#there's like at least five different instances in 3 of her just completely failing to read the room

[oh-meow-swirls]

i think this was funnier in my head.

[newronantic]

HAIKYUU!! FICS

so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great

MHA one is up!!

ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!

KageHina

plain as day - emleewrites

In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.

In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

Chaotic Neutral - akaraka

Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?

1: Anonymous: see title

2: Anonymous: curry king

3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?

4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above

jellyfish - mysterytwin

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.

TsukkiYama

Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta

A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.

No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”

Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

IwaOi

Terrarium - sausaged

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody

Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.

my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn

Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

KuroKen

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki

Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.

the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot

Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.

Accidentally In Love - todxrxki

Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"

Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony

TW: major character death

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

teach me the way home - icespyders

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

in this universe - crossbelladonna

Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.

All this, and a glass of water.

Beginning’s End - todxrxki

Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.

All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki

“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”

“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”

“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.

BokuAka

just to miss the sun - rosevtea

Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn

After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.

bitter - silvercistern

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

In Another Life - LittleLuxray

TW: major character death

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

120% yes - pissedofsandwich

TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya

in reply to @bokkun_official 

Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!

Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.

But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

SakuAtsu

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

[anthemxix]

whumpay bonus: deleted scenes

my final offering to you for the month~ :)

there were some prompts i started to write but didn't finish, and a few instances where i began a prompt, decided it wasn't working, and then completely started over. i have no idea if these scraps will interest anyone, but it seemed like a shame for them to go to waste. so i hope you enjoy :) thank you <3 <3 <3

day 4, part 2 (fire) - first attempt

“Can I just say again that I really don’t like this plan?”

Wind groaned. “We know, Captain. You’ve been saying that every five minutes.”

“Because it’s a terrible plan!”

Scowling, Wind shuffled back from the impossibly massive archway he’d been peering through. “Look, we decided on the plan hours ago, so just give it a rest already.”

Sky cleared his throat. “Well. I’d like to say that I don’t like this plan either.”

“Oh, how nice of you to contribute that, Sky,” Warriors growled, rounding on him. “Couldn’t have said anything before the literal last minute?”

“Hey, I’ve dissented to this idea the whole time,” Sky retorted, holding his hands up defensively. “Not just because it’s dangerous, but because it’s not our place to meddle in local political affairs.”

“Agreed,” Warriors said. “We’re putting that whole town at risk. It’s not too late to turn back.”

“Since when do you run away from a fight?” Wind goaded.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Time said. Five heads turned his way, expectant, tense, and he sighed in resignation. “The Sailor is correct. We discussed the merits and drawbacks this morning. We’re committed to this plan now. I’m sorry, Captain.”

Wind smirked triumphantly despite Warriors’ heavy frown. “Great. I’ll see you all later then.”

He offered a sloppy salute and turned towards the archway, only for Warriors to grab his arm and spin him back around.

“Ugh, now what?” Wind griped. “You heard the Old Man! The plan is a go!”

The Captain grasped both of Wind’s shoulders and ducked to his eye level, his expression all hard lines. “Listen. At the first sign of danger, you get out of there. This is not worth sacrificing your life over.”

Wind defiantly tried (and failed) to wiggle out of his iron grip. “I’m gonna be fine, Wars! Why don’t you trust me? I’m the most skilled thief we’ve got!”

“I do trust you, and I don’t doubt your skills in the least,” Warriors said. “It’s just…” He hesitated, swallowed. “Tell me you’ll get out of there as soon as there’s trouble. Don’t be reckless.”

The somberness and sincerity (and was that fear?) in Warriors’ tone was sobering, and Wind finally conceded, “I will. I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Warriors’ hands lingered on his shoulders a moment longer, and Wind was surprised to find he missed their weight when they were gone. He didn’t dwell on it, though, nor did he look back as he deftly slipped through the stone archway and disappeared over the ledge.

The Captain crossed his arms, not bothering to conceal his concern as he watched Wind go, and Legend murmured to him, “Hey. You don’t do anything reckless either. Got it?”

“Of course.”

They all knew he was lying.

---

The chamber Wind had entered was more astronomical than any he’d ever seen—it must have filled the entire berth of the mountain, he thought—and even more wondrous still, it was jam-packed with mound upon mound of shimmering rupees, jewels, armor, weapons, vases…treasure. The most extensive treasure trove in this or any era, surely.

Wind grinned to himself. Tetra and her crew would never believe this. Maybe he could smuggle out a shiny little gift for them.

He picked his way across the hills of treasure, disturbing them as little as possible, and stopped near a colossal column. Steadying himself on it, Wind peered around the enormous chamber, and, for the first time since they’d departed the lakeside town that morning, felt a flicker of dismay. He had, of course, expected that locating one specific gemstone in a vast hoard of treasure would be difficult, but he’d underestimated the task. Like kind of, really, severely underestimated the task.

Well, no matter. He didn’t make it this far in his adventures by shying away from impossible odds. Besides, he felt he was graced with the goddesses’ favor today. He and the others had climbed up the mountain, strongarmed their way into the mines, and navigated the maze of corridors without one blip of trouble—and, best of all, there was no sign of the one major threat they’d been warned about again and again.

Wind smiled as he continued across the treasure trove, pausing to sift through some of it now and again. He just needed to be patient and deliberate and quiet, and then he could sneak back over to where the others were waiting and prove to them what a capable hero he was. Warriors said he didn’t doubt Wind’s skills, but he must, at least a little, or he wouldn’t have been so reluctant to let Wind do this.

The Sailor peered across the chamber towards the archway he’d come through. It was well above him now, as he’d descended from the peak of a treasure mound, although he was nowhere near the floor yet. The candle chandeliers suspended from the cavern’s apex offered a fair amount of light, which reflected brilliantly from all the gold rupees and splendid diamonds, but it was not sufficient to see any of his friends.

All the better, he thought as he continued his hunt. If he couldn’t see them, then neither could their enemy, whose other senses outweighed its sight—as he’d been repeatedly reminded by the others, who had all info-dumped him on this particular foe, as if he hadn’t dealt with any himself before.

