of a warrant being out for his arrest), and programs Stubbs to protect him. He is looking for Maeve, but finds that she is not only decommissioned, but her control unit is missing. He has a remote and answers questions via a tablet as if he’s talking to Ford.

Maeve is in a simulation within a simulation, and figures it out rather quickly. She’s in a virtual simulation in the Forge; within this simulation, she is a host in War World. Still aware of who she is, she tries busting out the park again. However, she realizes that she’s in a virtual simulation after Sylvester doesn’t recognize her and Lee Sizemore isn’t acting himself. Turns out that the real Lee Sizemore died in season 2, as expected. Maeve, with the help of the copy Lee Sizemore, tries to break out of both the virtual simulation of the Forge and the physical simulation of the parks. Through a help bot in the Mesa, she finds her control unit and makes a break for it, but the help bot is gunned down.

In San Francisco, Serac is introduced as a former park guest and, while at Incite, created the AI technology Rehoboam. I personally believe he is narrating the need for Rehoboam in the S3 date announcement video. He slowly bought out the board (38% ownership over two decades). He’s trying to take over Delos via a mole inside the company (real Charlotte—RIP), and use the intel gathered on Westworld guests to feed into Rehoboam and control the globe outside the park. This is why Charlotte and Theresa had common interests when they were alive. It also explains the plot of season 3: Rehoboam gathers every bit of intel on people to build a new world where, in Dolores’ words, “It’s not about who you are....It’s who they’ll let you become.”

Maybe Serac was a primary shareholder and the very reason why Delos wouldn’t send help until Peter Abernathy and all the park data was smuggled out of Westworld

Someone stole Maeve for Serac. He wants Maeve to kill Dolores, for Dolores’ encryption key unlocks all the data on Delos’ park guests through the years. Maeve doesn’t want to, and motions to kill him, but he stops her with a remote very similar to Bernard’s (most remotes wipe out surveillance tapes, but this one controls a host).

Also in San Francisco, Host Charlotte struggles being inside a different body. She’s learning about Charlotte and her personality as she goes, but is in constant confusion. Could be like the James Delos copies where they lose their minds in trying to achieve fidelity to the original person. Nathan quickly learns that Host Charlotte isn’t his real mom. 

Delos begins testing one of 300 riot robots. 

In the Years in Between….

Dolores makes it into the real world, back into her own body, and cuts her hair into an asymmetrical bob. She begins going after guests that once frequented the park. We see this in the opening scene of the season premiere.

Host Emily begins testing a copy of William for fidelity (season 2 finale post credit)

Season 3 preview: William finds the end of the game

2055: Caleb has a 5-month romantic relationship end by system interference October 2nd. This suggests that Rehoboam controls people’s lives.

We know the date from S3E3 when Dolores shows Rehoboam’s prediction of his suicide. This date is just below her right hand.

2058/Season 3:

Dolores has been hunting down former guests for six years. She begins dating Liam Dempsey, the figurehead of Incite, Inc., for answers. Incite created an AI system called Rehoboam, and it has detected a mole that could be after some IP (real Charlotte with Delos’ IP?). Liam wishes he could turn Rehoboam off, but lost access after his father, the co-founder of Incite, died. Only the original architect (Serac) knows how to turn it off. If he tells her the architect’s name, Rehoboam will know and he will die. Martin knocks Dolores out, and tells Liam that she is a spy; he tries killing her quietly, but she kills all his henchmen, and has host Martin kill real Martin. 

Caleb, an LA resident down on his luck and missing his deceased friend Francis, finds Dolores after she is shot over the melee. 

Dolores clues Caleb in on Rehoboam. It’s an AI system that is the framework of a company named Insight. Insight is doing what Delos tried to do, but in a different way; they collected data years before privacy laws to create a replica world with all these replica people. Moreover, Incite uses Rehoboam to predict how people’s lives will go. In Caleb’s case, he will commit suicide in 12 years, according to his file and based on Rehoboam’s algorithm. It’s why he can’t get a job and get ahead in life. Incite is deciding what people’s lives should be, and predicting people’s outcomes in lives. Dolores’ plan is to free the world from Rehoboam, and take over the world and free the hosts from the Sublime.

But Dolores supposedly hates humans for what they did to her at Westworld. Probably took her a lot of time to start working with one and wanting to give them free choice against Rehoboam.

A copy of William is going to try to save the world (season 3 preview)

We know the year 2058 because the AI technology, Rehoboam, is used in the season 3 release date announcement and gives this date (which I believe hasn’t happened yet):

[takemedancingmaine]

Family Ties

I wasn't sure what I was doing here.

