#there’s a reason I’ve avoided being in the middle of fandom communities for the last decade

[elenaril]

There’s apparently a rumour going around that I am behind that anon confession blog, so consider this my one and only post on the matter;

I am not.

Only reason I know it exists is because it followed me at one point when it was first made. Leaking DMs where me and someone else are venting and talking about various issues does not mean we’re also automatically behind an account like that, and I seriously thought people would give me the benefit of the doubt, since I’ve done my best to stay out of any and all drama since I joined the fandom last year. If venting about experiences and things were a crime/proof that you’d run a place like that, literally everyone would have an anon confession blog. Respectfully, grow the fuck up, and ask if you have doubts, instead of blindly jumping on the hate train.

[thequibblah]

Hello there,

I’m sorry it’s been a heavy week for everyone from both sides of the discussion and the third side that tries to understand both sides while feeling in the middle, like myself. I read some of the dark Jily content before, I liked the some mild ones and found heavy the other ones for my taste. It never bothered me before because I hadn’t realized it was heavier and hurtful for others form a personal point, until last weekend.

I don’t support censoring contents we are uncomfortable or shaming people who read them for their personal preferences. But, i want to lessen the hurt all those people felt and avoid the future ones. I’ve been reading and trying to understand better everyone who had a saying in this since last week but couldn’t find a suggestion for a solution, maybe I missed it. I want to ask what do you think about it? What do you want from the dark Jily writers/readers? Please don’t consider my question as sarcastic or offensive, I am sincerely asking what actions taken would make you and everyone else who feels similar feel safer in the community? Because I am willing to take those actions to create more comfortable environment for everyone in it without completely banning a content. but i feel lost about what can be done. I think there are many people feels the same and I think it’s the time for talking about solutions. Maybe it has already discussed but I definitely missed it.

Reading and educating ourselves is the first step and I think most of us are aware of that but I feel like awareness without the action makes everyone more angry. Including myself. We are in a point arguing about whose disadvantages gives more right to talk about the issue more. I am not pointing anyone specifically but I feel like people have started to compare the disadvantages & disprivileges and it’s becoming more hurtful for everyone. But I know it’s something we can solve and I wonder your opinion about it.

(ETA: throughout this ask I use “you” not about this specific asker necessarily, just the general you to speak to creators and fans of this specific trope!)

Right, thank you for not jumping down my throat with this. Personally yeah I don’t love how it’s become this massive us vs. them, actually — this fandom has been vocal for years about how we’re all a family and concerns will be #heard, only to start with the trench-digging the moment someone puts up their hand and says actually I don’t like this, would you guys acknowledge that it makes some of us uncomfortable?

This question of censorship is incredibly frustrating to me. I work in media, and I see this tired claim brought up whenever any content is criticised. Comparing this in-fandom discussion, first of all, to the banning of books like it’s something out of 1984, is especially frustrating because if you see what we’ve been saying, it hasn’t been “all this work should be bleached from the internet!” Anyone who represents the argument as such is being purposefully disingenuous. I was not the first one to suggest “removing” these works from the mainstream or from awards — the moment I read that I was shocked that someone would misunderstand so gravely what’s been said. The reason I made such a big deal about the mainstream was to explain that this trope is difficult for me to ignore, which is why I have to talk about it and set a boundary rather than just blacklisting and moving on. To accuse me of being pro-censorship is to entirely dismiss not only my actual concern, but also the clear steps I’ve been laying out since the first post I made on this subject.

I don’t think it’s censorship to ask creators to think twice before they write stories they might not be equipped to tell smartly and sensitively. I don’t think it’s censorship to ask creators to reflect on what they might be implying, if not outright saying. People discard ideas all the time because they don’t have the tools in their set to execute them. This is that — if you feel you can’t write something that respects your readers’ concerns, especially something that borrows from historical structures that you yourself are not adversely affected by, then you don’t have the tools to execute it.

What I want from people who’ve engaged with this trope is very simple and I think I have actually been very clear. If you wrote it, think about the discomfort that’s been widely expressed and, if you did, why you dismissed it when it was brought up to you anonymously or not. Think about why your first instinct is “my readers must be wrong” (because make no mistake, this comes from people who have read the trope too) rather than “maybe I’m saying something I don’t mean to be.” Remind yourself that this is fanfiction — the conventions of genre mean that you can’t always judge it like original fiction, especially not when writing romance-centric work about a canon couple you know that you and your reader base position as soulmates. What is the possibility for a redemption arc given these constraints?

I don’t think this is a huge ask, and conflating this discomfort and honestly, the practical, lifelong mindset worth cultivating for writers that takes it seriously, with people who feel shamed for what they’ve read feels so disappointingly on trend for fandom. You knew people liked your fic. Obviously there are people who will tell you they enjoyed it and now feel bad for having done so. But this is not new information to you — why are you not engaging with the people who have expressed hurt that apparently comes as such a shock?

I’ve also made very clear what my personal preference is: I don’t like this trope. If you disagree and think I’m overreacting, don’t read my stuff and don’t interact with me. That’s it. That is all. Don’t look for a solution you can tout and say you’ve checked a box even if it bypasses my explicitly-stated boundary, because it won’t come from me.

This fandom needs to think about a lot of tangential cultural issues that have exacerbated this whole situation. We do surround ourselves with toxic positivity. We do foster excessively critical response to anonymous concerns. And it seems like that “everything is fine!” mindset is already coming back in. Which, you do you, just not with me. You want your fandom space to contain these things, I won’t be in it, and I want no part of it.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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

Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ‘What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

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

“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

[redisriding]

CC: House of Sky and Breath

Hello! 

I’m back from my self imposed Tumblr blackout to avoid spoilers - even though I finished the book a few days ago I had put a block on Tumblr until the end of the month. 

So what are my initial thoughts? Honestly, I’m not sure. I can’t tell whether I loved or hated it. For me, the last two SJM books ACOSF and now CC:HOSAB haven’t been favourites of mine. I've shared my ACOSF elsewhere, but HOSAB is the third book now with SJM’s new editor and I think that might be one of the reasons why I haven’t enjoyed these last two books as much as I did with the original ACOTAR series (especially ACOMAF). 

Onto HOSAB specifically...

As I said a few days on from reading it I'm not sure if I loved or hated it, but one thing is for certain, I can’t stop thinking about it. 

Ultimately, I think I’m going to have to read it again now knowing the ending (and thus being less confused) to see what I think of the story, but some initial thoughts:

- I didn’t enjoy the middle section of the book, I think it dragged. For one it could have done with an edit, but I think more favourably, a large chunk of it should have been taken out in favour of extending the ending.

- The ending “climax” was a bit to easily achieved I think. Without giving away any spoilers, that last “mission” they had to do was completed within a few pages. I think a slower build of tension would have made for a better pay off. 

- Then there is the actual ending itself...I kind of hated it? I’m going to try and talk about this without actually revealing anything, but that may be hard so look away now if you haven’t finished it in case you can guess from what I’m about to say....I get that it’s for the fans, and I'm sure some people are going wild over theories or whatever, but I kind of hated it. The lore/magic is going to become too complicated to keep each story straight if they’re now interacting with each other. Do I trust SJM, yes of course, but I wonder how it’s going to impact the next book as, as I mentioned above, her writing hasn’t been as engaging for me since the change in editor/tone. Do I wish Bryce had just got to where she was supposed to have gone? Yeah, I think that would have been exciting and interesting enough as it was. There was really no need to complicate matters like.

- I also found the Hunt ending particularly tough. Again with the spoiler caveat, SJM has had quite a bit of criticism about engaging with slavery in this manner in this series (personally I don’t think it’s all that warranted and seems to come from sections of the reading community who cannot separate fact/fiction or what an author writes/what an author believes morally) however I did find the ending particularly gut wrenching. 

- Loved the Ruhn storyline. 

- Adored the Ithan storyline. 

Like I say, I really do think it’s a case of me needing to read the book again in order to get my thoughts straight about it, but I logged on here to see what the fandom reaction is. 

Thoughts/comments/opinions welcome! 

[tundrainafrica]

Why I love LeviHan (a rant)

So I'm pretty new to the LeviHan community and I just wanted to rant about how much of a work of art this fucking ship is even though I have no idea whether Isayama did it on purpose or not. But damn, this ship literally introduced me to the drama of shipping fluff and AUs --- two genres I used to avoid like the plague because never have I felt such adamance for a ship to set sail in YEARS since Percabeth back in high school.

To give some background about myself, the past five years, I was no fan of ships. Like literally, I tried to avoid shipping fics like the plague (for any fandom) because I was like "come on war racial war, zombie like monsters? Who has time to fall in love?" A lot of non romance shows don’t leave time for a relationship to develop and we literally just get a time skip where suddenly they pair people up together and I’m like woop good story but yo how the heck did they end up together.

In real life, I also did get into a healthy relationship with a guy, a slow burn after five years type and I thought yeah I've seen how I want a relationship to develop and now imma be picky as fuck with ships.

I did end up picky as fuck with ships but Isayama with the minimal screen time he actually gave this ship to set sail with probably minimal intention to actually confirm their ship got me climbing into this ship while it sunk canonically after chapter 132 because holy fuck ISAYAMA YOU MAD MAN.

Let's talk about how they were introduced. Trost is destroyed. Titans are impossible to kill then whoop. We get a group of weirdos and outcasts who can somehow kill titans like crazy.

Strong titan slayer dude.

Strong titan slayer girl. (Hange is female to me.)

Cool commander dude.

Cool interesting characters. Eren's dream team since episode 1. Two captains. Constantly together. Erwin is their glue. Nothing suspicious about that. They work together. They're too busy fighting Titans to actually be considering a relationship right??

Besides, Hange and Levi are just way too different like

Levi is like *slash slash slash I hate titans u ugly* *slash slash slash eww titan blood* *slash slash slash kill Titans they're all monsters* 

Hange is like *slash slash slash oooh titan blood* *slash slash slash dont kill them i wanna dissect them* *doesn't slash* titans make me horny.

Like sure we could argue opposites attract but there are more cases where opposite personality dating would probably backfire and with the idiosyncrasies of both parties at polar ends of the spectrum it just didn't seem possible for there to be a spark? Like logistically they would tear each other's hair out if they were stuck together in a relationship.

At that point, Erwin being the middle ground between both captain weirdos, I couldn't help but think shipping Erwin with either of them would have been the more realistic option.

Season 2 had its fair share the first two scenes with Levi picking her up and the carriage. Didn't see anything too sparky yet and yes the last scene where he could tell who she is by her knock. (but yes sparks flew in hindsight).

Season 3: Erwin the glue gets trapped in capital due to political reasons and only one arm. Two captains forced to combine forces to manage the survey corps in peril. They get their bonding moments like torturing some dude together and reflecting over the untimely deaths of Hange’s squad. (and maybe Levi’s squad too)

They separate while coup d'etat happens because their skills were needed elsewhere. They got to save Eren and like hours later in the cavern Levi was especially concerned about Hange when she got shot by the hook back in the cavern like you don't see that concern with any other character except maybe Erwin. (But it can be argued that maybe all the other people he ever loved died too fast he never got the time to be concerned.)

All the way until the battle of Shiganshina Levi is usually with Hange.

When he’s not with her, there’s a reason (usually Erwin’s orders.)

When he's not with her he's thinking about her.

Then Erwin their magical glue of a commander does die and the captains gotta stick together even without the glue because they're the last two surviving people in the old survey corps.

It's apparent Levi hates the changes made to the survey corps because he still keeps the green cloak which everyone kinda abandoned. So it can be argued that Hänge was also that last bit of fresh air Levi had of the olden days.

So

they're

together

in

almost

Every

Friking

Scene

Like you can't blame them. Levi is anti social and traditional survey corps type.

Hange is still reeling from the loss of Erwin and her quick rise to power as commander.

They may have differing personalities but they had the same history. They both know loss, bloodshed and battle the survey corps brings that no one else probably understands to the extent they do.

And we get the bombshell of this scene.

Hange literally proposes to him that they just run away to the forest and just build a life for themselves and the cold harsh brazen Levi doesn't outright reject it.

He instead acknowledges what he knows about her that she'll never do that. This only confirms that they know each other too well, that they have a bond that exists between them which cannot so easily be replaced by anyone else.

And then a few chapters later

Dead.

And sure yeah Levi didn't cry but like yo, the way Levi handled her death is worse than crying. We have never seen Levi react to a death like this.

Levi is holding on to the hand which touched Hange’s.

Levi just sits down in the middle of a pivotal scene and where he might end up fighting any minute coz like what's life he literally lost everything he could have lived for.

Like sure people who don't think LeviHan is canon would say “He’s injured. He’s tired.” 

Just a few chapters ago though we got him ready to fight

 "That’s the last person left of course it would break him more than anything"

That's the point. They're complete opposites they've been together for years and even if the chemistry wasn't there before, even if they would never have gotten along at all, personality and logistics-wise, they were placed in a situation where their glue Erwin died, everything of the life they knew before, all their loved ones in the survey corps died and now they were left with the responsibility of managing what's left and being the only two people with a shared history.

That literally set up one of the best places for a fucking romance to bloom. Yet the war and the circumstances just made it so hard for them to act upon it yet somehow the manga and anime were peppered with this cool understanding of

Yo I want you.

like maybe when we retire let's keep in touch and I dunno have babies or something

But yeah yo we gotta fight.

Then Levi be like “Yeah babies be a good idea?” (Titans don’t love you. I love you.)

Death foreshadowing

Then Levi

Is

Fucking

Broken

Like we've never seen him before.

Wow isayama the madman didn't need to build this masterpiece of a relationship from love at first sight, to confessions, to placing them in unnatural situations for sexual tension.

He built a subtle relationship out of necessity, out of the need for some humanity in this dark world. Two people placed at the lead at the forefront of this war, willing to adjust, willing to change and work despite their differences because they needed that warmth, they needed the reminder that there exists happiness and hope in this world which transcends all that bullshit they have experienced to that point until her death.

I really wish I could experience that epiphany again with another couple.

I applaud the subtlety of this relationship and the natural development of one of the best ships I have experienced in a long while.

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 21

We get to bring in two new characters to the mix today! I won’t say who yet, you’ll just have to read to find out. :) 

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Day 21 - Chronic Pain

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: nudity (non-sexual), foster home mention

It was a bad day. A really bad day.

He had plenty of bad days, those came nearly once a month. Those he could power through.

But this was one of those days that thankfully, didn’t show up too often. He hadn’t had one this bad in probably a year or more. Certainly not since coming to space, which he was more than grateful for. 

Curling in tighter on himself, Keith stifled a whimper with his pillow. He was pretty sure his roommates were already long gone, but he still didn’t want to risk anyone hearing him make pathetic noises. He needed to get up. It was getting late in the day, and he was still in the bed, and he was pretty sure he had a mission at some point to report for. If he didn’t get up soon, somebody was going to come looking for him, and then not only would he be in trouble, but he’d have to explain why he was curled up like a kitten with the covers pulled over his head and tear tracks staining his face. 

And he didn’t even know. All he knew was that it hurt, and it had been doing so for his entire life.

Okay. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna get up. 

Willing his right arm to move, he threw off the thin blanket. The air was cool, just like the other Blade members seemed to like it. Apparently Galra ran warmer than humans. He was generally cold at night, but didn’t want to be a bother by asking for another blanket.

Now he had to force himself out of the fetal position. He started with the left leg, stretching it out slowly, slowly. The ache grew the farther out it went, until he was turning his face over to keen into the pillow again. 

The second leg he decided to do fast, just to get it over with. Throwing it out straight, he gasped involuntarily as pain shot through it. For a moment he just lay there, letting the aches settle until they were at a semi-tolerable level, then began the equally painful process of levering himself up.

By the time he was sitting up, he was close to tears again. Breathe, he reminded himself. Keep breathing. 

All that was left was to stand up, walk to the shelf to get his suit, walk down the hall to the communal bathing room, get undressed, bathe, get dressed, walk back to his room to put his sleep clothes away, walk to the bridge, then go on a mission. 

Yeah. Sure.

Never mind that each of those individual tasks felt like the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest. He had no choice. He was a Blade, and Blades didn’t just let a little thing like pain stop them from doing their jobs. If he couldn’t do this, if he tried to get out of going out today, then they might decide he wasn’t worthy of being one of them. They would kick him off the base, and then where would he go? 

Not back to the Castle. There was no more room for him there, not without kicking someone else more deserving out of their place. And even if he thought he could make it all the way back to Earth, there had never been anything for him there. Just an empty, lonely, rundown shack in the middle of the desert, and the only reason he had lasted so long out there the first time was the Blue Lion. She wasn’t there anymore.

Okay. Getting up. 