Wind really did not understand what all the fuss was about. What made this different than any other dungeon, or any other enemy therein? Yes, this particular mission was complicated by the fact that they were helping restore some fallen regent and give him access to this treasure hoard without having all the details on the guy. Wind regularly operated without having all the details, even on missions as significant as this, and he suspected the others did as well, so he wasn’t too concerned about that.

But what was the big deal with the enemy? He understood that provoking this monster put the proximal town at risk, but didn’t that happen with every big baddie they faced? What was so different about this—?

Wind froze, thoughts cut off as he tuned in to the nearby jingle of tumbling rupees. He slowly turned his head, hand on the Phantom Sword’s hilt, expecting to see some stalfos or something emerging from the depths. There had to be someone guarding this treasure, after all.

He was not anticipating a stream of treasure would part to reveal the snout of a dragon sighing in its sleep.

Panic jangled Wind’s nerves, and suddenly he felt like he understood Warriors’ reluctance very clearly.

The tip of this dragon’s muzzle was utterly massive, with yellow, jagged teeth as tall as Wind protruding from its mouth. The rest of it, still concealed by treasure, must have been unimaginably gargantuan. Its steady breaths smelled ominously ashy.

Wind backed up a step, rupees clinking beneath his foot, and held his breath. Perhaps it was time to return to his friends…

As he began to creep back towards the archway, leaving the dragon’s snout a considerable berth, Wind felt a tug of magic. It wasn’t a variety of magic he recognized, but the sensation was unmistakable. His eyes darted around, scanning, until they landed on a strikingly sparkly gemstone, iridescent and oval-shaped and nearly the size of his head.

Dumbfounded, Wind blinked. That. That was the stone! It had to be!

It wasn’t too far from him, but it was downhill, i.e., in the opposite direction of his destination. But he was so close. He couldn’t give up now.

Wind threw a cursory look at the dragon snout before switching course and tiptoeing down towards the stone.

There was another rattling jangle behind him, and Wind paled as treasure shifted to reveal some of the dragon’s tail, ridiculously far from where the snout lie. He tried not to let this bother him as he reached the stone and carefully tucked it into his bag.

Acquiring the target item filled him with some relief, and he started the long trek up the treasure mountains to reach the archway, choosing his footholds cautiously.

He was halfway there when he slipped, smacking face-first into the rupee pile and backsliding several meters with an insufferably loud clanking from the treasure.

He froze, breath bated, heart slowed, as he gazed over at the dragon.

It didn’t move.

Releasing a soft sigh, he straightened up, prepared to resume his ascent, when the dragon snorted.

With dreadful slowness, it lifted its head from its beloved treasure, amber eyes flitting around its chamber as it swiveled its long neck around, searching.

Then it slowly rose, gems and gold cascading from its back, as its enormous, folded wings appeared.

Wide-eyed, Wind didn’t move. He couldn’t. This was, by far, the largest creature he’d ever seen.

The dragon inhaled a great snuff of air, sniffing, then another. Forked tongue flickered between menacing teeth.

And then it spoke, its baritone voice echoing off the mountain walls as it dragged out each syllable.

“Where—are—you?”

Wind couldn’t help the involuntary twitch of his hands. Some coins jingled, and the dragon gazed in Wind’s general direction. It didn’t see him.

“I know you’re here,” the dragon drawled. “I can smell you. I can hear your breathing.”

One massive, clawed foot rose from the treasure depths, smacking down on top of a pile.

Swallowing, Wind shakily began to climb again, with painstaking slowness, on his hands and knees. He was good at stealth. He could do this. Absolutely.

“I can sense your fear. Little thief.”

He faltered, hand twitching, but continued. Slow. Steady. Come on. You can do it.

The dragon lifted another foot, and its third and fourth, until it was fully free of the treasure, its tail swishing in its wake. It grazed against the high chandeliers, causing them to quiver and shoot strange fluttering shadows across the room.

“I do not have much patience for foolish little thieves.” The dragon drew a deep, rumbling breath, its chest beginning to glow a burning orange. Smoke began to filter from its nostrils. “Come out.”

Wind looked up. The archway was still so far away. He tried to move more quickly while staying as noiseless as possible. He had to hurry. He was running out of time. As soon as he got there, they could escape unseen—

“If you come out now, little thief, I won’t kill your friends quite so painfully.”

Wind tripped again, setting off a mini-avalanche of treasure.

The dragon’s head snapped in his direction, its eyes narrowing and lipless mouth curling as if in a smirk. It took a step towards him, and another, its claws clinking as the dangerous orange glow built up along its neck, up its throat, more smoke churning from its snout.

“Are you over there, little thief? I’ll give you one more chance. Come out. Now.”

Wind scrabbled, slipping again, sending more treasure tumbling, and when the dragon opened its mouth, its internal flame heating the room significantly, he lost all caution and tried to run.

---

When the dragon lifted its head, Legend wrapped his hand firmly around Warriors’ elbow.

As more and more of the dragon emerged from the depths, Four said quietly, “I think we need to prepare.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and Legend frowned. Reluctantly, he released Warriors’ arm and muttered, “Old Man, keep an eye on him.”

Time nodded, eyes already on the Captain, and Legend, Sky, and Four headed out for their destination.

Time pulled out his Biggoron Sword, watching the dragon take a step, its booming threats resounding around the chamber. He picked out Wind among the mountains of treasure.

“I need you to know,” the Captain started, drawing Time’s attention, “that I cannot live with myself if he…”

Time nodded, even though Warriors wasn’t looking at him.

“If he goes down, I’m going to save him or die trying,” Warriors said. “Those are the only options.”

“I know.”

Warriors looked at him grimly. “It’s been an honor fighting by your side again.”

Time put a hand on Warriors’ shoulder, and left it there until the dragon opened its mouth, and Warriors jumped down into the pit of gold without another word.

---

Warriors aimed for the dragon’s amber eye, but hit its cheek instead. The arrow bounced uselessly off the impenetrable scales, and Warriors doubted the beast could even feel it; yet the dragon, to his relief, turned towards him.

Warriors nocked another arrow and shot again for the eye, but the dragon simply lowered its head, bringing it close to the Captain, heat radiating from it.