All I really knew was that I was only here for the day. I kept telling myself that no matter how bad it got, whichever way this went, I would be gone by 7 pm. 

It was the result of a dumb impulse decision that I had made after self-defense class on Thursday. I had bought the tickets without properly thinking through just what I was going to say, or admitting to myself any consequences that could come up as a result.

When I woke up Friday in a post adrenaline haze I had been panicked. What had I been thinking? I couldn't tell my parents. There was no way. This was dumb. It was a dumb decision.

Yet for some reason, I brought myself to the airport this morning, went through security behind some of the most impatient tourists I had ever seen, and had gotten on a plane and flown to St. Louis. Truth be told, I wasn't sure if I was actually living this or if I was just having an incredibly vivid dream.

Either way, dream or real, I was now in a rental car on my way to my sister’s apartment near SLU’s campus. 

When I said I didn't think this whole process through, I meant it. Neither Mehar nor my parents knew I was coming home. I didn't even know if they'd be around. But after telling my friends what happened I was inspired to tell everyone in order to really start healing, and that included my parents, my little sister. And I wanted to do it as soon as possible.

Hence my driving across St. Louis in the middle of the morning on a wintry Saturday in February to see my sister before I even knew if she was home. I thought about calling her, but whenever I picked up my phone to call her or even text her, I felt sick to my stomach. How do you bring something like that up over the phone? That was why I had decided to fly down in the first place. 

My stomach was in knots. Telling my friends, telling Niall, had been different. This felt weightier, this felt like it was going to be so much more painful like it was going to be so much more impactful on my recovery, but that such an impact could go either way.

I sat in my rental car for a few minutes after pulling into the apartment complex my sister lived in. I was struggling to compose myself, and I was focusing on my breathing when my phone buzzed in the cup holder, scaring me into action. I took a breath and picked up the phone. 

Cleo: You’ve got this. I love you.

And right when I was reading that, my phone buzzed again in my hand, two new messages coming through in quick succession in our friend group chat. It was the same group chat. I had assured my friends that it would only be more awkward if they were to create two new, separate chats now that Niall and I had split.

Louis: we’re all here rooting for you! Liam: [photo attached] 

Liam had sent a photo of the whole group huddled around a table at a coffee shop: Harry and Ana, Louis, Liam, and Cleo. Harry in his Packers gear, no doubt to annoy Liam even though their season was over. Cleo wearing the scarf I'd gotten her that first winter we were friends. Louis had on the same jean jacket he always wore. It was negative temperatures with the wind chill, and he was still wearing that over a sweater instead of wearing a real coat. They all looked so normal to me that it filled me with warmth. I could almost pretend I was there with them.

They were all smiling, Harry and Cleo were giving me thumbs up, and Ana was toasting me with her tea. It looked like someone was holding the phone, that it wasn’t a selfie. I had one guess as to who was holding it. 

I had my friends on my side, and no matter what happened with my family today, that family, my friend-family, would always be there for me. I took a deep breath and got out of the car, and walked up to my sister’s door where I knocked and waited. 

“Ruby?” It was Ashley, one of my sister’s roommates. 

“Is Mehar here?” I asked. 

“Yeah, let me go get her,” Ashley said. “You can come in.” I followed her and waited just inside the door. Mehar’s apartment was cozy and reminded me a bit of Cleo’s with twinkle lights and candles everywhere and endless blankets in a bin next to the sofa.

“What the fork are you doing here?” My sister said as she came around the corner and stopped short when she saw me.

“I can't just pop by and surprise my little sister?”

“Not if you live five hours away you can't.” She looked at me skeptically.

“I just really needed to see you,” I let the words fall out in a whoosh as the truth pulled them from me. “I really needed my sister. So I thought I'd just... swing by. I’m only in town until my flight at seven.”

“What's wrong?” She took a step toward me. My sister looked like me, she was more slender, but we had the same features, hers were angular where mine were rounded, but they were the same nonetheless. We had the same nervous ticks, even though our stressors were different. We had the same ability to look at each other and be able to understand when it was no longer a joke or a jest, but when it was serious.

Mehar took one look at me and knew I wasn't here for anything light.

“Come here,” she said before stepping close and pulling me into her. I held my sister for a while. I held her, breathed in her familiar scent, and felt my whole body relax at her proximity. Mehar and I were always teasing each other, but when it came down to it, I'd do anything for her, and I knew she'd do the same for me.