Standing took three times as long as it should have. Walking felt like the floor was covered in spikes, and like someone was following him around stabbing him with knives all over his legs. His back wouldn’t quite straighten all the way, at least not without adding a few more knives to the mix, so his posture resembled that of a wrinkled old man. He managed to make it all the way down the hall without running into anyone, thankfully, since he was hunched over and moving at a snail’s pace, and also thankfully was late enough that he was alone in the bathing room.

Galra didn’t do showers. He had learned that upon first arriving at the base. Instead, they used large, square tubs that could fill with either water, dust, or some kind of blue goo, depending on the needs of the individual’s skin, scales, or fur. It had taken him a while to figure out all the different settings, and he had accidentally set off the dust and goo a couple of times in the beginning. Right now, he was hoping that some nice, hot water would be what his body needed to cope with the day to come.

It did feel good to start with. Certainly nicer than he had felt the whole day so far. Keith was able to stretch out his legs, arms, and back fully for the first time without excruciating pain...for a few minutes.

Then the cramps started creeping back in, seizing up his muscles, making him whine. Tucking his knees up under his chin, he let the tears come again. He was tired. And so tired of hurting. A normal day, a day where his bones throbbed but he could use exercise or just pure willpower to get past it and ignore it...that he was used to. He should have been used to these days, too. But they never failed to catch him by surprise and completely knock him off his feet, sapping all his energy and will to do anything but stay in bed. These days turned him into a pathetic excuse for a person, and that was to say nothing about being a soldier. He hated feeling so weak and useless.

The timed bath ran out, and the water began draining. Keith was left curled up in yet another ball, shivering, unable to summon the strength to climb out. The cold doubled the intensity of the pain. His jaw was beginning to add itself to the list of aches from clenching it so hard to keep his teeth from chattering, but he couldn’t even make himself reach over for his towel.

You’ve got to get up. Do you really want someone to find you like this?

As if reading his mind, the door swished open. “Keith?” a familiar, accented voice called. “Are you in here?”

Regris. He lifted a trembling arm finally, swallowing a grunt, trying to get himself covered before he was spotted, but had only made it to the top of the tub when his partner rounded the corner. 

“There you are!” Regris stopped, taking in the empty tub, the shaking limbs, and the streaks of water down Keith’s cheeks that were probably very obviously not bath water, and frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith gritted out through his teeth. “‘m fine.” He continued trying to reach the towel, but his arm didn’t want to unfurl quite enough to nab it.

“Ya don’t look so fine, mate.” Crossing to the side of the tub, he snatched up the towel himself and threw it over Keith’s shoulders. “Are ya sick?”

“N-no.” Now he had to get up, whether he thought he was capable or not, so he gripped the sides of the tub with sore fingers and began to push, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the screaming in every inch of his body. “Told you. ‘m fine.”

Regris shook his head with a sigh. “Course you are. That’s why ya can’t even stand up proper.” Leaning down, he grasped Keith’s arm in his clawed hand and hoisted him up. While he did need the help, the sudden movement sent a wave of pain through him and he wasn’t able to hold in his cry.

The young Galra jumped back like he had been shocked, swearing. “What is it, mate? You’re injured, aren’t ya? Why didn’t you go to the med bay?”

“‘m not...injured.” Shakily, he adjusted the towel so it was wrapped around his waist, then gave in and grabbed onto Regris’ shoulder so that he could painstakingly step out onto the cold floor. “Don’t need th’...med bay. Doctor’s never did anything for me before. ‘cept tell me it was...just growing pains.”

Regris’ brow furrowed as he watched Keith slowly collect his clothing. “Well, what is it then, if you’re not injured? Ya look like somebody stabbed ya in the gut.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Feels...kinda like somebody put concrete in all my bones.” He paused, thought about that comparison, then added, “But it’s expanding concrete.”

“I’ve no idea what ‘concrete’ is, but if ya feel that bad then maybe you should be restin’ in your room.”

Keith shook his head. “Got a mission soon. Need to get ready.”

Regris groaned. “Don’t be bone-headed Keith, ya can’t go on a mission like this.”

Turning his back, Keith started shuffling back toward the door. “Pretty sure the...Blade of Marmora doesn’t give...sick days.”

“Pretty sure the Blade of Marmora doesn’t want someone who can barely walk on a stealth mission!” Regris called to him just before the door slid shut.

He was right. He needed to get his act together. If Kolivan saw him like this, he’d kick him off the mission for sure, and then it wouldn’t be long before he was kicked out of the Blade altogether. Especially if he found out that this was a semi-regular occurrence. 

Making it back to his room, he sat down on his bed and attempted to put on his uniform. Ten dobashes later, he had managed to get it over his legs and up to his waist, and had then fallen over sideways on the bed to fold up and shake some more. That’s when a knock came on the door. He jolted, thinking to try to sit up, but the door opened before he could.

“Regris informed me that you were feeling ill. I believe that he may have understated the severity of your condition.”

Quiznak. Why did stupid Regris have to go and get Kolivan?

“N-no, no, ‘m fine, I told him I was fine.” He pushed himself up much faster than he thought would be possible, avoiding eye contact with the towering Galra while he tugged his uniform up further. “I’m not sick. Just...a little sore.”

“Keith.” The severity of the tone made him glance up for just a moment, but he couldn’t hold the steady yellow gaze. “We have worked together for quite some time now. I have seen you after the hardest of training sessions, when older, more experienced Blades have thrown you to the floor and against the walls repeatedly. I have seen you after missions when you were shot, cut with a sword, or caught in an explosion. These things would all cause you to be more than ‘a little sore’.” He paused as if for effect. “Yet I have never seen you like this, barely able to leave your own bed. Clearly you are suffering from more than simple sore muscles.”

Keith clenched his jaw again, his arms wrapped tightly around his bare stomach. He wasn’t going to get away with lying. Kolivan would see through any of it, and he couldn’t even think of a believable excuse to give him.

“It’s nothing,” he finally said quietly. “Just this...pain, that I get from time to time. It’s not usually this bad. I can usually work through it.” He lifted his head. “And I can today, too. I know this mission’s important. I’ll make it happen.”

“What kind of pain?” Kolivan asked, his voice almost as soft, uncharacteristically so.

Keith shrugged, though he immediately regretted it. “In my bones...my muscles...feels like...they’re being compressed. Like there’s not enough room in my skin for what’s inside of it.”

Kolivan nodded solemnly, not speaking for a moment. Inwardly, Keith was beating himself up for allowing his secret to be found out, waiting for his leader to break the news that he could no longer be a Blade.

Instead, he crossed the room and sank down gently onto the bed next to Keith. “This has been going on for a long time, has it not?”

Keith nodded slowly, still expecting the worst. “My whole life. Or at least, as long as I can remember.” Countless foster families, social workers, and doctors had dismissed his pain, telling him that he was being overdramatic and exaggerating the intensity. Eventually he had learned not to tell anyone.

Kolivan hummed in thought. “As a full-blood Galra, myself, I do not know much about this phenomenon. But I have heard that it is, indeed, very painful.”

It took a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in, and then Keith was too surprised to do more than stutter, “W-wait, what?”

“Growing pains,” Kolivan stated matter-of-factly, and for a tick Keith thought he was being dismissed again and he wanted to melt. “Many half-blood Galra struggle with it. It is much like you described - likely your bones are more like that of a Galra than a human, and are attempting to grow at the rate that matches. However, the outside of your body is very much human, and is holding them back.”

Keith just stared at him as his brain processed this information. Finally, somebody believed him. That in and of itself was almost too good to be true. And not only did he believe him, but he had answers? He knew why Keith was hurting? He still had so many questions, though, and wasn’t sure whether he could believe this quite yet.

“If...if it’s a half-Galra thing, then why didn’t Regris know what it was?”

“It all depends on not only what the other species is, but also what traits from each species you acquire from your parents. Others may struggle with different types of mixed blood related problems, while some, like Regris, seem to have no conflicts between their two halves. What you are experiencing is quite rare, but not so rare that I have not encountered it before.”

Biting down on his lip, Keith considered this. “Okay, but...I’m eighteen years old. Shouldn’t I be done growing by now?”

He could have sworn that Kolivan almost smiled at that, and kind of almost looked like he wanted to reach out and ruffle Keith’s hair. “In human years, maybe. By Galran standards you are still quite young, and Galra also continue growing well into their young adult years.”

Keith sighed heavily, hunching over himself further. “So in other words, I’ve still got a long time left to deal with this.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Kolivan stood. “But if you will accompany me to the med bay, I believe we will be able to find something to help you, at least on these especially hard days.”

Keith grimaced. “Thanks, but pain medication doesn’t work for me. At least not for this.”

Kolivan leveled a knowing stare at him. “Keith, when was the last time that you tried pain medication for this?”

“Um…” He bit his lip, realizing the answer. “Before I found out I was Galra…?”

“As I thought.” Kolivan held out his hand. “Come. I will assist you to the med bay, and once you have taken your medication I want you to come back here and rest.”

“But the mission -”

“Will be handled by others.”

“Kolivan, I -”

“You are ill. We cannot afford to have anyone on a mission who is at less than their best.”

Keith stared down at the floor. “I know,” he whispered.

“There is no shame in taking care of your health. Everyone must do so from time to time.”

A spark of hope replaced his disappointment, and he looked back up. “You’re gonna let me stay?”

Kolivan’s brow furrowed. “Of course. You have yet to give me a reason not to.”

Relief washed over him. Someone believed him, he was getting help, and he wasn’t being kicked out. Maybe today wasn’t such a bad day after all.

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

A/N: And Kolivan managed to make Keith tell him that being cold made it worse, so he gave him a ton of blankets for his bed. The End.

[mashounen2003]

Sonic opinions - 4

Initially, the purpose of my fanfics was almost only to think of a possible continuation of the events of Sonic SatAM, adapting things from the Archie-Sonic comics (and taking some licenses in the process), and trying to better write Antoine's transition from his self in the cartoon to his self in the comics, give more importance to Tails and better portray his parents, Amadeus and Rosemary. But then I realized how abysmal the differences between the two versions of Antoine were, while it was also harder for me to think of a way to write Rosemary coherently.

In Antoine's case, lately, I came up with an alternative to make him develop and stop being what he was in the TV series:

Immediately after the original Robotnik has been defeated, Antoine leaves his team behind. He actually doesn't know how to fight, but he still has good marksmanship, so he becomes a hitman. However, he's eventually convinced to leave behind that life without honour, begins to train in real fighting skills and becomes a genuine Freedom Fighter once and for all. In any case, he develops an opinion of "the end justifies the means" and continues thinking it for the rest of the story, being critical of his former team; this, along with his lasting grudge against Sonic and Sally, leads him to fight against the Monarchy in the events of "Civil War".

As for Rosemary... I don't like to say it this way, but she was a total b**** in the comics. I came up with a way to show her in a better light, but in no way could it have worked with the comics' Rosemary as she was. I'll talk about it when I write my list of ideas for future fanfics.

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

I also addressed Politics in that fictional universe, trying to avoid the way this was done in the comics: there, Ian Flynn created the Council of Acorn and portrayed it as a bunch of stereotyped useless politicians obsessed with controlling the heroes and barely concerned with their country's security, and I think Flynn didn't do it to actually enrich the comics' universe or to add depth to the story or to communicate certain political ideas, but only to give readers someone to blame.

In the stories I wrote so far, I didn't go deep into what happened with my fictional universe's Council of Acorn after its creation; however, I did address its origin, and in doing so, I didn't make the Bems involved. Look... In the comics, Tails's parents were inspired by the Bems to try to establish a Democracy in Acorn, and this entails some inconvenience:

The Bems are terrible people. They roboticized Sonic and Tails to make them fight Robotnik and Snively, in order to verify the robots were better than flesh-and-blood beings (if things had happened differently, perhaps Mobius's Robians wouldn't have been de-roboticized); their society is entirely made of clones and almost lacks variety, not only in terms of the physical but also in terms of people's ideas; their judicial system is quite f***ed up (at least according to our standards), and... *sigh* they're just the worst. These traits of the Bems had been developed when Karl Bollers wrote the comics, and Flynn should have considered that they’re technically canon before having Tails's parents claim to have been inspired by those aliens.

Even if we cling to Moral Relativism with all our strength, claiming the Bems are just "different" and have different behaviour, mindset, psychology and culture, this keeps making things complicated: applying something in one society, solely because it succeeded in another, ain't exactly something smart to do.

And the craziest of all is that it could have been avoided very easily: Flynn could simply have said there were previous failed attempts to establish a Democracy in other countries of Mobius and Amadeus & Rosemary had always wanted a change in the government system, had learned about those historical events and knew (or believed they knew, at least) how to do it right this time. Moreover, Flynn could have said the decade spent by Tails's parents with the Bems gave them a clue about what they should not do when finally returning to their homeworld.

I tried, in my work, to use this idea of Amadeus & Rosemary wanting to establish a Democracy in an attempt to succeed in what others in other parts of Mobius had failed throughout History. It was based upon what happened in the French Revolution (more precisely, the Jacobin period), the years immediately after the Russian Revolution, and mainly the First English Revolution: in 1648, the Monarchy was overthrown in England; the change was violent and chaotic, the government that took the place of the King ended up being also a despotic tyranny, and the final result was just the return of a King to power in 1660 (although, anyway, the Glorious Revolution established in 1688 the British parliamentary system as we know it); Thomas Hobbes, while watching those events unfold, wrote his book Leviathan, where he justified the need for an Absolute Monarchy by arguing humans were violent, selfish, chaotic and brutal by nature, so they had signed a symbolic pact where they ceded all their rights and their power to a single person in charge of ruling with an iron fist, in order to prevent humanity from destroying itself. In my fanfics' universe, it was mentioned those attempts at democratization in Mobius led to civil wars, ended with those same peoples clinging to ideas similar to those of Hobbes, quickly restoring the Monarchy and promising themselves not to try and establish a Democracy ever again.

I also mentioned the recurring conflicts between the Acorn Kings and the Southern Barons in the comics, as well as the connection between the Kings and the infamous Source of All, among other things. I also had Amadeus do what he should have done in the comics when he explained why he wanted there to be Democracy: to present historical events, such as those conflicts, the Kings' cult of the Source of All and the technological and cultural backwardness to which the people were subjected by them, as concrete examples of how the Monarchy had never worked well.

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

There are several Sonic fans, including @toaarcan and @robotnik-mun, who argue Politics shouldn't have been addressed at all in Sonic stories. Also, the vast majority of Sonic fans claim each and every one of the attempts to make this series more serious were some of the worst things that could have happened, even the addition of more characters was nothing but a cancer, and everything should have remained "simple" or the Sonic franchise shouldn't have gone beyond what it was at the time of the classic Genesis games. I praise the stories written by @toaarcan, and I agree with many of the opinions of both him and @robotnik-mun, but with all due respect, I totally disagree on this particular point.

I've always believed that, if it's done right, any topic should be able to be addressed in any kind of fiction, and Politics is no exception; more exactly, I think an author has two options when writing a work aimed at children and young people: to write something super light and soft where no serious topic is addressed, or to "go all-in" and address all serious topics, leaving nothing out; this includes not only Politics, but also tragedies, the complexities of love, toxic interpersonal relationships (whether abusive or otherwise), bullying, mental illness, trauma (for example, that caused by war), societal issues, and so on. That's one of the many whys of my love for RWBY: there's nothing that web-series doesn't talk about. As for the proper and respectful LGBTQ+ representation, rather than a serious topic reserved for serious fictional works, it's a requirement every fictional work should meet, whether serious or not, especially in the middle of the 21st century (this is something I think my work didn't meet satisfactorily).

With Sonic SatAM and the comics, it looked like the second option could have worked in the Sonic franchise too, and the TV series did it right to some extent. Unfortunately, Archie-Sonic's writers almost never did things right in regards to relationships between characters: Ken Penders's work, in particular, is an example of how relationships should never be, and Flynn's attempt to talk about Politics was a complete disaster, not much better than Penders's heinous handling of political stuff, more similar to a very low-quality North-American political satire, even when the conflict portrayed wasn't of the "Right versus Left" kind but of the "Monarchy versus Republic" kind, which should have been much easier to do without ruining everything. The only ones who didn't fall into those same mistakes were Gallagher and Angelo DeCesare, the comics' first writers, but only because they chose the first option: to write stories that weren't serious at all... with the notable exception of "Growing Pains", the B-story of issues #28 and #29, a typical Shakespearean tragedy where they presented us Auto-Fiona, a robot replica of who would later be one of the most controversial characters in the comics.

This, coupled with the resounding failure of Sonic 2006, is the only reason why now almost everyone in the Sonic fandom prefers stories without anything serious and/or a return to the Classic Sonic era, with very underdeveloped characters who are turned into mere plot devices and are only a shadow of their former self or of what they could have been.