“Another little Hylian,” drawled the dragon. “Where did all your little friends scurry off to, hm?”

day 10 (screaming/silence) - unfinished

Distinguishing night from day is impossible in these woods; the opaque fog that consumes them occludes both sun- and moonlight, perpetually casting a bland grey pall across the trees. It’s disorienting, and Time has entirely lost his grip on the passage of his namesake. He has no conception of how long he and Sky have been wandering around this forest, searching for an exit, and that disconnect disturbs him, prickles beneath his skin.

When Time spots an x carved into a tree trunk, he stops and drags his hand through his hair with a sigh.

Lagging several paces behind him, Sky, too, pauses. “What is it?”

Time points to the marking. “We’ve been here before.”

It takes Sky a moment to register what he’s being told, and then he visibly wilts like an underwatered flower. “Great. That’s great.”

“I can’t keep track of this place,” Time confesses. “It’s as if it’s…shifting.”

“Or we’re getting shifted,” Sky says. “Wild said the fog in his Lost Woods can move him.”

“That’s…unsettling, to say the least.” Time glances skyward out of habit and frowns in annoyance as he’s reminded that he can’t see the sun here. “How long do you think we’ve been walking?”

“I…I really don’t know.”

The elder hero side-eyes Sky, who, alarmingly, appears considerably more ill than he did before. Some time ago, the two of them had stopped to sleep, certain they’d meandered the day away, and Sky woke up dizzy and pale. He insisted he was fine to continue—for what other option did they have?—but he had been growing more and more sluggish as they walked. Now he grips his sailcloth, pulling it tight around his shoulders like a blanket, and looks as colorless as the fog, swaying slightly where he stands.

“Do you need to rest?” Time asks.

Immediately, Sky shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just want to get out of here.” Sky releases his sailcloth to scratch behind his ear, something Time has observed him doing on multiple occasions today (tonight?).

“You keep scratching,” Time says, gesturing towards his own ear.

“What?”

“Your ear. You keep scratching there.”

“Oh…” Sky removes his hand and clutches his sailcloth again. “I dunno. It really itches for some reason. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Time steps towards him and brushes Sky’s hair aside to see a small but very red bump. “Looks like an insect bite. You should leave it alone.”

Sky hums in acknowledgement. “Let’s keep moving.”

Unsatisfied, Time chooses a direction for them to proceed in. He thinks they’ve taken a different turn than the last time they crossed paths with this tree, but he can’t be certain. Before they leave the area, he pulls out a knife and marks the trunk with a second x.

Time has no idea how long it takes, but eventually, they wind up back at the same damn tree.

His eye twitches as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. We need a new plan bec—”

“Uh, Time?”

He looks behind him to see Sky holding one hand out, blood smudged across his fingers. “What—?” Then he spots the blood trickling down Sky’s neck, staining his hair.

Time moves closer and brushes Sky’s hair aside again, causing the knight to jump a little. “What are you doing?”

Substantially more inflamed, the insect bite behind Sky’s ear has split open. Worse, now that Time is up close, he can see that Sky’s hands are shaking and his pallid cheeks are blemished with feverish pink blooms. “You scratched the bite so much that it’s bleeding… Let’s clean it up.”

He steers Sky beneath the contemptible tree and sets to work washing the bite. It’s worryingly hot to the touch, but what really dismays Time is that the bump, which he expected to feel malleable, is hard, as if there’s a stone beneath Sky’s skin.

“Sky, are you allergic to insect bites?”

“No… I don’t think so? I don’t know, really.”

As soon as Time finishes bandaging the bite, Sky is reaching up to scratch it. Time grabs his hand. “Sky. It is imperative that you do not touch that.”

“But it—” He makes a throaty, frustrated sound. “It itches so badly.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do about that.” Time looks around, as if he’ll magically spy an exit from the woods that he somehow missed before.

“Okay. Okay.” Sky grits his teeth and clenches his sailcloth until his knuckles turn white.

day 17 (phobia) - first attempt

For half an hour, rain had been falling in a steady, serene drizzle so light that Sky hardly noticed it until a stray droplet snaked beneath his tunic collar, slithering cold and uncomfortable down his spine. Absently, he scratched at his collar, as if that would alleviate the remarkably unsettling sensation, just as the rainfall picked up.

He blinked up at the sky, which brimmed with plump, grey clouds, promising wet weather for the remainder of the afternoon.

“Guess there’s no point in waiting out the rain,” he commented over the downpour’s soothing heartbeat.

Beside him, Legend swept his damp hair away from his eyes, minutely scowling. “Yeah, let’s just keep going. The sooner we meet up with the others, the sooner we can track down some suitable shelter for the night.”

Sky hummed his agreement, hoping that in scouting this new area they’d been dropped in, some of the others had found a town. He and Legend had discovered an overgrown trail and followed it for most of the morning, but their efforts were fruitless, as the path seemed to stretch endlessly through uninhabited wilderness.

Minutes later, a resonant boom of thunder rolled across the sky, followed swiftly by a flickering tongue of lightning in the near-distance. All of Sky’s muscles locked up so suddenly that he awkwardly stumbled, only staying upright because Legend’s hand shot out to catch him.

“You okay there, bird boy?” Legend asked, eyebrows arched.

“Yeah, of course,” Sky murmured. “Tripped. That’s all.”

He reached back and grabbed a handful of his sailcloth, pinching and rubbing the silken fabric as he tried to ignore Legend’s scrutinizing stare boring into his temple.

day 25 (goodbye) - unfinished

Dinner is eaten, the dishes washed and packed, and the campfire doused, all in dreary silence. As the last of the fire’s smoke dissipates, Wind speaks. “What happens if we don't go through them? Will they disappear?”

No one answers for a moment. Eventually, Legend says, “We have to go through, small fry.”

“I— I know,” Wind stammers. “I’m just asking, like...what if we didn’t? What would happen?”

“Hypothetically,” Hryule offers.

“Yeah! It’s hypothetical.”

“There’s no reason to consider hypotheticals,” Legend says.

“There’s not,” Wild agrees bitterly. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He stands, gathering his belongings with a scowl as he adds, “As a matter of fact, we should get this over with.”