Eventually, we pulled back from each other and she gestured for me to sit down at her breakfast bar.

“You wait here. I'll be right back.” I nodded and watched her disappear around the corner and into her room.

In the minute and a half it took her to return, I had counted the number of vowels on the grocery list on the fridge five times. There were thirty-two.

“I found this at mom and dad’s,” Mehar was saying as she strolled back into the room. It was a card. I could see that much. Mehar stood on the other side of the breakfast bar from me and gestured for me to open it as someone joined us in the kitchen.

He was tall, probably just over six feet, and he had stunning green eyes and short, wavy blonde hair. His athletic build was noticeable even under the SLU tennis T-shirt he was wearing. What I noticed first though, was the way he looked at my sister as he stepped up beside her and reached for a coffee mug. 

“Andy, this is my sister Ruby,” Mehar began. “Ruby, this is Andy.”

I knew him from her descriptions of him, but what I didn't know was how he felt. That look I'd witnessed just now had me certain he wasn't just using my sister, that whatever she was experiencing for the first time, it wasn't one-sided. I looked between him and my sister and then smiled.

“Nice to finally meet you, Andy,” I said as I watched him blush at my words. He glanced down at his feet and then looked back up at me.

“You as well, Ruby,” he said. “I've heard so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” I laughed.

“Only good things,” Andy said back. “You're what she talks about most of the time.”

“I wouldn't say most,” Mehar half-heartedly defended herself. “A lot, but probably not most.”

“Oh, probably not,” Andy teased her, sliding his arm around her waist.

Mehar made a face and rolled her eyes at him. “Ruby, do you want breakfast?”

I looked at my watch. “Meh, it's 10:42.”

“Brunch then,” she amended with a shrug.

“I can do brunch.” I nodded, holding back my laugh.

“How do you take your eggs, Ruby?” Andy asked as he headed to the fridge. “I’ve been told I make a pretty good omelet.”

“I could go for an omelet.” I nodded and as he got to work with the eggs and Mehar got started on making French Press coffee after turning on some John Mayer over her speaker, I remembered the card in my hands. Looking down at it I realized that it was Mehar’s handwriting on the envelope. It wasn't sealed either, so I slid the card out.

The front was just sunflowers, no message, so I opened it and started reading. It was a graduation card from when I'd graduated high school. It was from Mehar to me, but I was fairly certain I had never seen it before.

I started scanning the text of the card and immediately was fighting back tears. She wrote about how proud of me she was, how excited for my future endeavors she was, and how she knew I was strong and brave and destined for good things.

I let a tear slip down my cheek before quickly wiping it away and re-reading the card before closing it and sliding it back into its envelope. When I looked up my younger sister was watching me, a freshly pressed mug of coffee in her hands, held almost to her lips as she inhaled the aroma.

“I found it in a book I had been reading at the time. I must've used it as a bookmark or something. I hadn't seen it since right before your graduation, but I felt so guilty having it and not giving it to you…. I was going to mail it, but you being here to read it works too.”

I just looked at her, at the card, and then her again, hoping that my look could convey just how I felt. 

My little sister gave me a watery smile and strode around her counter and hugged me tightly.

“I love you, Ruby,” she told me. 

“I love you too, Mehar,” I said back. 

“So what really made you come here?” She asked now. Andy had just left to go to practice and we were on her couch together re-watching an old show we both knew well. 

Andy hadn’t been kidding, he made so much food for us and everything was delicious. I was stuffed and happily so. He was also very kind. He and Mehar seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces: the two of them had inside jokes and were instinctive toward one another. At one point, he looked up at her and without a word refilled her coffee and added the proper amount of cream and sugar for her.

Seeing my sister in an easy routine with someone was like watching a little green alien stroll out of a spaceship and act as if everything was normal: something felt out of place, but maybe that was because it simply hadn’t happened before. Mehar said, for years, that she loved her lifestyle, and I know she still does like that lifestyle, but this feels different. Andy has been around for a bit, knows things about her that she’s not let other boys know, she didn’t seem hesitant to introduce us either, and I’d never before met someone Mehar had been with, in any capacity. 

I know I kind of forced her hand by just showing up out of the blue, but she seemed completely at ease with the situation. My sister blew me away with her adaptability. Just a few days ago she was telling me that she actually liked a boy and that she wanted to change her whole life plan, but as was typical to my sister, she took the whole experience in stride.

I looked down at the mug of tea in my hands and then looked up at her. 

“What is it?” She asked. 