[snowdice]

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 23)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Janus, Logan & Patton, Emile & Remy, Roman & Remus & Janus

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Janus, Remus, Roman, Logan, Emile, Remy

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Meanwhile, everyone else is trying to find a missing 15 year old, all with different pieces of the puzzle about where he is. It really is too bad that no one is answering their phones.

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned, explosions, car crashes (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 My Master Post

“Would anyone care to explain themselves?” Logan asked the room filled with the most frustrating human being he’d ever met. He must have infused his voice with the desired amount of ire, because everyone in the room seemed to wince simultaneously except…

“No thanks!” Remus chirped. Logan shot him a tired look and stepped forward. “Wait! Dad! No!” In a move he’d been using since Remus was a rambunctious child, Logan swiftly put him in a headlock.

“We’re going downstairs,” he told the others. His son was a bit wiggly when Logan started to pull him towards the elevator in the other room, but he didn’t actually put up a fight. In fact, the wiggling usually meant he was pleased with the attention.

He let Remus go when they got to their destination. The elevator was small enough that they ended up taking it in two groups. Logan ended up in an elevator with Lena, his sons, and his brother.

There were a couple of moments of awkward elevator music. “I am very displeased with everyone in this elevator,” Logan informed them all.

No one responded but Patton who patted him on the shoulder. Logan turned on him. “You are at the pinnacle of my ire.”

There were a few seconds of drawn out silence, and then Patton removed his hand. “Wow,” he said after a moment. “You could hear a pen-acle drop.”

“Kids, you no longer have an uncle,” Logan said coolly.

“That’s right,” Patton said with a smile despite the glare Logan was sending him. “You only have a puncle now.”

Roman snorted out a laugh but looked quickly away when Logan glared at him.

The elevator came to a stop and they climbed out of it. “You all go to the conference room while I wait for the rest. Except you,” he pointed at Lena and her bloody nose. “Fred can debrief me. You go get that checked out.” She shot him a thumbs up (because apparently the lack of disrespect for his authority had rubbed off on her) and wandered off towards medical.

“Um,” Roman said tentatively.

“Yes?” Logan asked, already even more tired.

“Also, Janus may or may not have a broken rib. At least he said he might have.”

“Why on Earth is he walking around, then?” Roman just shrugged in response to Logan’s question.

“And send someone down to look at his Janus apparently,” he called after Lena right before she turned the corner. “Anything else pressing?” he asked the three still with him. “No? Then I’ll see you all in the conference room in a few minutes.”

“Conference room 16 or 17?” Remus asked.

“Remus, everyone here is aware that room 17 is a broom closet,” Logan said. “No one is falling for that again.”

Remus sent him finger guns. “Conference room 17 it is,” he said turning to strut off down the hall. Roman shot Logan an awkward half smile before following after his brother, and Logan’s own brother jerked forward to smack his lips against Logan’s forehead before waltzing off after them.

Why was his family like this?

He turned to wait for the elevator to go back up to the factory and down again. He crossed his arms as it arrived. “You’re injured?” Logan asked as the doors opened.

Most of the occupants looked confused, but Janus looked slightly annoyed. “Remus,” he muttered.

“Roman actually,” Logan corrected. “I’m having someone sent down to look at you.”

“I’m f-”

“Don’t even try to argue right now; your second on my list today.”

“Remus is first?” Janus asked.

“Of course, Remus is first.”

“Where am I on the shit list?” Remy asked with interest.

“Somehow, only 5th.”

“Score!”

“But you’re inexorably moving up.”

“But I’m not in the top three.”

“No, my children and brother fill up the spots above you.”

“You said I was second,” Janus said with a frown.

“Yes,” Logan said. “Also, you’re grounded.” Then, he turned to walk towards the conference room.

“Wait, Logan, what does that mean?!” Janus asked his back.

“It means, Logan owes me a buttload of child support,” said Remy.

“I am not your kid. You are not my dad.”

“Sure, son.”

When Logan made it to the correct room, his family was already hard at work making his life a series of aggravations. Patton and Roman were already bent over some sort of project that involved markers, but Remus was missing. Before even stepping into the room, he turned to the opposite side of the hallway and opened the door to the supply closet.

“Get in the correct room before I make you get into the correct room,” Logan said.

“Come on dad, you know it’s not nice to force someone out of the closet.” On most days, Logan would not have found that at all funny, but today for some reason, it elicited a snort of surprised laughter. Remus smiled up at him from his seat on the floor like he always did when he’d done (or thought he’d done) something clever.

“Don’t,” Logan warned, wagging a finger at him, and trying to smooth the smile off his face. It was difficult since his chest was light with the relief of everyone he cared for being relatively unharmed. “Don’t. That doesn’t mean your forgiven. I am very, very unhappy with you.”

Remus just kept grinning.

“I’m relieved that you are safe and happy to have you back with me,” Logan said, “but I am also very angry.”

“Eh, that’s fair.”

“Now get out of the closet.”

Remus found it fit to obey him for the moment, and stood, following him to the conference room where the others had gathered. Patton had somehow found a stack of name tags somewhere and had managed to convince Roman to help him draw little pictures on them along with the names. Patton stuck one with a broom drawn on it onto Remus when he came in. He noticed Virgil’s had a knife drawn on it and Remy’s a cup of coffee. Logan’s own was, aggravatingly, a mobile phone.

Remy and Fredrick were currently forcing Janus into a chair while Roman avoided the glare the injured man was sending at him, and Emile was talking quietly to Virgil.

“Okay,” Logan said. “Let’s start with the ones who haven’t started to explain yet. Roman?”

“My phone got broken probably somewhere between Janus tackling me and hitting me in the face.”

“Oh, is that why Dad texted me about where you were a thousand times?” Remus asked

“Yes,” Logan said, “and you said you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t say that actually.”

“Remus.”

“I was in the middle of something! …And then I forgot.”

“And then it ended up in the bottom of a lake,” Roman said.

“And then it ended up in the bottom of a lake!” Remus agreed. “Along with Roman’s car and us for a minute.”

“You drove your car into a lake?” Logan asked Roman. He felt like his eyes was going to start twitching. “Is that why you are all wet?!”

“Yes, he did!” Remus said.

“Hey! No!” Roman said. “I managed to stop the car before it went into the lake. It’s not my fault the guys behind us aren’t as good drivers as me and slammed into us!”

“Roman destroyed another car!” Remus crooned, and there was the eye twitch. “What’s that? Three? And you say Janus is cursed!”

“I take so responsibility for the Taurus or for this one!”

“Two’s a coincidence; three’s a pattern!” Remus sang joyfully.

Logan shook his head at them and chose to look over at Janus instead. “And you?” he asked. “You looked at your mission details and never responded.”

“You were trying to send me on a wild goose chase when my brother was missing!” He tried to stand up and Remy pushed him back down again.

“I was trying to get you in a controlled environment before telling you of the issues for fear you would overreact and do something careless if you found out on your own.”

“I already knew,” Janus growled, “and that is not your call to make.”

Logan considered that. “Perhaps it wasn’t,” he agreed, “but you still should have attempted to communicate with me, at the very least so I would have known you were okay. For all I knew, Nelson had caught you in a lie and your cover had been blown.”

“It is blown,” Janus muttered. “I smashed her phone, blew up her car, and disobeyed her. She sent men to kill me.”

That information was honestly a relief in a way. Janus had been in danger constantly while being a double agent and Logan had grown more than fond of the man in the last few years. Not having to play nice with Barbara all the time would do him some good.

“We’ll have to reassign you,” Logan said. “As well as Remus, and you’ll both need new permanent residences.”

“We already decided we’re getting an apartment together,” Remus said.

“You decided,” Janus said weakly, clearly not actually interested in protesting, but needing to keep up appearances.

“And we’re going to get a kitty.”

“Ah,” Logan said. “Well, in that case, I would highly suggest you verify it is in fact a ‘kitty’ before you allow it on the premises. I have made that mistake before.”

“You love Raphael,” Remus claimed.

“Possum,” Roman explained at Janus’s questioning look.

“In fact,” Logan said. “It may be advisable that Remington consider moving as well. Nelson very much knows where you live and will likely be unhappy with your continued existence. At least, you should consider taking up residence somewhere else temporarily. For tonight, I’ll get everyone set up in some of the rooms in the base, but that will come later. For now, we need to get everything sorted out. I have a good overall idea about what happened at this point, is there any other important information I need to deal with immediately?”

Most everyone shook their heads and Logan was about to move on to getting more detailed reports when Remus raised his hand.

“Yes?” Logan asked.

“There are two of Barbara Nelson’s men tied up in the trunk of Lena’s car,” he offered.

“What?” Logan asked.

“They were the guys shooting at us that caused Roman to drive into the pond.”

“I did not drive into the pond.” Roman said.

“You were shot at?!”

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 24

[redxblueihateloveyou]

Hey!! 👋🏽😄 I know you said in your last rant about SK8 and Reki and Renga that you were one of those people that always looks up and learns from others, but after your last Langa edit, I just wanted to remind you how immensely talented you are. I might have not seen your first attempts at editing, but I know how it looks like when you're barely starting something, and I'm sure everyone is proud of the progress you've made and many people looks up to you as the level of skill they want to achieve. You're doing amazing! 💖💖💖

Hi, my love!!!!!! ASDFSDFGHG that’s soooo sweet, thank you so much for saying this, it really means the world to me <3 Oh, haha I’ve deleted most of my old videos so it wouldn’t hurt anyone’s eyes lmao T_T I’m still a bit nervous each time I’m uploading my vids to the day to be honest, even with so many subs rn, but at first I really didn’t have any supporters at all and my god I sucked at this, but I guess the love for my fav ships was stronger apparently haha. So I always get silly happy at each nice comment and feedback, so thank you seriously. 

I really love love love vidding, Idk why but when smth comes out the way I wanted it’s a super addictive feeling for some reason, but many times I just looked at the final result and just threw it in the trash and started over and my god how many times SonyVegas crushed and didn’t autosave the project. I’m like Suga now, I’m pressing the save button each 2 minutes, cause don’t want to lose anything xD Being someone’s inspiration is truly an honor to me, I’ve got some messages that hit me too hard. Still feels weird bc I’m like “but do you know that I can’t even use photoshop tho, how do u like me now then?” lol.

I’m always drawn to talented characters, bc they amaze me, esp the humble ones. Like those who hate Haru or Lanaga just buffle me honestly. I understand that they’re pretty and talented and everything, but they’re also the sweetest and loveliest human beings, so like...??? And I adore those who don’t whine and get what they want. I just can’t help it. I’m a strong believer in the fact that "you can do anything if you put your mind to it”. So far it worked in real life so suck it lol.

People are also saying like Langa doesn’t deserve to win this and Haru doesn’t deserve to be in Olympics, like Langa didn’t snowboard since he was 2 and Haru wasn’t swimming every day since he was born. I’m like.. and you need to check in the mirror if your face is a shade of green. BTW I’ve also been in a professional sports for quite a long time since I was a little kid, ballroom dancing and adored it back then, and I did not get jealous at ppl who were talented than me, I was watching the tapes actually with a popcorn. And oh god those large competition events when you sit there for days and give it all, but then you’re like 296 out of 1000. Why was I proud instead of being sad? Idk xD It was fun.

So thanks for liking the vid, cause I even regretted uploading it a bit yesterday. Sadly everyone already knows that we lost this fandom to the middle schoolers being extra, so they do not care for anything each episode except for this ship, so that’s what I got for posting a just Langa vid:

And etc. and that just made me sad, cause I do not like such fandoms, like it’s not even related to the video, that I’ve been making... with love.  Also thanks for the "sama” title, I’m flattered, but editor only wants to vid matchablossom for now, so like there’s no need for any warnings. I’ve been in such horrendoes fandoms, that I’m immune to this. I also in fact didn’t know some keep ruining Langa’s page and saying that he steals Reki’s screen time... cause he’s aparently the only main character...? ...lmao? I didn’t even know Langa can be hated tbh. I wasn’t really ready for all the drama that followed me making a vid about him.

I’ve already deleted some comments, cause I’m like what this even has to do with the vid about Langa? No, I am not obliged to make a vid about Reki, too. What if I post a matchablossom vid, everyone will only start commenting “do renga”, cause fuck your efforts? I’m like... I hate such fanbases, seriously. I do not even know where this is going, but their fans are already pissing me off. I’m still trying hard for this to not affect my point of view about the ship, cause it’d be kinda unfair to them, but its getting harder each week istg.

And I maybe can’t take requests, but I love when some try to get me addicted on their ship with passion and great arguments. It happened to me with some nice ppl. But def not with agression and stupidity haha.

Cause apparently its one of the fandoms where you can’t NOT care for the main ship, even if you accept it for the only possible Langa ship (cause he doesn’t give a shit for anyone else, so like what’s the point), but it doesn’t do anything for you. I’m like... thanks for threatening. This will make me on board ASAP. Like it’s not the epitomy of love to me... I’m sorry? LMAO 

Some anon even sent me a “you’re dense” (literally thats it) ask after that Reki ask. I was tempted to write smth like “oh I’m sorry, this is the most epic love story of my life and his character is the most complex in the world and he’s the best friend and the most inspiring human being that ever hit my screen. can I become undense now? xD”. But you know I do not know if they’d realise the sarcasm and my pride sadly never allowed me to sell my life values for a bunch of 12 years olds to love me lol

My sister always laughs and jokingly says “but you’d probably get much more subs if you made a vid about this or that, but at what price that would be lmao”. Cause yeah, I never could make myself vid smth I do not like, cause I love vidding and do not want it to be associated with things I do not like, plus it’ll most likely turn out ugly, if I do not care. My mom says that she can feel love I put in my shipping vids that’s why she loves them. I really don’t think she’s wrong. But that also kinda makes me an idiot technically, cause I’m not into many of the popular ships, and some popular animes I just find really basic. 

Also I’m like 100% sure it ain’t happening, but even if they miraculously suck each other’s dicks while sitting on a skate board, I can still have the rights not to care at the end. Like did I sign some form where I’m obliged to love each and everyone canon gay ship even if it’s not what I like? Like gay is not the type of love in relationships. You can only care about his ass like Lan Zhan for example or you can only care about your ass. Like that’s different types of relationships, and whatever you like you like. So get all the way of people’s backs, please.

Also do ppl know that you do not need to be blind to the bad sides of the characters in your ships? Or you just gonna be like “I suddenly can’t see” for forever.

So really thanks for such wonderful message and liking the video and for the boosts when I need them and not being an ass to me if I’m not being obsessed with smth, when you like it. (like I think we have different ship in bnha, right? but we’re still doing great tho, thanks for being an angel <3)

I still didn’t expect this becoming a Voltron 2.0. situation tho. We in our twenties see everything differently, I guess. I do get extra about “their love is everywhere”, but I do not get extra by anonymously attacking ppl, threatening creators and yelling “queeerbating psychotic blind assholes if these two aint fucking by the end of the season I’m shaving my head and jumping out of the window and shoot the director. you do not ship it HARD? YOU DUMB FUCK. THAT’S THE BEST LOVE STORY IN THE WORLD”. Like damn, take your blinders off and see the world, kid. Firstly, it’s definitely not, secondly, ppl see love differently in general and at each age too.

Ah, also you must kill Adam, cause he’s a pedo apparently. Like he ain’t even a threat to your ship, unless you’re blind, but they’re still at it, like they do not know that this kind of age difference is literally nothing for an anime? And that there are canon ships with a huger age difference left and right, too. It’s like its their first time approaching an anime or smth. Like in anime world character can literally kill 1000 ppl with his bare hands and bathe in their blood and we can still stan them, depends on their story, ok? Also Langa couldn’t care less for his advances, so like separate Adam from your ship pls. Like, fuck off, if someone is interested in his character. Yeah, he’s a weirdo for reasons, but anime kind of weird do not apply to real life. Stop acting like you’re some purist, when later you’re gonna ship smth else and it suddenly will not apply. Also rules do not apply to animes, everyone knows they do not apply. These are not western cartoons, my god. And 24 years old flirting with 16 year old is defiinitely not the weirdest shit anyone has ever seen in the anime. Chinese BL has characters who were 14 and 30 when they met and happily married. Also FICTION is not life. Literally no one cares. If you’re scared for your saint eyes, do not watch animes, you’re gonna have a heart-attack from what you can see there. Also we’ve seen gayer bromances in animes, who are just bromances, so pls do not shoot anyone if it’s not canon.

So basically I was kinda pissed yersterday, cause fuck them for ruining the tag, but after chatting with my hommies and your ask, I’m okay again, I just have to avoid this fandom and stick to a tight community xD. I just got used to my nice fandoms and forgot for a bit about the precautions you need to take if you’re in one of those. You know. Who make a circus out of lgbt, instead of supporting it, and make other ppl hate being in fandoms.