“Wait!” Wind jumps up, practically vaults across the now-damp firewood to grasp Wild’s arm.

“No, there's no point in stalling any longer,” Wild says, even as he involuntarily leans into Wind’s touch.

“Of course there is,” Wind argues, eyes wet. “Any more time I can have with you guys is worth it. Even just one extra minute.”

Wild looks away from him as he lightly pulls out of Wind’s hold.

Legend stands now, too, eyes averted. “You’re just making this harder, kid.”

“Goodbyes are always hard,” Four says quietly.

Another moment of silence lapses, until Time stands, plates of his armor shifting.

day 29 (lies/terrible truth) - first attempt

In the lean privacy of a secluded clearing, Twilight offered his confession without pretense or embellishment, a simple statement of facts. He didn’t appear nervous as he spoke, like someone who had been caught off-guard might; rather, he seemed resigned, his words rehearsed, as if he’d known this conversation was an inevitability.

Wild expected—hoped—he would glimpse some relief on Twilight’s face when the confession was done, but that wasn’t the case. He seemed sorrowful, ailing, but not relieved to be rid of the heavy secret he’d burdened himself with. Not remorseful for his wrongdoing.

The oddest thing about this moment, Wild thought as Twilight looked squarely into his eyes, was the quietness. How could the moment feel so still and calm, even as it decimated him? Even as it violently impressed its place into his personal history as a pivotal event? Even as it cleaved his life into a clear before and after?

Through Wild’s cluttered, confused thoughts floated a memory. Not a century-old, faded memory, the kind that abruptly flickered to life in the deepest fathoms of his subconscious and dragged him into catatonia. No, this memory was recent, crisp, bright. He could still feel this memory, could still smell its scents and hear its sounds. It replayed over and over, an inescapable loop, as he stared at the man who only minutes before had his unshakeable trust, his highest admiration, his purest love.

Wild broke eye contact and shook his head, trying to clear it. “You’re lying. You have to be. This makes no sense.”

He only looked back to Twilight when he heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. He came face-to-face with Twilight’s blade and reflexively jumped back, hand flying to the hilt on his back.

[that-scouse-wizard]

Hphm profile: Amelia Booth

Just to clarify some things:

-This exists in David’s (Jacob’s brother) AU, so to reiterate: Merula isn’t the mole, the girl version of Rowan is David’s best friend and only Orion from the Quidditch characters is in Hufflepuff.

-Some more things:

-Amelia is two years behind David, starting her first year when David is in third year.

-Her ‘Rowan’ is the boy version and is called Alder in this AU.

Lastly, I hope you guys enjoy!

-----------

General Information

Full name: Amelia Margaret Booth

Nicknames: Amy (usually by friends and family).

Gender: Female

Age: 11-18 (1986 - 1993) 

DOB: 22/01/1975

Species: Human

Blood status: Muggleborn

Sexuality: Bisexual

Alignment: Neutral Good

Ethnicity: White-British

Nationality: English

Residence: Lancaster (During her Hogwarts years and a brief time afterwards).

Edinburgh (After opening an apothecary there as a side business).

Myers Briggs Personality type: ISFJ, the Defender

Character Summary: Quiet and hardworking,  muggleborn Amelia Booth initially finds the wizarding world intimidating. With the right guidance though, she can become a great source of knowledge should one require advice on Potions, Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures. A love of gymnastics and cycling made her the perfect candidate for a keeper on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

Personality

Calm: It usually takes a lot to get a rise out of Amelia, there was however one instance when she snapped at Jacob in year 6.

Competitive: David’s competitive streak rubbed off on her once she became a part of the Quidditch scene. Though like him, tries to keep it to a healthy degree.

Hard-working: Despite being intimidated by the wizarding world at first, Amelia persevered in her studies at Hogwarts. Allowing her to become a well-respected member of the Hippogriff club for her expertise in Potions, COMC and Herbology.

Insecure: While she does appear to not care, she’s always worried if people are staring at her scars. She even briefly developed an insecurity around people in her year wanting to get close to her just to hang around with David (who keep in mind was considered a ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ as well as a relatively popular Quidditch player). Other ways her insecurities can manifest are as jealousy and pettiness.

Loyal: Amelia’s family and friends mean the world to her, she’d do anything for them.

Quiet: Amelia tends to keep her head down, preferring to study in silent contemplation.

Witty: Though she normally doesn’t joke about, there are certain occasions where Amelia has an incredible comeback

Appearance

Face claim: Maisie Williams

Voice Claim: Emma Atkins

Game appearance: 

Physique: Athletic and lean, trained to be very flexible from a mix of her gymnastics and cycling.

Hair colour: Dark brown

Hair style: 

Wears her mid-length and neat (1st-3rd year).

Grows her hair out a bit and keeps it in this wild mane look (4th-post graduation)

Wears it in a pony tail during gymnastics practice, potioneering or when tending to magical creatures.

Usually wears it like this for formal events

Eye colour: Grey (Blue in-game)

Height: 5′2′’

Weight: 75kg

Scarring: A diagonal scar on her left cheek, running from just next to her nose to the middle of the cheek, A vertical scar on the right side of her forehead. One on her right forearm. Finally, one that runs from her left shoulder to her chest.

Body modifications: Both ears have a triple lobe piercing, three simple gold bands in each lobe from third year onwards. Gets three small tattoos on the inside of her left forearm, the leaves of a chestnut (her wand wood), an alder (Alder Khanna) and a willow (David, her step-brother).

Inventory: Her wand, feathers from her hippogriff (Valkyrie), a fragment of crystal from her fire crab (Garnet), and a copy of the books Fantastic Beats and Where to Find them, and Advanced Potion Making.

Fashion: Prior to attending Hogwarts, Amelia used to wear smock dresses. Much like David, has a love of punk fashion when in the muggle world. Although thanks to Andre, grew an appreciation for wizarding world fashion and even Victorian fashion.

Background/History:

Pre-Hogwarts:

-Amelia had a fairly happy life, being quite well-off financially thanks to her mother’s accounting work and her father’s job as a plumber. 

-Though she loved her older siblings, Alex and Sarah, the age gap of six and four years respectively meant some obvious differences in the closeness between the Booth siblings.