“Well, there’s a couple of reasons,” I said softly. When I had told my friends, my voice and resolve had been strong. Right now with my sister, I felt weak. I had spent all of my life protecting, or trying to protect, Mehar from the bad things in this world and telling her this meant exposing her to bad things as well as exposing her to my own personal darkness. It felt counterintuitive. 

“Okay,” she nodded, compelling me softly to continue. 

“I’m going to stop by mom and dad’s after this, because one of the things might just be easier to say to all of you at the same time,” I tell her. “I don’t know if after the week I’ve had I can relive it twice.”

“Ruby, you’re starting to scare me.” She leaned forward, toward me and put her hand on mine for a moment. 

“Niall and I…” I trailed off. Even that phrase hurt to say. “We’re,” I started again. “I broke up with him.”

“You what?” Her voice that had been soft before was a little harsh when she asked that. I looked up at her and saw her eyes harden, too. 

“I broke up with him,” I repeated it, feeling the sting of it, again and again, a thousand little cuts on my skin every time the reality struck me.

“He’s… Ruby, Niall is the best guy you’ve ever dated and you broke up with him?” She was incredulous, and just as I expected her questions started coming fast. “Why? Did he hurt you, like was he abusive? Did he cheat on you? What about Louis, are they still friends? How could you just… break up with him? He was in love with you.” 

I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump that rose in my throat when she said that. “I know he was. I loved him, still love him.” I paused and took a breath, but nothing was making the discomfort in my chest recede. “He didn’t hurt me, in any way. He didn’t cheat on me. Louis is trying to figure it all out right now, but he’s still friends with both of us,” I answered some of her questions. 

“Then how could you?” I flinched. “Do you even know how much he loved you, Ruby?” My sister was hard, I’d known that always. We used to have fights when we were younger, too. This though, this felt different. This wasn’t a superficial fight over stealing each other’s clothes or makeup. This was something deeper and more meaningful. 

“That’s kind of why I had to do it,” I whispered. 

“So were you just stringing him along?” 

“No!” I shook my head rapidly. “No, of course, I wasn’t. I,” I opened my mouth and nothing came out, so I closed it and thought for another moment. “I’m just trying to sort myself out first. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with me so that I don’t hurt him along the way.” 

“You’re so selfish,” she said now and I recoiled like I’d been physically slapped across the face. My sister’s dark eyes were narrowed as they looked me over and I couldn’t help but feel the chill in the room. 

“Probably.”

“So we’re going to Mom and Dad’s, now? And then you’re leaving at seven?” She asked, turning the TV off and grabbing my and her mugs, practically ripping mine out of my hands, before heading to the kitchen where she discarded them in the sink.

“I guess so.” I nodded.

“We should probably drive there separately,” she called from her room. “I mean, logistically their house is closer to the airport, so if you have to return your rental car I can still drive home.”

“Okay.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and wiped away the tear that escaped. 

“Alright, see you there.” She came out of her room and swiped her heavy jacked off the peg by her front door, and then handed me mine before she opened the door and gestured to me to head out.

Numb, and not just from Mehar’s response but also from the fact that I was about to tell my parents what happened to me, I made my way over to my rental car and climbed inside, feeling like I’d just been in battle: all of me was tired and sore. I let out a sigh and watched as Mehar peeled off in her car and then made to follow her. 

Now that I was standing in my parent’s foyer the reality of what I was doing came crashing down. I could hear them fussing in the other room over Mehar. My mom had been upset about my coming home, as I expected she would be. She was upset she didn't know ahead of time, upset I wasted money on just being here for a day, upset that I looked so muscley because then I would never find a man.

It wasn’t like I didn’t expect any of that. 

“Ruby,” my father called my name as he stepped into the room. My parents never really approved of how I chose to live my life, but the most vocal about that was my mother. My father was upset I wasn’t closer to home, upset that I wasn’t making as much money as I could potentially be with my degree, but my father was softer than my mother.

“Hmm?” I hummed and looked over at him. He was greying around his temples, his reading glasses were up on top of his head, and he had one of the kindest faces. I remembered all the music we would listen to together, thinking about all that he taught me while Mehar and I were little, thinking about how this news would affect him. 

“Your mother made tea,” he said.

“Okay.”

We slipped into the kitchen. Mom and Mehar were sitting at the island, sipping tea, and Dad joined them. I stood alone on the other side while I filled my teacup and stayed there, across from them. 

I didn’t have Cleo there with me this time to be my rock. I had to be my own rock. I had to somehow get through this without her. 