P.S. sorry for this partially unrelated rant, your messages really always make my heart bloom, so thanks for supporting me, and I know you’re proud of my progress, too <3 and this makes me happy. LY

[alirhi]

more WF

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 12/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

WARNINGS: nothing, really. This chapter's pretty tame Notes: I almost had Loki bang Darcy. XD almost. The temptation was so strong lol

"You need to go." Darcy's voice was oddly gentle as she traced little invisible patterns across the back of Loki's pale hand. Lacing her fingers with his, she murmured, "Absolutely everyone who's a danger to your little girl is going to come after you, and I've got a feeling you're way too tired to use whatever nifty little magic tricks might normally be up your sleeves, here."

He nodded, glancing at the door as if someone was going to come bursting through it at that very second. "I'm exhausted," he admitted with a wry twist of his lips that was supposed to be a smile. "It's been a long year."

Eira had fallen asleep in his lap. Delicately lifting her limp little body and shifting her into Darcy's waiting arms was almost physically painful. Darcy smiled, cradling the little girl against her shoulder and rocking her when she started to stir.

"Thank you, Darcy," Loki whispered as he stood, reaching out to stroke his daughter's soft black hair one last time, "for being so good to her."

"It hasn't been easy hiding her; Jane wanted me to come with her to Australia but I told her it was too short-notice."

"I'm sorry," he told her softly but quite sincerely. "We were hostages and there was no time to plan-"

"Loki?" He stopped and looked at her, unnerved by how direct her cool blue gaze was. "Why me? What made you think to send her here? You don't even know me."

This time he managed the ironic smile he was trying for. "That's why. She's only safe somewhere no one would think to look for her. And I trust you, my dear." When she shook her head and opened her mouth to ask why, he cut her off with a wave of his hand. "When I was watching my brother last year, I saw how fiercely you protected your friends. Gods were warring in your back yard, and you had the good sense to stay the hell out of the way."

"I tazed one of them," she reminded him, proud.

Loki chuckled. "Yes. Thank you for that. Sadly I missed it, but even knowing it happened, well... That's why I like you."

"That's how it goes." She grinned. "You freak me out, you meet the business end of my taser."

"I'm not sure that will always serve you so well, but please don't lose that instinct." As he turned toward the door, he paused and glanced back at her over his shoulder. "And thank you, for not using it on me."

With an odd little half-shrug as she did her best to avoid waking the sleeping demi goddess on her other shoulder, she said, "You literally dropped out of nowhere in the middle of my house. I wasn't sure it would affect you."

He laughed at that, and there was a long, awkward silence until Darcy shook her head and pointed at the door. "Alright, go! Cuz you're freakin' hot, and it feels like we're playing House, here. It's getting weird. Also, that whole... You being here puts me and your daughter in mortal danger thing. Come back when there aren't as many people with superpowers trying to kill you, okay?"

"If I wait for that day, I may never get her back," he pointed out. He'd meant it as a joke, but the sad fact was, it was true. Then he thought of Bucky, and he added, "The best I may be able to do is get backup."

As he thanked her and finally got around to opening the door, Darcy called out, "Hey, Loki?" She stood and stared him down, arms curled protectively around Eira's peacefully sleeping form. "I know you're her mother, but whether I wanted to be or not, I've been her mom for a year and I love this little worm. She's not leaving my side until I know for sure you're not gonna get her killed or deeply traumatized."

"Perhaps her father and I could simply move in here."

"Get out."

Laughing, he waved and finally left. He was still exhausted and aching all over, but at least his ears had stopped ringing and he was no longer seeing double. He wanted to say that Banner would pay for what he'd done, but as angry as he was, Loki wasn't stupid enough to think he could actually kill the beast, even at full power.

Using what little energy he had left, he teleported in a few random directions just to create as confusing a trail as possible. Then he landed in Siberia, buried himself under a snow bank – blessed his Jotun heritage for the first time since discovering it, since at least he wasn't cold – and relaxed his desperate death grip on consciousness.

Just before he passed out, he closed his eyes and whispered, "Heimdall, I know you can hear me. I know you know where I am. What I don't know is if you know or care what brought me here. If you do... Tell no one where to find me. I'm too tired for another fight."

He wasn't expecting an answer, so the shock nearly jolted him awake when he heard a familiar deep voice in his ear. "Rest, my Prince. If Odin asks, I must tell him. You will need your strength." There was a soft chuckle, and then Heimdall quipped, "Not your usual opulence, I see. Too tired to conjure a palace of ice?"

"I'm too tired to even turn the snow around me into an igloo," Loki grumbled, fidgeting. The cold didn't bother him, but a makeshift cave of snow didn't exactly make for the softest of beds. Thankfully, his bone-weariness caught up to him, and he was unconscious only a few seconds later.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he woke, but aside from a few cramped muscles from sleeping curled up on the ground, he felt fine. Bruises healed, mind sharp and alert, he cloaked himself and stood, shaking off the snow. Ugh. He'd slept in his leather armor. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a clean, far more comfortable outfit and glanced around.

So, this was Siberia. Somewhere in this frozen wasteland was the bunker where HYDRA stored Bucky until they needed him. After all Loki had been through in the past few years, and all Bucky had suffered for decades, there was no way he was leaving this place without his beloved. And he sure as hell wasn't leaving without ensuring that every single HYDRA operative in the area, down to the bloody janitor, was dead. He'd deal with the ones lurking in SHIELD's ranks later.

"You know," came Heimdall's amused, rumbling voice in his ear again, "if you told your brother why you're there, what you've been fighting for all this time, you might just have an ally for once."

Loki stopped dead in his tracks. "You know-"

"About James Barnes, yes. You're very cunning, Loki, you always have been. But you're easily distracted when he's near." There was a pause, and then the all-seeing watcher sounded distinctly uncomfortable. "I learned rather quickly when to look away."

"Well, thank you for that, I suppose," he grumbled, hands on his hips. "And just what is it you think that oaf can accomplish that I can't do more easily without him underfoot?"

A low chuckle made his skin crawl, just for how near it seemed to be coming from. He hadn't actually known Heimdall could communicate telepathically like this; it was unsettling. Then Heimdall said four words that made him forget his discomfort, and his distaste for Thor's company:

"Burn it all down."

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[maq-moon]

My mental illness & fandom

So this is a long time coming from me. Almost a year, really. I want to be clear up front: this isn’t a call-out post. It’s me explaining my (and possibly others’) behavior. It’s partially an apology, too. I know tumblr is like... the worst place to talk about mental health, but this is where the people I care for-- the people to whom this applies-- will see it. I’m so nervous that I’m actually shaking, but I think it has to be said. I won’t feel right until I’ve explained. So, off we go!

I’m crazy. I use that word because I have to laugh about my mental health or I’ll cry about it. There’s a laundry list of diagnoses (when I see a new doctor I ask, “Would you like them alphabetically or the order in which they were diagnosed?”), but right now we’re going to focus on two. I have PTSD (no, I won’t say why) and BPD. BPD is currently being bastardized in the media. Crime shows love to have their perp or unsub suffering from undiagnosed or unmedicated borderline. I won’t rant about how the mentally ill are far more likely to be the victims of violent crimes than to commit them.

The central thing with BPD is “black and white” or “all or nothing” thinking. Everything is one extreme or another; no middle ground exists. There are also attachment issues. We tend to get attached to people fast. Add the “all or nothing” to that. We could, hypothetically, meet a new person, have one or two good conversations, and think, “Wow, we’re great friends!” while the other person is thinking, “Meh, maybe I won’t answer their next text.” (This is where the media stereotype of stalkers/obsessed killers comes from).

I get this way. I’m very sociable and chatty and, if others are to be believed, downright charming *wink* I also attempt to cover my insecurities with humor. I’m incredibly insecure and want to avoid talking about a significant amount of my life, so I joke a lot. I’m generally positive with everyone I meet. Why shouldn’t this new person want to be my friend?

Because of me. Because of PTSD. As much as I get attached, as much as I want this new friend, I can’t trust them. As soon as a conversation turns serious, I get uncomfortable and push new people away. Sometimes friends will physically push the new people away for me if they see I’m in distress.

Which brings us to our title: fandom. Should be lots easier since it’s online, right? Nope! Have you ever heard of parasocial relationships? Most people haven’t. I learned about them when David Bowie died. A parasocial relationship is basically a one-sided relationship-- like why you’re sad when a celebrity dies. They didn’t know you, but you felt that you knew them in a way. That’s why the prefix is para. Here’s the connection. A person with borderline gets involved in fandom. Suddenly they’re surrounded by new people. Blogs, Twitter, the AO3 comment section, Discord servers-- they all serve as a way to interact with new people. And interaction means attachment.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have made actual friends in fandom. I go out of state a few times a year to visit someone from my Harry Potter roleplay days. I know it’s not impossible. But I don’t know when it’s a real relationship and when it’s parasocial.

You may be thinking that it’s like this for everyone. We’re all navigating the Internet and faceless kinda-friends. Well, yes. But I’m acutely aware of how having borderline makes me act and how it affects others. I don’t want to be that clingy weird lady. I don’t want to over-share and make people uncomfortable. So as soon as I feel a rapport building with someone online, I do what I do in real life: shut.it.down. I don’t ghost one person, I quit the Internet (all or nothing, remember?). I don’t want to give myself the opportunity to fuck up a friendship, so I stop myself from forming one. And I don’t think about how that affects the other person, because PTSD has me focused on my own well-being.

BPD and PTSD are one hell of a combo, right? Come closer, stay back! Ugh.

I asked my therapist once how to tell if the people online were my friends, if they liked me as much as I liked them. She said that a good indicator would be someone going out of their way to ask how you are or just saying “hi”. I realized my fandom friends weren’t my friends, and it was probably my fault. I quit the Internet for much of 2020 (when I wanted to come back, my computer broke. w e i r d). It’s hypocritical of me to make assumptions, though. After all, I don’t send random “hello how ya doin” messages. I keep quiet out of fear of my mental illness. I don’t know why others are quiet. I jump to the worst conclusion, though: none of them like me. And that’s me. That’s not a reflection of any community I’m in. All of my fandoms are full of lovely people. People I like, and who I wish I were brave enough to let like me.

I said way back in the first paragraph that this is a sort of apology. I’m not apologizing for having mental illnesses. Genetics and experiences did that and I stopped being ashamed a long time ago. I do want to apologize to a great group of people (while being vague enough that hopefully only they know who they are?).

Last year, I feel like I invited myself to your event. It was open, obviously, and I had a great vacation around it, but I still feel like I went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to. Zero blame on all of you; it was me assuming we were friends. The person I brought with me kept trying to get me to actively invite myself to things you were doing the next day. You weren’t talking to us, but she heard two of you discussing Indian food and kept pushing me to jump in; I’m not that rude. I talked to each of you for a few minutes, and then… Then I was afraid that the borderline would “kick in”. I was afraid that the only reason I had driven so far to meet you was because of borderline-induced parasocial relationships. A few weeks later, I did a fic swap but ignored everyone. I didn’t talk. I wrote, but I didn’t interact. I’m sorry for all of it. I won’t blame BPD; that’s a cop out (I have borderline, not “I’m borderline”). I was just very excited and very afraid and very insecure and even more very afraid.  

I’m used to not being liked. I’m what you would call “an odd duck” or “a special snowflake”. I’m weird, basically. But it’s one thing to be disliked for your weirdness and another to not know why you’re disliked, or even IF you’re disliked. That’s the beauty and the horror of the Internet, I guess. You can do you, but there are no boys asking you for tissues the day you’re wearing a Wonderbra. Er, an imperfect analogy. You don’t know what people really think! There’s no body language, no inflection. The only way I can think to tell if someone’s sort of my friend is if we’re mutuals. Some of my very favorite people aren’t, and I won’t pretend that doesn’t sting—but it’s me. It’s me and my idea of friendship, which is arbitrary and changeable, and it’s my brain playing tricks on me, and it’s me trying to outsmart a mental illness.

So… yeah. 1300 words on my brand of crazy. I hope maybe I cleared some things up (eleven months later). I guess if I had to tl;dr this thing, it would be that if I’m following you on a social media platform, if I go back-and-forth with you in comments, and so on, I probably want to be your friend and have been self-sabotaging. I’m not trying to put any onus on you. I’m just letting you know.

With love,

Mac        

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 32

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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

Sleeping next to Wade wasn’t the same thing as being at home, but they had both woken up less stiff than they would have if they’d slept separately. Even better, Rhonda felt keen, determined, even a little optimistic.

“Stay sharp,” Rhonda warned Wade over their cold sausage and some oatmeal that could be used to cover cracks in drywall. “After last night, I have a feeling one or both of us might get stabbed today.”

“Oh really?” Wade asked as if she had just told him she thought it might rain. “Just a feeling, or do you say that because of the guy behind you twirling a shiv?” Her eyes shot wide and he nodded, “Yeah, he’s looking at you, ready to snap into a Slim Jim. Move left in three...two...yup--” 

Rhonda ducked, covering her head and neck with her hands as Wade flung his plastic spork at a scrawny, dark haired man who let out a gargling shriek when it plunged into his neck, just above his collar. A sharpened piece of plastic that used to be a pen fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. Wade complained, “Dammit! I missed his eye!”

The nearest guard rushed over and glared at Rhonda, “What the hell happened over here?” His hand was quick to tighten over the cattle prod on his belt. 

“I don’t know,” she scoffed. “I don't know this guy. He just fell. Right, Wade?”

Wade replied around a big mouthful of sausage, “He’zh clumzhy on that toi-let wine.” He threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. Rhonda mimicked the shrug and took a bite of oatmeal, trying not to gag on it.

Boots thumped on concrete as a second guard showed up, and scowling at Wade and Rhonda, they both dragged the wailing man away toward the infirmary.

With a furtive glance around the mess hall, Rhonda caught a brief glimpse of Mimi a few tables away giving the slightest nod. Apparently, the man wasn’t part of the Vicious 13, and they wouldn’t have to worry about punishment. Lucky.

When Rhonda sighed and pushed her tray toward Wade, he eagerly took up her spork and finished off her oatmeal. How he could seem to enjoy the food was beyond Rhonda.

The Icebox didn't have a yard to speak of - at least not an outdoor yard. Built into the side of a snow capped mountain, the entire complex was indoor. A sealed box. There was a large central space, lined with the cell blocks that stretched for what felt like miles. In the middle of that was a large, open space where the mess hall and "yard" blurred into each other. Past the tables and benches of the mess hall were the weight racks, a pair of basketball goals, and some other equipment, most of it damaged from years of riots. There were very few fluorescent lights. Instead, most of the lighting came from the skylights several stories above. On a bright day, the lighting might have felt like a shopping mall, but there were no bright days on this mountaintop.

After breakfast, Wade and Rhonda hadn’t been put on any duties, so they were free to make their attempts at recreation in the yard. They had settled on a suspiciously rickety weight bench near some other members of the Vicious 13.

As they got the barbell ready for a few sets of bench press, they watched over each other’s shoulders, wary for another potential attack. The barbell was lopsided - there weren’t enough plates to make it even, so Wade pressed some of his own weight on the lighter side for Rhonda’s sets. She was on her second set when a pair of inmates approached.

“Hey, V-One-Three,” one greeted, “Can you add us to your rotation for a few sets?”

Rhonda sat up and before she could answer, the second inmate let out a startled hiss of, “Oh, shit.” They muttered a hurried excuse and quickly walked away. She watched them another moment, then rolled her eyes and laid on the bench again to finish her set.

“Okay, seriously,” Wade said, “Why does everyone in here wanna kill you or avoid you like a celebrity with a rape scandal?”

She puffed a breath, pushing harder against Wade’s resistance. “You know how when dirty cops go to jail, they get sent somewhere outside their county, or out of state? So they don’t have to be in general pop with the people they arrested?”

Wade started snickering. He coughed a little, but still tried to keep his weight consistent on the bar.

Rhonda took a deep breath before her next rep. “Well when I first got here, I was sure there had been a mistake and I made a big deal about being part of X-Men. Guess who put a bunch of people in here.”

“The Avengers?” When she leveled a stony glare on him, he chuckled a little more before asking, “Okay, so what else?”

She shifted uncomfortably, and racked the bar for a moment to catch her breath between sets. She tugged at her sleeve to make sure most of her Xs were covered. “Eventually, I...snapped.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “What does it look like when lawful good snaps? Quit saying ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes?”

Rhonda looked up at him, rusty barbell between them. “I started doing what everyone in here does. Stabbing kidneys, slashing thighs. But then I escalated. I broke a couple necks, and…” she took a deep breath and shuddered.