-Sadly, when Amelia was just five years old, she was involved in a car accident. A driver going too fast rear-ended her father’s car. While her father was killed on impact on account of not having his seatbelt on at the time, Amelia had hers on and was knocked unconscious. This event resulted in her scarring and subsequently, her ability to see Thestrals.

-The accident took a heavy toll on all of the Booths, Lyra though was determined to stay strong for her kids. Getting them involved in various activities in the hopes that it would get their confidence back, for Alex it was muay thai, for Sarah it was shooting and for Amelia, gymnastics.

-While Amelia regained some confidence in herself despite the scars, the accident caused her to develop motorphobia, she can’t stand the thought of being trapped in an automobile. However, she can still ride bicycles and broomsticks, at least then she has control over the vehicle in question.

Year 1 (1986)

-Amelia first comes to Hogwarts when the school is in the grip of the curse of the Vault of Fear.

-This also where she meets Alder Khanna, Rowan’s younger brother, who would become her best friend.

-When she first encounters a boggart, it turns into a Vauxhall Viva (the car her dad used to drive), blaring its headlights and revving its engine. Understandably, this troubles her.

-That event, combined with her insecurity over people wanting to befriend her just to get closer to David causes an argument between the two. This is where she gets closer to Rowan, who even though she’s the older sibling in her relationship, feels somewhat overshadowed by Alder. 

-She reconciles with David thanks to the advice from Rowan and even an assurance by Alder he’s not her friend because she’s close to David.

Year 2 (1987)

-Open Quidditch positions are announced, for Hufflepuff’s team, it was keeper. Having expressed an interest in it, she sought out Orion.

-Orion asked her to balance on her broom, expecting her to fail a few times before she got it. However, thanks to her gymnastics training, she stood up on it first time no problem, something that visibly surprised Orion. It almost immediately made him consider her for a position on the team.

-She got the position and was noted for incorporating her gymnastics into her Quidditch manoeuvres, something that greatly helped in defending the goals from the opposing team.

-Because of this, she becomes quite popular in the school Quidditch scene.

-She comforts David when his friends Chauncy and Philip are killed by a Red Cap while under the sleepwalking curse. Hagrid introduces them both to the Thestral herd on the Creature Reserve.

-Admits to David that she doesn’t trust Rakepick.

Year 3 (1988)

-She selects COMC, Divination and Study of Ancient Runes as Electives. Though Divination isn’t what she hoped, she takes to COMC like a fish to water. While she had experience with certain creatures through her first two years on the reserve, she mentioned wanting to take COMC as soon as was feasibly possible.

-Is there to witness David emerge from the Portrait Vault, shocked to learn of Rakepick’s betrayal.

Year 4 (1989)

-Jacob comes back as the DADA teacher, Amelia confronts him about the pain he caused David last year. This culminates in an argument in which Amelia slaps him and screams, “He’s my brother, you selfish bastard!” Before she storms out the room.

-The biggest event for Amelia is when R comes after her, to truly make sure the condition that David must see a loved one die so that he may enter the Sunken Vault.

-However, Alder intercepts the attack meant for her, resulting in his death. The R assassin, Nisus Snyde leaves, believing the distraught reaction from David is enough to determine that Alder was suitable for the condition to be met.

-She’s distraught as well, blaming herself for being too weak to not help David or protect Alder, a fact that isn’t helped by Rowan also blaming her. This results in an argument between David and Rowan which climaxes with shouting “I wish I’d never met you David Willows!”. Amelia feels even worse after, believing herself to be the one who caused the argument.

-She insists on joining David for the expedition into the Sunken Vault and helps in bringing down its guardian.

-She becomes heartbroken when R murders Jacob but even more so when David leaves in the middle of the night, having snapped his wand.

-Moody tracks her down and talks to her as well as a few others, promising to bring David back and keeping them at Grimmauld Place.

-When David is brought back, it’s here that she alongside David and Rowan form the Circle of Khanna in remembrance of Alder.

Year 5 (1990)

-She assists in keeping David hidden in the Room of Requirement, knowing R is going to come after him. Using privileges she obtains as the 5th year prefect to wander the halls mostly unchallenged.

-She joins in the final battle against R, facing of against Nisus alongside Rowan. The battle ends when Valkyrie (Amelia’s hippogriff) grabs Nisus’s skull with enough force to fracture it, killing him.

-She’s able to complete her O.W.Ls and helps in winning the Quidditch cup for Hufflepuff, David appoints her captain seeing as he’ll be graduating.

Year 6 (1991)

-Takes Alchemy as an Elective.

-(Note may not actually happen but I find the thought of Amelia taking the Golden Trio under her wing to be an intriguing idea).

Year 7 (1992)

-Her status as a powerful Muggleborn makes her a prime target for the Basilisk, resulting in her petrification. 

-Saved by the efforts of the Golden Trio, though forced to cram and take her N.E.W.Ts in the summer.

Post Hogwarts

-Gets in touch with a contact provided by Professor Kettleburn as a trainee magizoologist. Starting up an apothecary business on the side.

-She attends David and Merula’s wedding in 1994 as one of the bridesmaids.

-She joins the Order of the Phoenix in 1995, using her apothecary as a safe house and providing potions for the Order when they’re needed.

-In 1997, her apothecary is destroyed, luckily she’s able to escape and goes on the run from the death eaters.

-She assists in the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998, once again providing potions and healing magic to those who need it. That being said, she takes down a fair few death eaters herself.

-She continues to work as a magizoologist after the war, even managing to rebuild her apothecary.

Family:

Peter Booth (Father, deceased):

Face Claim: Ben Whishaw

A fun-loving family man, Peter worked as a plumber known for his warm attitude. He taught all of his kids how to ride a bike, one of the last things Amelia really remembers about her father.

Sadly, he was killed in a car accident when Amelia was just five years old.

Matthew Hall (step-father):

Face Claim: Ben Miller

A stern but fair CIMA-qualified accountant, Matthew first came into Amelia’s life when she was just seven. When she was eight, Matthew and Lyra officially got together, something that upset Amelia, thinking her mum was trying to replace her dad.