I wasn’t sure how to tell the story again, so I just sort of, started talking. I started with what happened and ended with how I was going to self-defense classes and getting into a healthier mindset. I left Niall out of it all, but I knew Mehar could tell I was leaving him out.

Once I was done talking, I settled in and waited for their reactions. 

My mom, predictably, had a bit of a meltdown. She lectured me on how I should have told her sooner, how big cities aren’t safe, how she told me that over and over again and that she knew something bad like this was going to happen.  

I stayed silent throughout it all, accepting it as her way of coping. She thought she was right, and I wasn’t going to change her mind. I knew better. I knew I just had to let it play out and that she would calm down to her usual level of distaste toward Chicago eventually.

My father was angry. Not toward me. Okay, a little of it was toward me. He argued that he could have done something, and was angry that nothing had been found in regard to the case they opened to find whoever did this to me. My father was headstrong. You have to be when you move across the world and have to assimilate and make a life for yourself. But I’d never seen him angry before. He stormed out of the room and my mother followed suit, leaving me with just Mehar.

“And I was such an asshole to you this morning,” Mehar breathed out. She looked shaken, and I felt a pang in my heart. 

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I understand why.” Truly I did. I wasn’t upset with her for being rude and upset with me. I understood it. I absolutely knew what I had told her was a big deal, and much like Louis, she had reflexively turned cold at my news. 

“I’m your sister.” She shook her head. “I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Mehar,” I reached over to her. “It’s okay. I promise.”

“But what I don’t understand is why you kept this from me?” She sounded hurt. “I’m your sister, Ruby. I… I would’ve understood. I could’ve been there for you. I could have helped you. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I was scared,” I told her. “I was afraid that if I told you then the whole thing would control me and take over my life. I didn’t see that keeping it a secret was still enabling it to take over and control me.”

“Maybe I could have helped you realize that sooner,” she said. 

“You? Probably.” I nodded. “You’re pretty strong-willed and incredibly smart. Especially now that you’re shifting to focus on research psychology.” 

“I just wish I could have helped you. I wish I had been there for you.” She bit her lip. “I feel a little betrayed that you didn’t let me in on something as big as this. We tell each other everything, Ruby.”

“I made a mistake,” I admitted. “I don’t know why hiding it was my first instinct. I don’t know why telling everyone now feels so counterintuitive. I’m kind of flying blind here, Me.” I bit my lip and shrugged. “It’s not like you’re taught how to go through this kind of thing in school.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s not like you were prepared. But haven’t I been a good enough sister to you? Did I do something to make you think you couldn’t trust me?”

“No. You’re literally the best sister, Mehar. I love how open we are with each other. I love how much we give to each other and help each other. I don’t- I don’t know why. I know I can trust you. It wasn’t about trust. It was fear. I’m your big sister, Mehar. I’m supposed to protect you. How could I protect you when I’m damaged?” 

“You think you’re damaged?” Mehar asks. “You think you can’t still try and protect me? I’m strong because of you, Ruby. How else do you think I came to terms with changing my future? I thought about what you would do, how fearless you are. I can’t- I don’t know how you don’t realize that I am who I am because of you. I would never judge you. I wouldn’t have thought less of you. And yes, I’m always going to appreciate you trying to protect me, but sometimes, I’d like to return the favor. I’d like to protect you. I’d like the opportunity to be able to help you and I never get that chance.”

I was at an actual at a loss for words.

“I’m not saying there’s going to be a next time of these proportions,” Mehar continued. “But next time anything happens, anything, Ruby, you have me. You have me to talk to. You will always have me to talk to.”

Our father came back into the room and without saying anything wrapped me up in a tight hug. 

“Ruby,” my father sighed. “I’m really glad that you’re okay. I’m glad that you’re strong and that you’re going to those classes.” 

He pulled back after another long moment of holding me, and kept me close, but looked into my face. “You’re happy, right? You’re still happy?” 

“I am,” I told him truthfully. “I may have hurt the people close to me by not telling them what happened earlier, but I’m working on that, and I’m happy with my job and my friends.”

“That’s the important thing,” he said before pulling me into another tight hug. Physical affection was weird for my family, at least coming from my parents and aimed at Mehar and I. This though, this was somehow something my father knew I needed, and I accepted his hug gratefully.

“Mom’s never going to let me get on that plane tonight, is she?” I asked.

“I will talk to her,” he assured me. “She won’t be happy about it, but deep down she knows the city, your friends there, make you happy. She won’t like it, but she’ll let you go.” 