Wade smiled, a twinkle gleaming in his eye. Rhonda whispered something too soft for him to hear. “Hm?” he held a hand to his ear.

A voice near Rhonda’s feet said, “She slashed a motherfucker open and pulled out his intestines with her bare hands.”

Rhonda ducked under the bar to sit bolt upright, a shiv glinted in her hand. The blue-haired man she had pointed out to Wade when they first arrived stood before them. His arms were crossed, his deep bronze skin seemed dull compared to the bright blue of his cornrows.

Wade’s jaw dropped. Then he gave Rhonda a slow clap. “Look at you! Giving Arya Stark a run for her money! Miss Murder’n’Mayhem!”

The inmate bared his teeth, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, “She took a bite, too. I seen it.” He turned his gaze to Wade and pointed at Rhonda, “This psycho bitch bit off a guard’s finger too. If she’s using you for a slampiece, you better watch yourself.”

When Wade looked at Rhonda again, she was perfectly still, her features void of any emotion. “You have a lot of fingers for someone doing so much talking,” she warned.

Wade made a big show of grimacing and groaning, “Cannibalism? Really?”

The blue-braided inmate shrugged, “Nah, I know you won’t fuck with me. I ain’t given you any reason. Besides, you slash a V-One-Three? Mimi won’t have that. See how quick she makes you disappear.” His chin jutted upward, absolutely arrogant. It annoyed Rhonda, but he wasn’t wrong.

She lowered her shiv, but didn’t put it away. Cold glare fixed on the newcomer, she asked, “You need something, Janks?”

He waved vaguely toward the bench she sat on, “This bar’s in the V-One-Three section. Any of us can use it. Now move so I can do a set. I’ve got messages from Mimi.”

She hesitated to move. “If Mimi’s got something to say to me, she can tell me herself.”

Janks gave another mirthless smile, “Mimi is a busy lady.”

Sharing a pointed look with Wade, she reluctantly got up and let Janks settle. Wade coughed again, so Rhonda had him lean on the heavier side of the bar, so he could have it easier and she could lean with her own weight on the lighter side to Janks’s satisfaction.

Janks was surprisingly strong. He pumped each rep quickly, raw power in his lean muscles. He puffed a breath with each rep. “Mimi says - hhh - she knows the right snake hole - hhh - to get to the top of - hhh - the mountain.”

“Nice code,” Wade quipped. “A little on the nose for my taste, but--”

“What else did Mimi tell you?” Rhonda asked with a sharp edge in her voice.

“Hhh - Nothin’ she doesn’t trust me with,” Janks evaded. “There’s something - hhh - you’ll have to take care of - hhh - she says you’ll know what to do.” 

He paused at the end of his set, and Rhonda let him breathe a second before she pressed, “That’s it? She didn’t give any details?”

Janks scoffed, “How many fuckin’ details you need, Guestbook, huh? I told you everything I’m supposed to.” He curled a finger, signaling he was ready for another set. 

Practically hovering over his face, Rhonda gave a quiet snarl, “Whatever it is, if Mimi’s not happy, you better hope it wasn’t because of a communication error.”

Janks worked another two sets before he left them alone. Wade was coughing too much for Rhonda to let him do a set at all, and instead they took a worn deck of playing cards to one of the tables at the edge of the mess hall. As she started shuffling the deck, careful not to tear the corners any worse than they already were, Wade asked, “You really eviscerated somebody and then made a snack of him?”

Rhonda clenched her jaw so hard Wade could hear her teeth grinding. “I did the guard’s finger, yes. But the first guy...I spat some blood at somebody. You know how stories get twisted.”

“Uh-huh,” he was trying not to laugh.

“This isn’t something I’m proud of,” she snapped, her voice still raspier than usual. “The first time I killed someone, I couldn’t hold any food down for days. And later, I...I either got used to it, or I got better at not thinking about it." She paused and dropped her voice to a near whisper and looked away, "I don’t know which is worse.” Her teeth ground again as she pursed her lips and started dealing the deck evenly between herself and Wade.

His expression softened. “We won’t be here long,” he assured her. “The gang’s probably already on their way here. What’s the plan for these collars? I have a feeling you’ve been making decisions without cluing me in...”

“Let’s play War,” Rhonda flipped the top card of her deck - a queen of spades with her faces scratched out. Wade revealed a three of hearts, and Rhonda took both for her pile. “Mimi will get into the control office and let us in. Until then, we keep her happy doing whatever she tells us.”

Wade started to laugh, but it quickly turned into coughs again. “You let the snake lady gang lord be in charge of the most important part of our plan? Why did you agree to that?” He flipped a seven of diamonds, which beat Rhonda’s two of clubs. 

“I got her to buy in on getting the fuck out of here.” She surreptitiously glanced around, checking for anyone listening.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he grumbled as they tied the next round and each laid out three cards for battle. “You don’t strike me as much of a diplomatic type. What did you promise her?”

Rhonda won the next round and leaned close. “Every inmate in here would give anything to get these collars off. I promised Mimi that if she helps us, she can take collars off whoever she wants.”

Wade fidgeted with the corner of his next card. “And if she chooses people who can wreck our shit?”

She shrugged. “When I first got mine off, I couldn’t do anything. It was a couple days before I could even make sparks again. There’s a chance that the collars affect other people like that too, especially the ones who’ve had them a long time. Their abilities will probably be lessened.”

“I smell a whole lot of maybe in that idea…”

“What other options do you see, Wade?” She slapped her next card on the table. “If we had a year, we could build a cover, we could get a guard in our pocket, make some hiding places, but this is the best we can do right now.” She shook her head and muttered, “Besides, it’s not like we have to take them with us.”

“Inmate!” a guard barked from a distance.

Wade raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you’d have that attitude, but okay. I--”

“IN-MATE.” The guard was closer now, impatient. “Guestbook!”

Rhonda turned, schooling her features to predatory stillness. A few other inmates had gathered behind the guard, watching. This was the guard who had been with Reyes when the DMC had recaptured her. “Calhoun,” she said flatly. “How’s Reyes?”

Calhoun had bruises around one eye, and though Rhonda couldn’t remember, she suspected she'd put those bruises there herself. He was seething, “He’s out of the ICU, and he asked me to...watch over you until he gets back.”

“Here I am,” she said simply.

“Yeees,” Calhoun drawled. “Here you are.” 

He moved, and Rhonda dove under the table. Cards fluttered in the air. Before she had a chance to roll to Wade’s side, Calhoun and another inmate snagged each of her ankles and dragged her out into the open. Wade jumped, ready to help, but three inmates grabbed him, pinned his arms back, and started punching his gut.

Rhonda clawed at the cement, breaking fingernails as they dragged her. Adrenaline flooded her veins as she scrambled to defend herself. She whirled and caught the inmate in the face with her elbows, breaking his nose and spraying blood, but Calhoun caught her arm and threw her down onto her face. She was nearly to her feet again when a heavy, steel-toed boot caught her in the belly. The breath rushed out of her and she collapsed onto her side. 

Three more inmates pulled at her arms and legs until she was immobilized. 

Calhoun jabbed his knee into her lower back, ignoring her pained grunt. “It’s been a while since we’ve had our Guestbook,” Calhoun leaned over so Rhonda could see his cruel smile, “and we’ve had a lot of newcomers who need to sign.”

Rhonda screamed. Wild, pure rage echoed through the yard.

The guard tore her right sleeve clean off her arm, revealing her lacework of badly inked Xs.

Wade roared in angry futility, even as the inmates holding him kept beating him.

Calhoun took something from his pocket, a tattoo gun cobbled together from CD player parts and office supplies. He slowly ran one hand along Rhonda’s arm, looking for a blank space. “I forgot how full your arm is,” he said. “Maybe we should tear off the rest of your clothes.”

Rhonda huffed and heaved, raging but trying to conserve her strength. “Reyes thought he was tough until a giant Russian mutant had his hands on him,” she growled through her clenched jaw. “Reyes is shit, and you’re shit. You’ll die shit.”

Unperturbed, Calhoun hooked his fingers into Rhonda’s collar and thumped her head hard against the concrete floor. Looking at the inmates who had gathered around them, he flashed his teeth in a horrible smile. He offered up the improvised tattoo gun. “Okay, who’s first?”

[foxtophat]

hey i said i was gonna get this up today!!!!

so with this chapter's conclusion i can safely say that i've officially written everything that i set out to write with mercy!  this chapter was literally a skeleton that shaped eighty percent of the entire story, so i'm glad i could finally flesh it out and put it out there!!

there's still one more chapter to go, which will be more or less an epilogue for the main story. after that, i think i'll try to get a couple of other fandom fics going (ones that are ACTUALLY nearly done, not half-ass done like mercy was when i decided to start posting lmao) and then i can set up a schedule to write some more for this universe

anyway, for now i just want you to read and enjoy.  this chapter is all about john's ptsd, and it made me sad, so i hope it makes you sad too heheh

as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs, kudos, casual mentions in meatspace or idle daydreaming about different ways this chapter could go are ALL super welcome and adored. i love you guys, you've been so kind to me <3 i hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

the usual: below the cut is the full chapter text if you don't wanna go to ao3, but you should, ao3 is way easier to read on

Things around the Rye homestead have been pretty good as of late. Eight, nine months ago, Nick never would have expected to see the living room floor again, much less finish even half of the tedious repair work that he's managed to check off his list. The planters are already sprouting with what's going to be an early summer harvest, Carmina's hen-house is ready to go, and they've already bartered off some scrap for moonshine and extra ammunition for Carmina's blooming sharpshooter hobby. The house itself only creaks and groans in heavy winds, and a few additional supports outside have secured the second floor from crashing down in the middle of the night. For an old, blown-out house that's been through nuclear winter, the place is coming back together pretty well. Hell, another couple of years and they might be able to reconnect the septic system, and then they'd really be cooking.

Other people have noticed their good luck, too. Mostly friends, like Grace and Jerome, but the word's spread a bit now about the Rye's generosity, and they've gotten a few good trades out of it, although a lot of them are I-O-U's that maybe won't come to fruition. That's fine by Nick — they don't need the old fencing or the scrap plywood, and there are still two mostly-buried garages out back that could be broken down for some really prime salvage. If people want to give him free use of their future smokehouses or promise to help him find more gas for his truck, then that's more than enough payment. Anyway, that's what Nick tells people when they don't have anything to offer — it isn't like he's going to turn somebody away when they need help.

Of course, not all of their generosity is appreciated equally. John being around doesn't sit well with many of the people who come by, although it's never enough to deter them from doing business with Kim or Nick. There aren't many confrontations, even when John helps Nick load wood into a truck or remains lingering in plain view, although somebody usually has something to say about it. Unless they get really vulgar or violent, Nick usually lets them blow off steam in his and John's direction, and he doesn't take it personally when somebody takes a cheap shot at him for being such a soft-hearted bastard.

Their vitriol usually ends after a few minutes. Most of the time, John can handle it by himself, apologizing genuinely to each person who tries to curse him out. Nick hasn't heard the same regret twice, and even if John doesn't recognize every hateful face, he seems to remember his part in their trauma. It might not be what they want to hear, but John's serious, specific remorse usually puts the fire out of their fight. So far, there's only been two instances where Nick had to call Jerome out to mediate, and neither time resulted in anyone getting shot or knocked out. Sure, John might come out of an altercation with a couple of bruises, but that's usually it.

It stands to reason that something was bound to go wrong at some point. Nick's prepared for all sorts of catastrophes; he's got contingency plans for flooding, wild animals, and even ornery neighbors upset that he let John off so easy. There are a million little things that could go wrong out here, and Nick can only do so much to prepare for every eventuality, but he thinks he's got a pretty good handle on it.

That is, until the radio breaks. It's one thing that Nick hadn't even considered a possibility — they'd left the thing in its box until the apocalypse, and until they left the bunker, it'd barely seen any use at all. And yet, one day Nick tries to confirm a trade and the radio fails to catch anything more than static.

Cheap goddamn made-in-China crap, that's what it is, and that's what Nick tells everyone within earshot as he fiddles uselessly with the knobs. When he turns the radio around to get a look at the connectors, he ignores the stamped metal that reads "MADE IN GERMANY" in favor of hunting down the problem — but that's going to involve unscrewing the back and, well, Nick isn't exactly an electrician. He's not sure the best option here is to dig into the guts of his only radio willy-nilly like. He could go get the user's manual, but it's in a pile of boxes down in the bunker, and Nick really doesn't want to go rooting through trash for it.

Heaving a frustrated sigh that takes all the fight out of him, Nick grabs the flashlight and goes out back to let Kim know what's up. She and John are working in the garden, which used to be something John would avoid at all costs. Now, he doesn't even seem phased to be working in the dirt, barely acknowledging Nick's irritated venting about the broken radio as he pulls weeds. It's only when Nick mentions going into the bunker that he seems to take notice; he tries to be subtle about it, but Nick doesn't miss his head swiveling to stare briefly.

Of course, Nick is so used to John's cagey weirdness about bunkers that he barely notices, too busy

Kim looks sympathetic, but she doesn't sound it as she reminds him, "Nick, complaining to his ever-patient wife. "I'm just gonna grab the manual, maybe see if there were any spare parts in the box we missed. It's not like the thing gets used enough to break!" the radio is ten years old. Even expensive equipment can't last forever."

"If I don't get to sit down and give up whenever I want, then neither does the radio. It's not like we got any choice , here. If we don't have a working radio, we're going to have a bitch of a time reconnecting with everybody. And we've actually started to build something, you know?"

"At least you'll have a diagram to work with, I guess." Kim sighs. "John, have you... do you know where our bunker is?"

John smiles wryly. "I do," he replies.

"Oh, right," Nick sighs. "You probably know where everything is on the property, huh."

"Knew," John points out. "But yes, that was my job. I was as thorough as I could be." He chews his lip, standing after a thoughtful second. "I know where a lot of bunkers are. If you can't repair the radio... We could look for another one."

"Okay, of course you do." Nick waves for John to follow him, which he does, keeping pace as they head away from the wash, towards the opposite side of the hangar from their normal route. "What makes you think I wanna take a radio from somebody else ?"

"Not many of the structures put together out here were by any means safe ." John probably shouldn't sound so blase about it, but the guy's got a point. Doubly so when he continues, "I was suggesting we take one from someone who won't be needing it anymore."

Nick clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Well, it's something to think about," he agrees reluctantly. It sounds a lot like grave-robbing to him, but John's right. It's the smartest option, and somebody's going to have to do it eventually. It might be better for everyone if it's them, and not some opportunistic drifter who won't put the resources back into the community.

That's a problem for another day. Right now, Nick leads John around thick tumbleweeds that have gotten caught in the long grass, bringing them up just short of the bunker door. Covered with about two years' worth of dirt but not yet overgrown, the white hatch is only a marginal pain in the ass to pry out of the ground. John waits for Nick to ask for help, only to realize that isn't happening anytime soon, and wordlessly assists in coaxing the rusted hinges to work.

The bunker is dark and smells like a root cellar. Nick sure hopes nothing important molded. They'll have to get down here and clean up soon, before the mildew takes hold and ruins everything.

"Okay," he says, "You just wait here and make sure that thing doesn't close on me."

Nick half-expects some kind of joke about locking him inside, but John only nods obediently, standing a few feet from the opening with his arms folded across his chest. Nick rolls his eyes but does his best to ignore John's unease as he descends into the bunker.

He decides against testing the power — even if the generator down here still has some juice in it, they haven't operated anything in a while and Nick does not want to be engulfed in flames right now. Instead, he clicks on the flashlight and wanders through the narrow space. He doesn't linger on the drawings Carmina left on the wall or the unmade cots, passing by a pile of laundry that'll never get done and heading to the small utility closet in the back.

He finds the box intact, one corner suffering water damage from what looks like a cup of water that nobody ever picked up. Deciding against rooting around for anything else that might be useful, he takes the whole box back out to the ladder, chucking it up out of the hole once he's tackled the lower rungs.

John is trying hard not to show his nerves as Nick pops back up, shoving his hands into his pockets before changing his mind and folding them again over his chest. Bunkers are a tender spot for him, and Nick knows it, so for now he decides not to make a big deal about it. John's too fragile for Nick to be teasing him, even if he refuses to admit it himself.

Pulling the box apart, Nick scavenges the manual and a couple of accessories that he hadn't needed a decade ago and probably doesn't need now. The cardboard is mostly good, so Nick breaks down the box, chucking the useless packaging back into the bunker before foisting the supplies onto John.

Nick gets up and shoves the bunker door until it falls shut on its own weight. "Well, now I gotta spend the rest of my day reading that crap," he says, gesturing to the chunky owner's manual.

"Give it to Carmina," John suggests, "She's desperate for new reading material."

"And give her the chance to become more technologically savvy than me? I'll pass."