The two would reconcile, though it would take time with the assurance that he wasn’t there to replace Peter. It was he who recognised Amelia’s magical abilities when they manifested shortly before her eleventh birthday.

Lyra Booth (nee Robinson) (mother):

Face Claim: Ruth Wilson

Another CIMA-qualified accountant, Lyra and Amelia are very close. She was shocked when she learned her daughter had magical abilities. It was her demand to invite David over for Christmas in 1984. Something which ultimately proved comforting knowing there was someone looking out for her.

Alex Booth (brother):

Face Claim: Jody Latham

Her older brother, Alex is very much protective of his little sister. Her going off to a boarding school that was part of a world that he had no idea about was worrying. That being said, he begins to worry about her less when she and David try to explain Quidditch to him.

Sarah Booth (sister):

Face Claim: Emilia Clarke

Amelia’s sister, initially very highly strung about Amelia joining the wizarding world and being far more vocal about it than the other members of her family. Though she becomes endeared to David eventually and is even fascinated by stories told to her by Amelia about her magical creatures.

Jacob Hall (step-brother, deceased):

Face Claim: Tom Holland

Amelia was highly of suspicious of Jacob, largely for causing David pain. To the extent she slapped him when they got into an argument after Jacob said “David is my brother, so-” *SMACK* “HE’S MY BROTHER TOO, YOU SELFISH BASTARD!”

That being said, their relationship becomes more cordial over the course of the year and is one of those who mourns Jacob’s death.

David Willows (step-brother):

Face Claim: Dave Franco

Initially intimidated by her future step-brother, Amelia didn’t know what to make of him. After he gave her a demonstration of a Lumos spell, she started thinking he was cool.

Though there’s been the occasional rough patch, Amelia considers David a blood relative and would gladly protect him with her life knowing he’d do the same for her.

Allegiances:

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Affiliations: The Circle of Khanna, The Order of the Phoenix, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Professions: Trainee magizoologist (1993-95)

Potioneer (on the side) (1993-95 then 1998-present) (Full-time) (1995-1998)

Magizoologist (1998-Present)

Hogwarts Information:

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: P

Charms: A

DADA: A

Herbology: O

History of Magic: P

Potions: O

Transfiguration: E

Electives:

Alchemy: E

COMC: O

Divination: A

Study of Ancient Runes: E

Quidditch:

Hufflepuff Keeper (1987-1991)

Hufflepuff Captain (1991)

Extra Curricular:

Hippogriff Club

Hufflepuff Prefect: 1991-93

Favourite Professors

Professor Sprout: Her head of house and the one who suggested she become a Prefect, Sprout was there to comfort her after Alder was killed. Amelia often assists in tending to the greenhouses.

Professor Snape: Despite Snape’s dour and very much intimidating presence, Amelia found potion making a subject she often practised in her free time, using Snape’s instructions of course. Though not quite as enthusiastic about him as Penny Haywood, Amelia will admit Snape can be a good teacher.

Professor Kettleburn: Though considered nuts by most staff and students, Amelia very much respects Kettleburn for still working with creatures even they’ve maimed him so many times. She’s even talked with him about her insecurities around her scars.

Least Favourite Professors:

Professor Binns: Like many Hogwarts students, Amelia would rather sleep through Binns’ lessons than study. Even the most fascinating of magical history go in one ear and out the other when Binns is teaching her. 

Best canon friends:

-Barnaby Lee

-Liz Tuttle

-Charlie Weasley

-Penny Haywood

-Orion Amari

Love Interest:

I’ve not decided on a love interest for her or even if I’ll give her one. If you’d like to suggest your MC to be her love interest, let’s chat!

Best MC friends:

David Willows: David is Amelia’s step-brother, being introduced to each other in Christmas 1984. Becoming Quidditch teammates in Amelia’s second year, David would go on to appoint Amelia captain of the Quidditch team

Judith Harris (@judediangelo75​): Judith is the beater on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. During a match, Amelia trusts Judith to keep the bludgers off her back. Judith sometimes supervises Amelia on the creature reserve and will even have races between her Swedish Short Snout and Judith's Ukrainian Ironbelly. 

 Lizzie Jameson (@lifeofkaze​): Lizzie is one of the chasers on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and was over the moon when Amelia joined as the keeper. Outside of Quidditch practice, Amelia sometimes spends time at the magical creatures reserve with Lizzie and Charlie.

If you’d like your MC to be friends with her, let me know!

Rivals: 

During Qudditch: Andre Egwu, Erika Rath, Skye Parkin, Charlie Weasley, Oliver Wood, Cato Reese (@catohphm) and Katriona Cassiopea (@kc-needs-coffee​).

Otherwise she doesn’t really have any.

Enemies:

R

Death Eaters

Magical creature poachers

Magical Abilities

Wand: Chestnut, phoenix feather core, nine and a half inches, rigid.

Chestnut wands prefer witches and wizards who are skilled tamers of magical beasts, those who possess great gifts in Herbology, and those who are natural fliers.

This is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike. Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won.

Animagus Form: N/A

Misc magical abilities: 

Occlumency: David teaches her Occlumency when he can to keep her safe from certain threats, especially in relation to R and other magical effects such as the legilimency of the wampus cat. 

Boggart form: Her dad’s Vauxhall Viva, blaring its headlights and revving its engine.

Riddikulus form: The car shrinks and turns into a wind-up toy playing a musical horn.

Amortentia (what do they smell like?): Damp earth and straw

Amortentia (What do they smell?): Lavender and mint.

Patronus: Abraxan.

Patronus memory: The feeling of freedom and wind in her hair as her dad let her bicycle go. She knows he would want his little princess to keep going forward.

Mirror of Erised: Her dad is back, telling her how proud he is of all of her accomplishments.

Specialised/ Favourite spells:

Bombarda (and Maxima): Taught to her by Rue, David’s mother, thanks to that teaching she’s learned to concentrate the spell so it’s much more powerful. Especially useful against creatures with magic-resistant hides such as dragons and trolls

Conjunctivitus curse: Not having the luxury of being a legilimens means Amelia has to get a bit crafty in her spellwork, especially when facing highly dangerous creatures. Blinding them is a guaranteed way to distract them.