“Thank you, daddy,” I sighed. I tightened my grip on him and then let go. 

“Of course, Ruby.” He smiled and gave me a pat on the arm. “I’m going to go talk to your mother, then maybe we can get some takeout before you have to be on your flight,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said back as he stepped out of the room again and Mehar gave me a crazy look as she looked between me and where he’d just left the room.

“Who was that? That certainly wasn’t our dad,” she scoffed. “There’s no way. He must’ve been abducted by aliens or something.” 

I barked out a laugh. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

“That’s why you broke up with Niall then, isn’t it?” She asked, cautious to keep her voice down, wary of our parents possibly listening in. 

I nodded.

“You kind of told me the events in reverse order,” she said. “I might not have been so mad at you if you’d explained why before you told me you broke up with him.” 

“Well.” I shrugged, unable to explain myself. I’d done so much explaining this week.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still really mad at you. You didn’t tell me about a huge life event and you also failed to factor in logic when breaking up with the world’s most perfect man for you.” 

“If Niall and I are meant to me, then maybe it’ll happen when I’m healthy enough for it,” I explained. “And if not,” I stopped when my voice broke. “If not, then he taught me so much about myself and what I deserve and what a healthy relationship looks like.”

“I’ve met him,” she said with a smirk. “I’m sure he’d drop his entire life if it meant he could have you back.” 

I laughed. 

“I’m serious,” Mehar came over and wrapped an arm around me. “He’d be a fool not to. He’s also absolutely smitten with you, Ruby. I doubt even something like this would change his mind.” 

“Healthy people move on from things, Mehar. I’m preparing myself for him to have moved on from me.”

“Healthy people do move on, but love is a funny thing, Ruby. I wouldn’t sell yourself short.” 

“Alright crazy lady.” I rolled my eyes at her and laid my head on her shoulder. “Let’s talk about you and Andy some more.”

“You like him?” She asked.

“I think he’s great,” I told her truthfully. “Neither of you is trying to change the other, but somehow you fit together so well anyway. You seem to be in a really good place.” 

“I am,” she said. “I think I’ll have to let mom and dad calm down from this a little before I tell them I’m moving away, going to grad school. I looked into graduate programs, by the way. Michigan State apparently has a really great program.”

She was baiting me. I knew it. I still took it.

“You can’t go to my school’s rival!” I gasped. 

“It would only be for their graduate program,” she defended herself. 

“Still, Mehar,” I groaned. “They’re actually the worst.” 

“Their psychology program isn’t.” She poked me in the side.

“Are there any other schools?” I asked, desperate.

“Northwestern doesn’t have a masters, but they have a PhD track,” she shrugged. “Their undergraduate program is amazing though. Same with U Chicgao. Their master’s program has a pretty good reputation too, but if I wanted the best it looks like I’d be moving to North Carolina.” 

“This sounds like it could be bad or really bad,” I complained.

“Carolina and Duke have the number one and two masters programs in the country. I realize that means it would be harder to get accepted, but I’ve started working with my professors on their research and I’m doing really well in all of my classes. I just have to keep working.”

“I have so much faith in you,” I wrapped an arm around her and sighed. “I’m excited for whatever comes next for you.”

“You too,” she told me. “We’ve got the world ahead of us, Ruby.” 

“We really do,” I agreed.

In the end, our mother had come down and had dinner with us before I had to leave. She also told me she was glad I was okay but kept reminding me and dropping not so subtle hints that the city I chose to live in was dangerous. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.

Sitting on the plane on the runway I kept thinking about something Mehar had said. She had told me she thinks she wasted her potential staying close to home for undergrad instead of going to a harder more competitive school where she could’ve been pushed more, be better prepared for graduate school. 

I argued that because of her decisions, she found friends, experimented with different walks of life to choose from so she was certain that she knew what she wanted, and she found Andy, who–if nothing else–was introducing her to a lifestyle she had never tried before. Something I assure her she would be able to keep up with if she moved to North Carolina or, hopefully not, Michigan. 

I was thinking about it because we all end up on the right path somehow or another. Whether it's straightforward because we’re certain we know what we want, or whether the wrong paths teach us lessons that we didn’t even know we needed to learn, I don’t know. 

What I did know was that my sister, who repeatedly told me she was still very much mad at me, would be okay. She kept trying to tell me the same thing, too. I knew she was right, but I was still working through the consequences of my decisions and that was going to take some time and was a lot less straightforward than I’d hoped it would be.