Nick spends the next few hours troubleshooting his way through the manual, vengefully ignoring the support hotline numbers plastered on every other page. Even if the service center hadn't been annihilated in a nuclear apocalypse, fat chance Nick would ever lower himself to call.

By dinnertime, Nick is frustrated but satisfied that he knows where the trouble area is. One of two pieces has given out, both designed to be replaced occasionally. On one hand, that's a good thing — it's supposed to be done by novices, which means the manual is painfully clear on the method. On the other hand, there are only going to be so many matching radios out there, and who knows how many will have the same issue?

"It'll be okay," Kim reassures him that night. "Plenty of people get by without a radio, you know."

"That doesn't mean I wanna be one of them," Nick grouses, turning to pin his hopes selfishly on John. "You said there were bunkers around, right? And maybe one of them has a radio we can use?"

"I didn't promise anything," John clarifies, "But that would be my suspicion."

"Maybe it'd be worth it to look. Who knows, we could get lucky."

Kim doesn't look sure about Nick's optimism, but he ignores her skepticism. If nothing else, it'll be good to use John's old cult knowledge to benefit them for once, and that alone puts Nick firmly in the "in favor" group. Even if it turns out to be a waste of time — well, at least they'll have tried everything. For now, Nick can let Kim think up a contingency plan for a no-radio life — Nick is going to rest all of his hopes firmly on the repair plan and hope that it works out.

Nick wakes up last the next morning, sleeping in an extra half-hour or so before finally peeling his eyelids apart to face the sun. Even as he gets dressed, he feels groggy and slow, dragged down by a long night of forgotten stress dreams. His brain probably spent all night running through every possible outcome of bunker-hunting with John — not that it does any good now, when Nick can't remember any of it.

He isn't the only one who looks like they could use more sleep. Carmina is yawning over her breakfast, eating like a sloth as she processes being awake. The bags under Kim's eyes are darker than normal, too, but she's bright-eyed and dressed for the day.

John is the only one who looks like he's coping with the morning at all, but that's probably because he's been up for a while now. Ever since he's been given free rein, John's sleep schedule has put him as the last one to sleep and the first one to wake. Nick doesn't mind too much, though, since he usually brews up some coffee right before anyone else comes down. He's been arguing with Kim for the last few mornings about going by himself to pull water from the river for the house, but Kim is holding tight to her buddy-system, and John isn't going to convince her to give it up that easily.

From the way Kim looks at Nick as he descends the stairs, they might be arguing about it already today. "What?" Nick asks, "What'd I do?"

"It's not you," Kim says. She gestures across the table at John, who looks like he's been waiting for Nick to come to his defense. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"The radio is the same make as mine," John tells Nick, clearly expecting Nick to understand what he's talking about. Fat chance there, though, because Nick has no idea what he means. "It might not be the same model, but it's worth a try."

"Uh... which radio are you talking about, exactly?"

John tries hard to not look like he's suffering at the hands of fools. He fails, but at least he directs his exasperated look towards the ceiling at the last moment. "In my bunker," he explains slowly. "I had a radio of the same make."

"You said yourself it broke," Kim points out, clearly repeating an argument from before Nick's arrival.

"All the more reason to not worry about scrapping it," John replies. "The bunker is closer than any other structure, and it's guaranteed to be there. That is as much of a blessing as you'll get these days."

Nick wonders at first why Kim is so dead-set against going back to John's bunker. Sure, the guy refuses to talk about it, and sure, bunkers in general seem to fill him with unshakable anxiety, but it's still just a bunker. A bunker with a radio that could save their asses, where they won't be stealing from someone who might need it just as much. And hell, John doesn't even have to go inside!

Kim sighs and says gently, "I just don't know if it's... the greatest idea." She looks sideways at Nick, who knows from experience that she's holding back her opinion for John's benefit. She probably doesn't want to be the one telling him he's too fragile to handle it.

"I'm not asking for your permission," John says. "If neither of you want to come with me, I'll go by myself."

"Oh, come on," Kim huffs, "Not this again —"

"If I want to go somewhere, I have the right to do so," John exclaims. "We've established that I'm not a prisoner, and I certainly am not a child."

Carmina huffs loudly, but John pointedly ignores her.

"Okay, okay," Nick says, holding out his hands in a poor attempt to placate all parties. "Look, if you're really dead-set on this, and you really think that the radio's gonna help, well..." He sighs. "Then maybe it's worth going to check out."

Kim looks mildly offended that he's taking John's side, but Nick knows how to reassure her, at least a little. "But there are some ground rules," he says. "You can come with me, but I call the shots. No acting like you know better than me, or deciding to run off and forcing me to follow you. You get it?"

"Of course," John says.

"I mean it. If I decide it's not worth it when we get there, you're gonna have to respect that. I mean, there could be snakes living in there now. I don't even remember if I closed the hatch, it could be flooded from the rain earlier this year."

John nods, so quickly that Nick wonders if he's really listening. "Yes," he says. "That's fair."

"I can't believe this," Kim sighs, relenting at last as she rubs her forehead. "Okay. But you both need to be careful." She looks at John. "Especially you."

"I don't..." John cuts himself off, reluctantly changing tactics. "Okay. Fine." He stands up, leaving his chair wide open for Nick to take as he says, "I need to get ready," and excuses himself. What he needs to get ready for when he's already dressed, Nick has no idea, but that's not exactly Nick's problem. If John needs to go talk himself through the decision he forced on Nick, then it's a good thing he's not involving Nick in any of it!

Nick's real problem right now is the way Kim is staring at him. "What?" he asks, sinking into the abandoned seat. She doesn't respond, and Carmina glances skeptically at her dad from across the table. "What was I supposed to do?" he asks, exasperated. "It's not like he was gonna let it go."

"You could have put your foot down," Kim says. She sounds downright disappointed, and that stings more than Nick wants to admit. "You could have taken my side," she adds, aiming her heavy frown at the coffee cup in front of her.

"We've been waiting for him to want to talk about it," Nick points out. "And anyway, we need a radio. If he can help, we should encourage it. Right?"

Kim isn't keen on getting into a fight right in front of Carmina, so she only nods her head in response. It's enough, though, because Nick does wind up feeling guilty for siding with John. Right or not, he probably should have negotiated that better.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says. "You're right. I've got tunnel-vision with this radio problem, is all."

"I know," Kim sighs. "I just... worry."

"Well, don't. I'll be fine."

Kim rolls her eyes. "It isn't you I'm worried about, Nick." She looks towards the stairs, listening to John pacing up in his room, then reluctantly turns back to her husband. "Just... promise me that you'll keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Nick replies. Kim doesn't look too reassured, so Nick reaches over and wraps her hand in his. "Really, I will." He glances at Carmina and tells her, "You'll keep an eye on mom so she doesn't worry all day, right?"

"Sure," Carmina says. Nick knows from the Kim-like tone in her voice that she thinks he's being an ass, but at least she's young enough to not call him out directly yet. All he has to do now is make sure that neither of his girls can rub his rash decision-making in his face when he gets back.

John is quiet as he and Nick make their way through the woods. The walk itself isn't too bad, less than a mile out from the edge of what Nick used to consider his property, but John is having a lot of trouble hiding how jittery it is, and it makes for a tense hike. He keeps speeding up and falling behind, as though he can't decide whether or not he wants to lead the way.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Nick asks eventually, unable to help himself. John answers with such a dirty look that Nick immediately goes on the defensive. "Hey, don't give me that. I just don't want you to, you know... start having nightmares about it or Joseph or whatever all over again. You're the one who's always been weird about it."

John scoffs but doesn't respond. From the way he glares at the ground, Nick figures he probably hasn't stopped having nightmares yet. That's... probably a good reason to keep him from climbing all the way down into the hole. Of course, Nick isn't sure that he'll really be able to stop John, never mind what John promised back at the house.

"What were you doing out here?" John asks after the silence grows out again. "When you found me."

"Oh. Well, I was sorta looking for places to put more traps, after I made them. And, you know, if there was anything left to salvage out here." Neither of those ideas had gone anywhere, although maybe now would be a good time to revisit them. "There's not much out here, though. There's that herd of deer to the north, and the river... we really haven't needed to expand so much."

John hums agreeably in response, although he doesn't have much to add to the conversation. Nick doesn't know how to keep it afloat by himself, so he doesn't, letting them sink back into silence until they finally reach their destination. Nick recognizes the spot by the shock of parachute fabric hanging in the trees, just a flash of artificial color behind the browns and greens of the trees.

Now that he has time to look around, Nick can sort of see where the land had been cleared for installation. Of course, the only remnant of the open circle now is the thinner layer of weeds over what looks like a thirty-foot rectangle. He doesn't remember anybody building out here, and he can't even fathom when they could have done it, but somebody came through here right before the apocalypse and made themselves a hidey-hole.

Nick doesn't wait to approach the closed bunker door, but John lingers at the imagined edge of the space as though facing a barbed-wire fence. He seems pensive and lost in thought, and Nick lets him adjust while he sweeps away dirt and scraggly tumbleweeds that have just started to cover the hatch. Just a bunker or not, it's got to be a lot to deal with, although Nick can't imagine why. No matter how terrible being alone had been, it couldn't have gotten worse than intense boredom. Hell, Nick's met two different people who had clearly let the cabin fever get to them, and neither of them could shut up about their damn bunkers.

Reaching down, Nick braces his legs on either side of the bunker door and pulls at the hatch. John is clearly holding his breath, even this far away, tension coiled in his shoulders and forcing his spine ramrod-straight. He doesn't offer to help, stuck in place like he is.

"Maybe you should stay up here," Nick offers.

Of course, John only scowls at the thought. "You won't know where to look. It would be faster if I went in alone."

"Yeah, Kim would love it if I let you do that. Don't be an asshole."

Nick heaves the door upwards. The rusted hinges scream in protest, as if they hadn't moved in years, but the door swings open after a few hard tugs on the handle.

John hesitates a second longer, then approaches the hatch. Nick goes over to the edge, crouching down so that he doesn't fall, and shines the flashlight down the ladder. The air is stale, smelling like rot and mold, and Nick can see a puddle drying at the base of the ladder. Well, that makes sense — there's no way the seal is still airtight. So much for closing the door from the elements.

"You ready?" Nick asks. John nods mutely in response, standing some feet away from the hole. "Really, John. You don't have anything to prove. Kim would probably be happy if you stayed up top."

John grimaces. "I'll go first," he says, his voice clipped.

This is a bad idea, and Nick knows it. A month or two ago, he'd probably have figured John was about to pull a fast one on him, but now he's more concerned that John is trying to pull something on himself. Confronting your fears is one thing, but as John climbs down the ladder and Nick gets a good look at his pale face and tight jaw, he worries that this is too much, too fast. Not that John seems to understand the concept of pacing himself — he seems more like the kind of guy to throw himself mindlessly at a problem until it shatters under the sheer force of his determination.

Nick hands John the flashlight before he gets out of reach, following him down the rungs as quickly as he can. They knock into each other as he reaches the bottom rung, and Nick turns to find John aiming the flashlight uselessly at their feet. Staring down the murky darkness that turns the bunker into a cave of unknown depths, John looks as though he might hear floodwaters in the distance.

Maybe he's just taken aback by how bad things look, even with only a little light to see by. The looming piles of garbage and years of refuse have turned the twenty-by-ten foot box into a narrow, craggy cavern. Nick can see a door at the far end of the gloom, cracked in the middle and left ajar in its frame, surrounded by a pile of overturned furniture. He spends a second or two trying to calculate the dark tally marks he can see covering the wall next to him, but there are too many and he can't keep track.

John takes a shuddering deep breath that turns Nick's attention back to him. "Hey," he calls, "You okay?"

"Yes," John replies, spitting the word out. He shakes his head heavily from side to side, just in case Nick missed the baldfaced lie for what it is, and takes a hesitating step away from the ladder. The breath he takes doesn't seem to give him enough air, and no amount of gasping can draw more in. He has a white-knuckled grip on the ladder, and it seems for a second to be the only thing holding him up as he visibly reels.

Nick hasn't been on the opposite end of a panic attack in a long time, but he's been through enough on his own to see that John is veering wildly in that direction. He's searching the walls, rapid-fire counting the lines, confusion breaking out on his sweaty, gray face.

"Hey," Nick says quickly, lifting his hands placatingly as he comes closer, "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

John shakes his head again, rapidly this time, abandoning any pretense of control. "No," he gasps, "No, I don't think it is!"

Goddamn it. Nick should have known better, he never should have agreed to this, he never should have let John come down here. He just — he hadn't thought it would be like this. He didn't know it could be this bad.

Nick puts off berating himself, at least until John's panic passes. For now, he focuses on damage control, guiding John's free hand to grab hold of the ladder, which is at least haloed in enough light to keep the worst of it from immediate view.

"It is gonna be okay," he insists. "Here, let's — let's get back up top. Get you some fresh air, okay?"

For a moment, it looks like John doesn't understand the concept, but his fingers eventually curl together on one rung. "I didn't know," he says unhelpfully, but at least he doesn't resist as Nick ushers him slowly up the ladder. He moves so slowly, paralyzed by each step, but Nick's only concern is making sure he doesn't fall on his way out.

The sun is right overhead as John slides out of the bunker, crawling on his hands and knees and collapsing several feet away from the opening. Nick hesitates on the last rung, knowing full well that they can't just leave now that they're here, but he has to deal with John first. The radio has waited this long — it can wait a little while longer.

John gasps for air a few more times, barely catching his breath. He doesn't look at Nick, but he offers him a miserable apology, mumbling, "Sorry," halfway into the dirt.

Nick crouches beside John, awkwardly shifting his weight on his feet. He's not sure what he's supposed to do here — he isn't used to being on this side of things, and Kim is so much better at calming people down than he is. The worst of the attack has passed, but Nick's not good at damage control.

"Hey," he says at last, "It's okay. Take your time."

There's not a patient bone in John's body, so it's a small miracle when he listens obediently, struggling until his breath evens out enough to ease the panic.

"I thought I could handle it," he sighs at last, his voice heavy with resignation. "I handled it for seven years, I thought..."

Nick doesn't think what he saw down there counts as handling it by any means, but he's not about to say as much. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to say.

"We should go," Nick says. "This isn't worth it."

John looks offended at the mere suggestion. "We came all the way here," he rasps. "Give me a minute. I'll — I'll go back —"

"Like hell you will," Nick snaps. He doesn't mean to, but damn, is John really such a masochist? "Look, just — let me go find it. You keep watch up here."

There's barely any hesitation before John nods miserably in agreement. He tries not to let it get to him, but he's already shaken by the underground and he's in a suspiciously fragile state himself. He hopes to God that he can find the radio on his own, and that it works enough to make this trip worth the trauma. If this doesn't work out, Nick is going to feel even worse about it than he already does.

It's not the best idea to leave John alone, but Nick forces himself to go through with it anyway. Armed only with his flashlight and empty backpack, Nick descends as quickly as he can, taking one last breath of fresh air before disappearing into the bunker.

God, there is blood everywhere. Nick's not sure how many of the streaks on the walls are meant to be counted with the rest of the tallies, scratched into the walls with what Nick hopes to God was anything other than John's fingernails. Everywhere Nick shines the light, he finds another smear of crumbling red blood, each one painting a different image of John's scars and scabbed over tattoos. The garbage is honestly overwhelming, with a decade of waste piled up openly on top of sealed trash bags, cans spilling across the floor, dirty clothes and ripped fabrics clumped together in haphazard nests that have molded and mildewed into an inseparable mess...

There's more room to walk than Nick originally thought, although there aren't many places entirely free of trash. Still, he hesitates to step outside of the ring of natural light above. After all, nothing about this bunker is safe. Looking past the garbage and the wreckage that John has left behind, Nick sees rust starting to form along the seams, and his first step feels uneven, as if they hadn't leveled the ground properly before installing and just couldn't be assed to fix it.

Jesus Christ. It's a miracle that John didn't die down here. It's surprising enough that it circulated enough air for him to survive. How the hell did he make it as long as he did in this death trap?

It's not a question Nick can answer, and quite frankly he doesn't think it's safe to spend much time down here ruminating. As a matter of fact, the less time he spends down here, the better. It's hard not to take note of the damage, though, especially as he searches for wherever John might've kept his radio. Lord, with the way everything seems to have been torn apart, who knows if it's even going to be in one piece? Or even somewhere accessible? Nick really doesn't want to go poking through the destroyed couch or the bags of trash heaped in confusing piles across the bunker.

He heads all the way to the back of the space, circling around an overturned table and seeing at last a small desk wedged into the corner, facing the ladder. The radio microphone hangs from its cord over the edge, and Nick has to repress a delighted shout when he sees that it's still in one piece. There's a crack along the plastic case, but other than that, Nick can see that it's a model very similar to the one back home — older by a couple of years, maybe, but hopefully not so old that it's no longer compatible.