Incendio: Useful for starting a campfire on her expeditions as a magizoologist, it helps that it can be used as an offensive spell.

Protego: Always useful when blocking projectiles and other spell attacks.

Misc Information:

She has far more creatures on the reserve than David: A niffler (Glimmer), a porlock (Macha), an Abraxan (Emerald), a fairy (Pearl), a Bowtruckle (Twiggy), a hippogriff (Valkyrie), a Thestral (Skull), a Unicorn (Bismuth), a frost salamander (Sapphire), a salamander (Ruby), a Swedish Short Snout (Torak), a fire crab (Garnet), an Imp (Clanger) and a Quintaped (Angus).

[rengonemad]

5 Scars, 1 Decision to Heal

This is a gift for Dami over at the KakaGai Hell Discord! I hope you enjoy! >.<  Rating: General Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Maito Gai (can be read platonic or as the prelude to romance) Warnings: None, Read More is just for length Word Count: 2k

5 Times Gai made Kakashi consider Scars, and 1 Time Kakashi Understood

1. 

The first time Kakashi heard hushed respect in his father’s voice, they were in the presence of Sarutobi Hiruzen. That made sense, Kakashi thought: he was a man famed as the Sandaime, the Professor, the strongest shinobi in Konoha, and the student of both the First and Second Hokages. If there was anyone that the legendary White Fang would respect, it would be Sarutobi Hiruzen. 

The second time Kakashi heard hushed respect in his father’s voice, it was quite different. He was about to start at the Academy and a bruised and scarred kid in a green bodysuit was thanking Kakashi for an insult. 

“At this rate, this kid could become even stronger than you.” Sakumo said quietly, his palm a heavy weight on Kakashi’s head. 

Kakashi didn’t understand. The kid was weak. Not only had he been rejected from the Academy even though he looked a little older than Kakashi, but he was covered in dirt and abrasions. That meant he was weak enough to get hurt, and stupid enough not to hide it.

Kakashi asked for the kid’s name anyway. If his father respected these people, then Kakashi could do that much. 

It didn’t make sense, but Kakashi trusted his father. 

He trusted his father when he suggested Kakashi make Gai his rival. He trusted his father when he said that Sarutobi Hiruzen was a great man. He trusted his father when he said that Kakashi shouldn’t worry about him—that Sakumo was fine, even if it looked like he hadn’t left his bed since Kakashi left for his mission five days earlier. Even if the dishes were molding and Kakashi heard whispers about the White Fang, about his fall from grace—

Kakashi trusted his father. 

He did, until there was no more father to trust. 

Maito Dai and Maito Gai were the only people who attended Hatake Sakumo’s funeral. 

They cried more than Kakashi did.

Two weeks later, Kakashi moved out of Hatake Estate and into a chūnin barrack. It was a cramped, one-room affair, but that meant it was easier to clean. 

Most importantly, it didn’t have blood-stained tatami. 

It didn’t have any scars.

2.

The first time Kakashi got a scar that couldn’t be hidden by clothes, he got a sharingan and ninety-eight pounds of guilt to go with it. 

They were all signs of his weakness. Signs of his failures. 

But that didn’t mean he was willing to get rid of them. 

The Uchiha petitioned for the removal of Kakashi’s sharingan. There was no proof it had been given willingly, Fugaku said. (Disregarding the fact that not only was Rin a witness, but that the Yamanakas could have proven it from both of their memories if necessary.) It was sacrilege for a kekkei genkai to be wielded by someone outside of the clan. (The entire notion of shinobi having honor was questionable, in Kakashi’s humble opinion.) Keeping a kekkei genkai without a matching bloodline would kill the host by chakra drain—

—that part actually had some validity. Kakashi nearly died of chakra drains three times in that first year, before he finally figured out exactly how far he could push himself, how to recognize the warning signs when the sharingan began to consume more than Kakashi had to give. Effectively losing an eye meant an imbalance in depth perception and narrowed field of vision, both of which were easily deadly for a shinobi. Reading gave him a skull-splitting headache for the first two months, and his handwriting suddenly went from precise to nearly illegible and always slanted at an angle no matter how he turned his head. 

Rin looked at him differently, too. Even with one eye, Kakashi could tell. Her smiles were brittle. They shattered the moment she looked away. 

She often looked away. 

The scar was a sign of his weakness. The sharingan, a mark of his greatest mistake. 

It was a mark he deserved to bear. 

3.

Gai wouldn’t leave Kakashi alone.

Part of that was probably Kakashi’s fault; Maito Dai didn’t leave a body behind, but Gai held a private funeral for him anyway. Kakashi was the only one to attend. 

Over the next few years, Gai kept accumulating scars—some of them drawn by Kakashi’s own hand. They never tried to seriously injure each other—if weapons were involved, they fought until one part was disarmed or forced to concede. If taijutsu was the arena, then a successful pin for five seconds constituted a win. Kakashi never used fatal ninjutsu techniques. 

But accidents happened. Sometimes Gai didn’t dodge as quickly as Kakashi thought he would. Not hurting Gai in those instances became part of Kakashi’s practice, although not one he ever told his “Eternal Rival”. Gai’s ego wasn’t as untarnishable as he claimed it to be.

Gai’s scars steadily grew in number, overtaking his body with rough lines and calloused flesh. Kakashi’s own scars were fewer in number, but they, too, accumulated as the years passed. 

Their scars were different. Gai’s were a show of his dedication, the effort he put into perfecting something that no one thought possible of him. 

Kakashi’s laced his skin with memories that couldn’t be shut out. 

4.

When they were seventeen, Gai got rejected. He had brought her dozens of bouquets, composed entire sonnets, exclaimed about her to Kakashi every rare chance he got. Apparently, she said he was too much for her. Kakashi could see her point, but Gai really didn’t deserve the daffodils thrown back in his face. 

Gai only mourned for one day before he got up again, the same as at the end of any fight, and poured his sweat and tears into taijutsu. He used that motivation to master the fifth gate. 

Two months later, he was interested in another girl. He courted her with exactly the same amount of gusto as he had the first time around. This girl accepted. When she broke up with him politely two months later, Gai was still certain that true love existed, and absolutely willing to have his heart broken a million times over in order to find it.