He struggles to be careful as he loads the radio into his bag, but all he wants to do is get the hell out of here. It's only once he's pulled the heavy backpack back onto his shoulders that Nick takes stock of the position that he's in. Standing here, facing the ladder, Nick can see a definite barrier that John must've formed at some point — the table, the desk, even the broken down automatic washer, all of it has been set up as though John were planning to hunker down against an enemy attack.

On the ground, behind the table, Nick sees a book with a white leather cover. The gilded Eden's Gate emblem has been mostly rubbed clean off, but Nick has seen that book too many times not to recognize it for what it is. It's bloated with water damage and stuffed with ripped addenda that have filled the binding to burst, lying on the cement like an undetonated grenade.

Nick grabs it before he can think better about it. He immediately regrets it, mostly because the bottom cover has become slimy and the whole thing feels like it's going to come apart in his hands. Not knowing what else to do, he drops it onto the empty desk, wrinkling his nose at the squelching slap of wet paper on wood. He goes so far as to pinch the first few pages under his finger, ready to flip it open to some random verse — but even touching the cover leaves Nick feeling uneasy and watched. Honestly, just looking at it fills Nick with a sense of distant dread, the same hazy fear that came along with the first time he got a face-full of Bliss.

Fuck that, he decides. Whatever John's left in the book, it's not for Nick to look at. He already got what they came for, and it's been about five minutes; Nick can't leave John waiting much longer, and frankly he doesn't want to. With one last grimace in the book's direction, Nick beelines for the ladder. He stops trying to tabulate how many days John kept track of, stops wondering when or if he ever lost count, and focuses entirely on getting the hell out of the goddamn deathtrap.

It's probably just his imagination, but Nick can smell floral sweetness in the air as he finally escapes the bunker. He takes a deep breath once he's out, tipping his face back to gratefully meet the blue Montana sky.

John waits until Nick looks at him to ask uneasily, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah," Nick replies, shifting the backpack so that he can pat it reassuringly. "I think it'll work. I didn't check for the parts — I figure we can do that back home."

John nods a few times. "Good," he mutters, "Good," as if maybe he doesn't think it's such a good thing at all. He falls silent, and Nick realizes he's waiting for Nick to say something about what he saw down there.

Nick wants to say something. He doesn't know what, though. His own thoughts are scattered and confused. "Uh... you mind if I close it up?" he asks.

John shakes his head mutely in response; the clang of the door rises up through the air like a stricken bell, scattering some birds that had been resting in the treetops.

"So... uh..." Nick rubs the back of his head, trying to decide what to say before deciding lamely to go with, "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

The fact that John doesn't immediately reply tells Nick all he needs to know. When John finally says, "No," Nick knows it's a lie, even if he's not sure what to do about it. Nick's positive that they do need to talk about it. But he doesn't know how he can force the issue, and he's sure he's not the man to do it. John needs a licensed psychologist, or a goddamn priest, someone who can absolve him of whatever the fuck that all was down there, not a hick aviator who can hardly handle his own trauma.

"Are you sure?" he presses. "I mean..."

John stares at the dirt, his hands curling into tense fists. Nick moves immediately to rescind the question, but John beats him to the punch. "I didn't know it would look like that," he tells the weeds matted under his boots. "I didn't think it would... be like that."

Nick wants to ask how John avoided noticing the mess spiraling out of control around him, but there had been plenty of evidence down there that proved John hadn't been in a clear state of mind.

"There... were issues with the power early on," John admits, clearing his throat roughly. "I would have to... prioritize. Switch on the lights, switch off the ventilation system. Switch off the lights, switch on the ventilation. Eventually, I stopped switching on the lights."

He swallows a few times and tries to bring his eyes to Nick's, but he can't seem to manage it. "Really," he mutters. "We don't have to talk about it." But before Nick can agree, because he suddenly wants to hear as little of the story as possible, John continues briefly onward, staggering the words as though he's throwing them off a cliff. "I've been locked in the dark before," he says. "I thought I could handle it. But I... I couldn't."

Nick doesn't know what to say. He stares helplessly at John, waiting for Kim to materialize out of the wood and point out the obvious emotional cue for him to take, but there's nothing but John's uncomfortable expression and a quiet forest all around them. He should reach out, maybe. Offer him a sympathetic hand, or something.

"That's all I want to say about it," John says at last.

"Uh. Okay." Nick clears his throat, tries to think up a good joke to lighten the mood, and fails completely. He tries to come up with something to say that would share his sentiment but nothing comes.

"Kim will start to worry," John mutters.

Kim's gonna worry no matter what, but Nick doesn't bother to tell John that. If he thinks he can hide his emotional distress from Nick's wife, then he is welcome to try. At least that'll be more fun to watch than the slow implosion happening in front of him now.

Nick waits until the silence between them on the way back doesn't feel so thick, then tries to distract from John's deeply pensive mood. "I'm not looking forward to reading more of that manual," he says as they trace the path back towards the house. "But I also don't wanna screw up our only chance at replacing it. It's a real tough situation."

"I assume the pictures aren't clear enough for you," John replies. It's a joke insult that stings mostly because of John's brisk delivery, and he ducks away as soon as the words leave his mouth. Nick considers taking it personally for a second, until John wearily mutters a sincere apology into the air between them. "I didn't mean that," he admits roughly.

"It's fine," Nick shrugs. After all, Nick's used to being a self-defensive dickhead; he can't exactly take offense.

Casually brushing it off seems to be the wrong thing to do. John comes to an abrupt halt behind Nick, thick tears gathering and spilling over his closed eyelids. At first, when Nick turns, he can't comprehend the sight in front of him, watching John's face slowly turn red. John sucks in a wet, heaving breath, which only makes things worse as it turns into a sob midway. It seems to mortify John, but he can't stop, and all at once he's just — crying, and Nick is left standing there while John covers his face in humiliation and sucks in deep, horrified breaths. Words try to form between the sobs, but all Nick hears is desperate wailing.

"Shit," Nick says, setting down the backpack, "Okay, hold on —"

"—Didn't know what to do," John's saying, the words tearing from his throat. "I got trapped, I didn't —"

"Hey," Nick tries, "Just — take a breath."

John sobs, dropping to his knees in the mulch. "I lost track of it," he gasps, "I don't know what's real, Nick. How much of this is happening — I keep thinking I'm not — I'm not ever getting out of here, and I —"

Oh, Nick knows he fucked up real bad now. John's cries tear through the scar overlaying his heart, as though twisting a knife that's rusted over in his chest. Nick thinks back to the muttering, the distant looks, the unsettling nightmares, and now he kind of sees them for what they are. Deep, visible wounds on John's psyche that he should have caught sooner. Signs of a collapse much bigger than the one that put them in this world to begin with. Clear indications that John wasn't ready to go back.

"Please," John gasps. He doesn't ask for anything, so Nick doesn't know what he wants, but he repeats the word like it's the only one he knows. "Please."

"God damn," Nick sighs, coming to John's side. "You are a real piece of work."

He can't help but try to deflect, even as he reaches out to grasp the dented curves of John's shoulders. He knows there are deep, claw-mark scars under his hands, even if he can't feel them through the flannel of John's shirt. He thinks he understands where they came from now, although the concept is more horrifying than Nick is willing to consider; all he can do is be better than John had been to himself, and hope that's enough.

Nick barely pulls John in before he's being grabbed, desperate claws sinking into Nick's back as John scrabbles for a secure grip. He's shaking so badly that Nick feels it rattling his own bones. There's nothing for Nick to do but hold on while John desperately tries not to fall apart at the seams, struggling to form coherent words. Nick only catches some of them, as John tries to explain the barriers, the tallies, the scarred over spaces where he used to have tattoos, but he doesn't need to understand the words to see the wounds that are being uncovered.

"Alone," John cries into Nick's chest, "I was alone, the whole time, he said I wouldn't be alone —"

"Okay," Nick consoles, "It's okay."

John eventually calms down, although it's anybody's guess how long it takes for him to finally catch his breath. Even when he does, his gasps finally leveling out, he keeps a tight grip on the back of Nick's shirt. Not even Carmina has clung to Nick so terribly, and despite the fact that John has a couple of years on him, Nick manages to feel desperately protective in the moment. He can't help it. John keeps talking like he can't tell up from down, and he'd been trapped down in that hole for who knows how long without power, and from the chaos he'd seen, it's clear John has been trying to protect himself for a long time.

"I've got ya," Nick says after John lets out a heavy sigh, finally losing the strength to hold on so tightly.

John's sweaty face is pressed into Nick's shoulder, but the words are still clear. "I need this to be real," he admits quietly. "I can't go back there."

"You don't have to," Nick says. He's rubbing John's back now and he doesn't know when he started, but the guy seems so desperate for the contact that he can't bring himself to stop. "You're not making me up, you know?"

John huffs. There might be a laugh somewhere in there, or Nick might be imagining it. "I know," he rasps. "I wouldn't be so kind to myself."

Oh, man. Nick sighs, patting his back gently. "Gotta work on that, I guess," he says. "We'll get you there."

John's fingers curl briefly against Nicks back. "Thank you," he mutters. "God, thank you."

Nick lets the situation lie like that for a minute or so. John is the first one to let go, his arms falling away from Nick's sides as he leans back and takes a deep, steady breath of air. Nick lets him go with a heavy pat on the shoulder, relieved to have the space if only because it means John isn't about to collapse again.

"Kim was right," John admits, saying aloud the thought that's been repeating nonstop in Nick's mind. "I should have listened to her."

Nick gets to his feet. "Yeah, probably. Thank God she isn't the type to say 'I told you so,' huh?"

John sits back, scrubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve. "I hope so," he says.

"I think I know my wife pretty well by now," Nick chuckles, holding his hand out for John. "C'mon, let's get home before she comes looking for us."

For an awful second, Nick thinks John is going to cry again, but he only grits his teeth and takes Nick's help to climb to his own feet. He dusts off his pants as though his face isn't warped by drying tear tracks, wiping belatedly at the wet skin under his eyes as they start onward again. Nick doesn't let him trail behind too far, but he doesn't force John to keep pace either, leaving enough space so that John doesn't feel self-conscious when he starts sniffling again.

They haven't been gone that long, but Kim is still waiting for them outside when they get back. She and Carmina are reading on the porch, but as soon as Nick and John reach the driveway, Kim drops the pretense entirely. Nick hears John take a deep breath behind him; he looks back, but John's expression is too troubled to get a good read. At least he doesn't seem likely to bolt.

"We got it!" Nick shouts as they walk across the drive, lifting the backpack up triumphantly.

"Oh, thank God," Kim sighs, relief flooding her expression. "Nobody got hurt?"

Nick looks back at John, then shrugs. "Nothing we can't fix," he suggests.

John takes a breath. He looks like he wants to spill everything right then and there, but he boils it all down into a simple admission. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Stunned, Kim asks, "Are you okay?"

"No," he quietly replies. "You were right."

Kim shakes her head, glancing briefly at Nick before putting a gentle hand on John's arm. He sighs shakily at the contact, but thankfully he doesn't collapse into another crying wreck. Kim looks like she's expecting something like that, but John manages to surprise them both.

"We can talk about it later, if you want," Kim tells him, patting his shoulder.

There's relief in John's voice as he suggests, "I'll need a strong drink before I accept that offer."

Kim shakes her head, laughing a little. "It's as good a place to start as any," she tells him.

Carmina, who's been standing on the porch looking increasingly bored, finally gives up waiting for attention. "Hey, dad," she calls, lifting the radio's manual up in the air, "Can I help with the radio?"

"So much for my technological superiority," Nick sighs, raising his voice to tell Carmina, "Sure!"

"I couldn't help it," Kim replies. She has a smug expression that tells Nick a different story, but he can easily forgive her for deciding to make their kid smarter out of spite. It's better than trying to poison him or running off with Hurk and his raider gang. "I cleared off the table for you," she adds, "And I brought out the radio so you could get a better look at it."

"I guess there's no better time to start than now," Nick says. He offers John a lopsided grin and asks, "So, uh, how much do you know about electronic repair?"

"About as much as you," John replies. He gestures his arm towards the house, saying, "It can be a learning experience for us all."

As if this whole year so far hasn't been one big learning curve. Nick shakes his head, leading the three adults up to the porch. Carmina disappears inside, triumphantly waving the manual in the air, leaving Nick to chase playfully after her inside the house. He catches sight of Kim talking to John on the porch, but Carmina is squealing delightedly in his arms so he can't quite make out the conversation. Later on, he can tell Kim about what happened, but for now, she seems content with whatever John is saying, patting him again on the arm before leading him inside. She shuts the door behind her, and for the first time in almost a year, Nick feels as though he's finally home, surrounded by people on the same page as him for once. This, he thinks, could very well be his new normal, and that's not so bad at all.

[my-sherlock221b]

Speak the Truth--not mine, sharing from the link

https://speakthetruthj2.weebly.com/intro--start-here.html

"What we’ll do for each other, how far we’ll go, they’re using that against us"Everything from this site has been taken from the wonderful Speak The Truth on Storify-- HERE

Do you know your J2 history? The story of Jensen and Jared is an epic one. It is at first deceptively simple. But with a wider view, this seemingly small story tells a much larger, more universal one. In that way, it's also an important one. It's one that spans a time of unique change in American culture as social media tools grew, TV became King, fandom ways were integrated into public lexicon, HW powerhouses rose and fell, and a new hope for true equality in Obama's America supplanted the country's long history of intolerance. It's one that showcases how the role of PR can build over time to consume all levels of actors lives, even two guys who first set out to avoid exactly that. It's one that reveals the widening sphere of PR with the advent of social media, celeb blogs, and online fandoms. Fans are no longer immune to being used by PR as tools in the role of creating an illusion and selling an image. Only together in one place do cracks in the veneer and patterns of PR tactics suddenly emerge as the larger picture focuses into sharp view. It's also a story that I hope one day can be told in full by the people who lived it instead of mere spectators who watched from the cheaper seats and speculated from afar. However, human interest pieces begin with a subject. So here it is. I've been a fan of this show for eight long years. As someone with a "librarian mind", I have saved and documented a lot throughout that time, as have others who have helped me along the way. Supernatural, the TV series, I believe, speaks for itself. 160+ episodes have been produced, aired, and immortalized on DVD. However the larger story that encompasses the show, the actors, the crew, the fans, the HW machine, and the subject of its time, remains hidden if not completely erased from documented fan history. Yet it is one that has enraptured many (even those who won't quite publicly admit it). I believe that counts for something. In other fandoms, I am indebted to other fans who came before me who archived events as they occurred for other fans like myself who came along later. As I leave Supernatural fandom for good, I worry that these details, as we observed them, may be lost. There will be other fans, of the show and of the Js, that will come after me. They should know how it went down all those years ago. This here is merely my small act of scrawling on the cave wall of the internet. As far as I know, there exists no complete record of what a J2 fan has experienced in all the years of the show. So what follows is a timeline summarizing the events of all eight years of Supernatural surrounding its two lead co-stars. It's meant to serve as an J2 archive or library, detailing each event with a date, info, pics, tweets, article, links, videos, and quotes. Most of the focus is on J2 and the players around them, but it will cover show changes and larger HW shakeups in later years as it becomes necessary. If a tiny splash of "Time Capsule" feel snuck in, it's because we all have our experiences and sometimes they feel worth telling. There has been an incredible erasure of fan/show history the last couple years, an act that is rather ironic in a fandom built on the concept of urban legends coming to life. In its wake are attempts to rewrite J2 history. There are some people that have worked very hard to make sure this story is as inaccessible as possible to others. They'd rather see it replaced by their own "revisionist" history that best serves their own interests. But this stuff happened. Records of it are out there. Fans experienced it. And in many cases, J2 or other people directly connected to them responded to it. Denying said part of J2 fan history is disingenuous. Believe what you want to believe in the space between, but events that happened have happened. I know some people will not be happy I have put this together. I struggled with the thought myself. Ultimately, I believe their story in between the lines and cracks of this cobbled together timeline is endlessly iconic. It's a story that shouldn't be lost in the dust of internet time. Because its not just them, even though their unique relationship is quite remarkable. It's that their story has something to tell us all. We all have something to learn in the space in between. You read through the cracks of eight years, follow along detail by detail, and it however small allows you to step in their shoes, no matter who you are, or what you originally thought. Just think, how scared does someone have to be, how many pressures must be put on someone from all angles, your advisers, your bosses, your family, your friends, to agree to these measures over time. When an erasure of a genuine human story happens, we all lose. We, ourselves, as a culture lose. Progress loses. (And what are we here for, if not for progress?) That erasure robs us of that example to learn and grow, improve and teach others. Because no one's life is just their own. We all have a part to play in each others' lives. We all have things we can teach and things we can learn. That's never been more true than the global age of the internet. Thus, as someone who has been in a unique position to watch a lot of these events unfold, I couldn't leave fandom in good conscience without leaving this footprint. They say history is written by the winners. Well, that was before the internet. So fair warning, I will use spn_g links in later years. It is impossible to do an exhaustive archive of J2 without it. Like it or not, it's part of J2 fan history and quite an archival resource when so many LJ links have since been deleted. Careful consideration has been given to the source. Priority is given to the most reliable information. Events (e.g. things we've seen with our own eyes pics, videos, quotes, tweets, etc) are all primary, and denoted by a header font and date. All anon ITK ("In-The-Know") info is considered secondary, and only becomes more or less probable depending on how it fits in with the overall timeline. Thus, some events with "more probable" secondhand information, are noted as an addendum by the phrase, "*rumorhasit:". Unsubstantiated gossip has been left out. This archive is done with the utmost respect for both parties. In a way, it is only in the details that the more real human context emerges. This is something lost in the day-to-day celeb gossip and fandom life. It's easier to make snap judgments about an image than about a fully fleshed out person. My hope is that in seeing the totality of their story, readers can find some form of compassion for the subjects at hand. I've taken great pains to make sure that the record that follows is all of public events only. If they've been released on the internet in a public place, and talked about by fans, they are included here. I've written this in a way that I hope can be a resource for all, both for J2 fans who lived it and those who have yet to make sense of the whole story. In the act of putting this together, even I have learned details that I had forgotten or missed. It's almost a decade of details, it's a lot to keep straight, but I hope that in this timeline format, the clearer picture emerges. If it's the first time you're reading this, just take it in stride. But if you're a fan who lived all of this once already, pay special attention to the timing of events and larger patterns. Watch how appearances and big personal news tend to go together with big professional news like movie casting and season renewals. Notice how players like publicists and managers fit into the story along side girlfriends and fiancees and wives. This is how this industry functions, even with a fledgling show on a netlet. It's in this industry that two guys who initially claimed privacy start indulging fans with stories of their personal life. It's in this climate that a TV show built on two actors' chemistry suddenly tampers said chemistry down to nothing in the middle of its seventh season. There are many threads that pop up here, partly why this story is such an important one. Some things are rarely as they appeared at first glance. Other things are exactly how they appeared at first glance. Decide on your own which ones are which. One can look at this as an archive with two distinct parts. The first four years are more a tribute to the little glimpse we got of two guys with an instant bond that captured us all. The next four years are more a testament to how despite an actor's best intentions, HW can still grab you by the shirt collar and suck you dry. Never forget where the real power of any show lies. Not with the people whose creative work you watch every week. It's those at the top. And they are not as "tolerant" or "liberal" as people might like you to believe. The story of J2 is an epic one, but that's not the only reason why it's important. They're also not the first or last to deal with these extreme machinations. As we proceed into 2013, we are reminded over and over again how much our culture has changed since 2005. Since 2008. Even since 2011. How much longer will it take for HW to catch up with the rest of us? I'm indebted to all the fans who helped me in amassing this record, adding their contributions, holding my hand, listening to my complaints, and overall sharing in the J2/Supernatural obsession for good times and bad. This has been simultaneously the easiest and hardest show to be a fan of. But it would have been impossible to follow for eight years if not for the community of amazing people that I shared it with. Some of them may not understand this, many of them will probably not even read this, but I hope that they still know my thanks and appreciation. Schmaultz aside, we've got 8 years of history to get to! So without further ado!

[orenonahaichigoda]

I had a rough day, and came to a realisation. I will say a bit about my own experience, and then, after having to lay the groundwork of explaining 400 things about Japan because American schools and media think the whole world is the US, Western Europe, and places to blow up, making explaining necessary, will tie it to Ichigo, or at least how I portray him.

I'm Post Dankai Juniors, growing up in Japan. So's Kubo, actually. The boundaries of this Japanese generation are roughly '75 to '85, Yutori, the following generation that's always translated and localised as Millennial, pretty solidly set as beginning at '86. These things are always fuzzy because you can't vivisect living brains and find the part that likes char siu buns and the part that likes jazz fusion. I *majored* in Social Science. You'll have teachers who say "it is absolute that we date people who are similar to us because we're all actually narcists." (It *might* be because they're like our beloved family or community. Narcistic Personality is not universal) But it really just is fuzzy, and that teacher/book author is an idiot. Anyway, Yutori is always translated as Millennial. I don't know the end boundary. Post Dankai Juniors covers almost totally a debated throe for Germanic nations (I know Britain, Germany, and Nederland use the same generations as America, and their languages are Germanic) because of how fuzzy it all is, though.

Anyway, so since coming to the US, my interactions with other Asians, again, how is this defined when China, Mongolia, Japan all border Russia and West Asia includes Jordan and Saudi Arabia, South Asia is India's area, Southeast Asia is Laos, Thailand's area, I mean, find the Arabic kanji. I don't think Thailand even uses soy sauce. What the heck IS Asia, really? (Or "Middle East" when half of that's Africa and the other half shares plate with Europe? )

Anyway, my experience with Asians that are Boomer ages tends to be people who immigrated as adults, who more identity with a generation like "Dankai" or "Sirake." My experiences with Latinos older than me... I've never actually asked if the generational labels are even the same.

The thing about that is that when the name is the same, it means enough cultural traits are shared.

My biggest experience with people who grew up under the term "Boomer" are Black and white.

I've noticed a unifying trait.

If they're something oppressed (Black, gay), their attitude tends to be"it is mandatory to stand up for *my* demograph...but kicking the person behind me on the ladder in the teeth is wholesome, pure, and fun."

Outing me to large groups and saying I "speak Asian" seem to be the most common two. Calling me "Chinese" long after I've cleared this up for them is a close third.

I mean, don't get me wrong--my experience with Italian Americans past GI generation has been that now acquiring the "white" label, just like biphobic/aphobic/transphobic cisgays, they're more often staunch priveledge defenders than cishet people of Anglo descent! And it's just as true for X and Y as it is for Boomer (for the latter, one need only look at NYC destroyer and trump defender Giuliani) I actually don't really identify with my Italian side at all because I was kinda locked out of making any meaningful connection.

But back to my point that even in so-leftist-it's-almost-not-America Bay Area, Boomers are still like this!

The kind of stuff that flows out a X/Y TERF's mouth, or the mouth of an X/Y person with a Confederate flag on his wall, American-raised Boomers say with ease regardless of their alignment! It's banananas.

(Please note that I also just have not met a whole lot of Native Americans, period, nor enough people significantly older than me from any one place in Africa, that was an omission of lacking data, not intended as erasure)

How I tie it to Ichigo--

So Kubo avoids specifying birth years for anyone.

When I see something like this, I generally assume date of publication, as do most people in most fandoms (which of course gets screwy when you have something endlessly rebooted like Superman or Batman or something eternally unchanging like Detective Conan)

Anyway, the first Bleach something published was the comic in '01.

I generally assume it was supposed to be the start of a new school year, as Ichigo doesn't know many of his classmates until at least the first test scores come out. So it's probably April or something.

If Ichigo was 15 then, he'd also be Post Dankai Juniors, just barely. If Ichigo TURNED 15 shortly after, during his adventure, he'd be undebatably Millennial.

Now, there is still something up with Dankai and Sirake. PM Abe is the latter, b. 1954. A lot of his age-peers are behind him. This is the guy who supports remilitarisation and was caught funding a private militarist/fascist high(?) school that teaches that people from countries Japan conquered during its brief phase of trying to beat colonial Europe are less than dogs.

Now, I left there as a teen. Clinton was US president. Scandals still got people kicked out of public office in Japan. I hadn't figured or come out yet. Sure, I got bullied for being mixed, but kids will pick if you like different singers than the "cool" ones. They'll pick based on what's in your lunch. That data is sausage.

I'm not 100% sure what Ichigo would face day-to-day sociopolitically as he grew up/aged. I haven't had living family since'95 there, and friendships don't get deep enough to ever last distance until at least high school. For me, adulthood.

But I've kept/caught up enough (you try keeping up in the South before the internet was more than ten University sites!) that I know he'd face fascists (c'mon, the guy takes on a martial law government to save a new friend--that's anarchist, he just doesn't seem anarchist in his own world. He only fights humans in defence) I'm not sure how he'd feel about the JSDF, but he only fought the sinigami's war out of feeling like it was his responsibility because the adults around him kinda made it so. I super don't see him being for *starting* wars. In a human war, I see him actually being like Sugihara Chiune, a historical figure who died when I was a kid who I majorly admire. He worked at a Japanese embassy in Nazi territory, and when the embassy was evacuated,he continued throwing passports to Jewish people to go to Japan from the train he was departing on,and is hidden from Americans in the same spirit that Martin Luther King is...pulled the teeth out of. (PS, speaking of,go Google Steven Kiyosi Kuromiya)

Also, Ichigo's whole schtick is defending those worse off than him. He's not someone I see defending Yamato Japanese priveledge. Heck, I could see him joining Uchinanchu efforts to get Parliament and the US base to leave them alone. I can easily see him sticking up for a Filipino domestic worker he met thirty seconds ago.

To this end, I think regardless of what he is, he'd have a large rub with Japan's equivalents of Boomers.

Not to mention that Abe supporters tend to be very sexist and queerphobic, which isn't even homegrown but imported from Américanisation. I mean, there were female warriors--assasins, which is what Yoruichi and Soi-Fon are styled after, and go look at some Ukiyoe, like Utagawa Kitamaro. Quite a few artists in the 200-ish years of the Edo period depicted life in the queer districts. I've also had people posit that Noh might've been a welcoming draw for trans people the same way drag was all over the US in the twentieth century and still is in rural areas, where there's less cisgay gatekeeping. But this isn't something I can reasonably research without access to plenty of older and not well known dusty documents, and lots of time, and I live in the US many years now. And do you know how much round trip airfare alone is!? Also, the language changed so much and I can't read anything before Meiji without dropping words. Rukia, Byakuya, Yoruichi all have made for TV old-sounding Japanese like period dramas. Actual 18th Century Japanese would be unintelligible to the unspecialised.

So this stuff isn't really native, but Abe and a lot of people his age support all these -isms.

I super don't see Ichigo being happy about this.

(I also feel like Issin's old enough to remember before these -isms, but that's my own thing. In my project, he was in those districts, but that's me)

At the same time, I'm still writing this through my own lens. Also, not still being there, I just don't have enough data on Yutori in adulthood, or the grown Yutori lens. Honestly, even most other immigrants I meet are older than that. Or older than that and their adorable three year old children. So I have no clue.

In the early 2000s, I got myself from the South to CA and began to reconnect, but began to is the key phrase. I can tell you right now that Abe is as much of a second phase of Nakasone as trump is of Nakasone's buddy Regean. But what shifted when, I can't say. I'm not entirely sure how Koizumi ran the ship, as it were. I know some things, but not enough to say.

But whenever things shifted however, and whichever year Ichigo was born, I just cannot imagine him being any more on board with current events than really anyone in my area not born between 1946-1964 and raised in America.

I feel like he'd probably be too tired or self-effacing to fight for himself, but he'd take on, loud and proud, any bigotry against *others.*

I...also can't really say I'm much different, except my joints are held together by the power of wishes, so I'm more like "get the victim to safety" than "give the attacker plenty of regret." So, I can only do anything in limited ways.

Ichigo is also entirely fuelled by the power of love. Lost his ability to protect and feels like his sinigami friends ditched him? Mondo depressed, however much he wants no one to notice--which most do a great job of ignoring! Everyone in his world turned against him for a guy who has attacked people close to him? Terrified, and murder can now be an answer. (Fullbring Arc)

I was going somewhere with that. I've forgotten, but I'll leave it.

But anyway, I feel like he really only comes close to fighting for himself when others are taken away from him in a way that's also wronging them.

So yeah, I super don't see him happy with current events or Sirake gen.

I'm not sure how much I see him fighting for himself as mixed panromantic grey-ace. I mean, we know he fights people who are about to punch his face in for his looks, but what else can you reasonably do at that point? Get your head bashed in? I'm not sure how much I see him fighting hateful words pointed at him versus resigning himself to "people are the worst." I mean, when he talks about being picked on, he kinda seems resigned, or at least like it's a fact, like shoes being for outside or something.

I guess I tied it to Ichigo a lot better than I thought!

But also, the struggle against people born just after the war is not just you, and not just America. It's a major problem.

And it's likely that Ichigo would agree.

[soulvomit]

Geek culture predates Tumblr.

The first nerds/geeks/fans I ever met, were/are much older than I am (b. 1973). Most I knew, were my parents' generation - if not older. (There were always a few 70 year old men who looked like wizards or hermits.)

When I was in geek spaces as a young teenager, in the 1980s, it *was* considered an "adult" community. (Like EVERYTHING in the 1980s.)

Young people were welcome, but tended to organize around different hobbies than older people - I met most of my lifelong friends and an ex-husband via tabletop gaming. There were only a few mainstream media fandoms. In the beginning, you were one or another. Remember the movie Fanboys? That's kind of what it was like - for quite a long time. I was a Trekker.

There was a lot of sexual content in fan writing. You all know about Spirk. So much was written by 40something working women. It isn't until the early 21st that I became aware of fanfic as mainly a young person thing and not a Boomer hobby - and now it had an internet subculture anchored by anime/manga.

Maybe, too, a lot of Xr geeks didn't take it up BECAUSE it was a Boomer hobby.

Lots of us didn't find older geeks/nerds very cool. We wanted our own identities apart from them. They were average-looking, aging hippies who leered at us across the room, and had swingers' parties.

That's a big reason why The Matrix was so damned meaningful, it made young geekdom look sexy and cool.

I think it's natural, too, for teens to find middle aged people gross and sexually threatening.

Many fan cultures *were adults only* and for younger people, it was very much... enter at your own risk.

I knew adults - in particular, parents of girls - who wouldn't have ever allowed their daughters to be on BBSs, go to cons, or do role-playing.

My mother was taken to task *constantly* for my being on BBSs or in geek/nerd culture; allowing your daughter to circulate among adults and teenage boys was practically unthinkable to a certain class of people.

But I had already been doing it for years and my mother, a busy single working mom, could do absolutely nothing at all to stop me.

That's probably a big reason why geekdom (where I was) had "girl hobbies" and "boy hobbies" and the girl hobbies usually involved much more outlay of money, and much more supervision, and may even have been likely to be some formalized and supervised thing through Scouting/music/school/college.

It's probably why many informal geeky spaces I was in had many Boomers-and-up of all genders, plenty of teenage boys, but very few teenage girls. There seemed to be relatively few Gen X women in geekdom in general. So many of us were raised to see and experience it as something creepy and threatening.

(The gender imbalance of young people, is something that I enjoyed, as a socially precocious teenager who'd never gotten to be a popular kid in high school. But later as an adult woman trying to date adult women, while still having geeky hobbies, I did NOT at all have a good time.)

This same upbringing is probably also a factor in how a whole generation of women workers were AWOL from IT. (I wasn't the first of a female vanguard in tech, I was among the very last for another two decades.)

Stories were often sexual or shocking or triggering. This space was not for young people.

Kids, teens, and adults had different hobby subcultures, but there was some overlap.

And sometimes it was a fucking nightmare. I wish I could tell you that grooming wasn't absolutely rife. Marion Zimmer Bradley, anyone? I knew about her two decades before the news broke. Ed Kramer? Didn't shock me in the least.

I am pretty sure I only survived 80s/90s geek culture without being sexually assaulted by a pedophile because of being "streetwise" about the culture and having a lot of inside scoop about who the creeps were in my spaces. But to be honest, I'll never be sure how I've avoided some of the shit that's befallen others less lucky than me.

It's only relatively recently that there's been any idea that cons and nerdy spaces SHOULD be "safe" for families.

There was a huge "children are little adults" thing in hippie through post-hippie culture and there was a lot of effort toward normalized sexualization of children among some radicals.

But the only adults holding down adult culture were Boomers. My generation wasn't big enough to take, carry, and pass the torch, and the gender imbalance in geekdom among Xrs and older Millennials exacerbated it.

Many of the elders retired and moved away, and many died.

And the geek culture that arose later, I suspect, isn't the direct child of Gen X geekdom so much as something all its own, with a completely different social space.

The thing is that Gen Xrs didn't use the language of gendered moral authority to express discomfort. So often, we said that this or that person was creepy and gross and made fun of them behind their back. ("Chester the Molester.") We more often framed ourselves as being cooler than the people we were rejecting, as opposed to earnestly expressing fear of victimization. At least that's what my own crowd was like.