Kakashi pretended to read while listening to his rants. He pretended to read while Gai sobbed in passion or mourning. He pretended to read while watching how the accumulating scars on tanned skin never reached Gai’s humongous, tender heart. 

Kakashi pretended that he didn’t think Gai was just as cool as he was ridiculous. 

5.

The first time Kakashi saw Gai truly affected by a scar, it wasn’t his own. 

Rock Lee was probably the first person in the world (other than Hatakes) who truly respected Gai. Unfortunately, while Lee and Gai’s ostentatious personalities, bullheaded stubbornness, large hearts, and bushy eyebrows all gave them obvious similarities, there were important points in which the two differed.

Those points led to Lee’s self-destruction.

While Lee had grown up in peacetime, with romantic dreams of shinobi and what it meant to be one, Gai had been faced with the stark reality of it from the earliest time he could remember. 

Gai understood consequences, and he understood how to judge an acceptable loss—at least, most of the time. Gai had known death firsthand before even leaving the Academy, and had seen his own father make the ultimate sacrifice of the eighth gate. He understood risks, and he had the ability to weigh them, whether most people realized that or not. 

Yet, Gai gave such tremendous power as the gates to a child who was full of more idealism than reason, more impulse than temperance. He gave that power to a boy who certainly would one day become a fine shinobi, but who had never seen death or destruction or the scars shinobi so often didn’t survive. Gai gave that power to a child who had never had anything more precious on the line than his own pride—and Lee suffered a powerful price for it. 

Kakashi couldn’t be beside Gai for those early days after Lee’s injury, because Gai wasn’t the only one who had make a mistake. Instead, Kakashi spent weeks sleeping for mere minutes at a time on a sheer rock face, training himself and his own childish student—one who had seen far more than many full-grown shinobi ever did—in the vain hope that they would both survive whatever Orochimaru would bring them next.

He thought that Sasuke’s past would teach him how to use his power well. Naively, Kakashi thought he had chosen better than Gai, that Sasuke wouldn’t suffer the same consequences.

He was wrong.

Kakashi and Gai had both failed their students—but Gai’s was an error of judgement, one in which he had placed his own history and capabilities onto a kid that wasn’t quite ready.

It took less than two months for Kakashi to realize his own error had been far worse. His own error had been one of the heart: specifically, of neglecting Sasuke’s. 

By then, it was too late.

The most painful scars, Kakashi knew by that point, were the ones he could only see, and do nothing to heal.

+1

Four years later, scars mottled the Earth itself. Konoha carried more than her share of them. Even months after Pein’s attack, rubble stood in half the districts and gouges were still being filled in with dirt and cement. Tenzō had long since erected temporary and permanent structures for the village’s basic needs, but post-war, there were too many necessities and not enough resources to allocate to them. One of the only projects completed during the first few months of the Rokudaime’s tenure was an additional ward to the hospital, designated for rehabilitating physically debilitated shinobi. 

No one had come out of the Fourth Shinobi War without a scar. Some of them were simply more noticeable than others.

“Doesn’t the Hokage—” Gai wheezed as he struggled to pull himself into an upright position in the hospital bed. Kakashi remained by the window, listening to the sound of hammers banging in the distance. He knew better than to offer help for something Gai could do himself—no matter how much time, and pain, it could cost him. “Have better things to waste his time on than—visiting an old rival?”

“I’m hiding,” Kakashi shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder to see Gai’s expression. “Maa, no need to look so disapproving. It’s only until I make a decision.” He held a palm up in pacification. “I promise I’m not shirking my duties.”

“Ah.” Gai nodded wisely, but his voice was breathy, hoarse despite the water bottle he had already half-drained. “I have—every faith you’ll make the best choice!”

With entirely burnt chakra pathways, Kakashi could only imagine the pain and fatigue Gai was going through—at least a dozen-fold what Kakashi himself had ever experienced with the sharingan. It was a miracle he was talking at all. 

Well—not a miracle. Gai’s strength wasn’t the gift of any God. 

It was something he had formed himself.

“You still have faith, Gai?” Kakashi murmured. “Even after all this?”

Gai’s bushy brows descended towards the center, the corners of his lips tugging down as well to form a frown. He was always sharper than people knew.

Tanned and scarred fingers clenched around his bottle of water. Plastic crinkled beneath the grip that had lost decades of strength in a single, life-changing moment.

With Gai, Kakashi knew: it was strength that could be gained again.

“In you, Kakashi, I always have faith.”

Kakashi turned back to face the window. His fingernails dug into the meat of his palm, hidden within his pocket. The other hand rose. He brushed fingerprints against the scar that bisected where the sharingan had once sat—a constant reminder still of Kakashi’s biggest failures. 

But that scar no longer stole Kakashi’s sight.

That scar no longer stole Kakashi’s chakra.

That scar no longer blinded Kakashi to the changes he could make in the world, and in those around him. 

It had taken over twenty-five years for Kakashi to understand why Gai could be who he was—why he could accumulate scars that were only surface-deep, why he could take even worse ones in stride and use them to drive himself forward: 

Gai didn’t define himself by his scars.

Perhaps it was time that Kakashi learned how to do that, too.

(I, uh, also made this edit. xD I dunno why.)

[warsofasoiaf]

Uh. I checked the character count, and this is going to end up long. My friend sent me something, and while I'm sure it's wrong, I don't know enough about medieval battles to dispute it. Can you help? Part one of many

He held storms end against a siege. From what information there is he seems to have done this well. I don’t know if he employed a scorched earth strategy before the siege began (if he didn’t then a rescind my compliment). The siege showed little in terms of tactical or strategic prowess on the part of Stannis but his will power was commendable and eating last was (part 1)

The siege showed little in terms of tactical or strategic prowess on the part of Stannis but his will power was commendable and eating last was a good morale booster (though he likely didn’t do this for the moral). Still, if the Tyrells had decided to storm the castle he would have lost. The battle shows more incompetence on the part of Mace than prowess on the part of Stannis (part 2)

He captured Dragonstone. There is very little mentioned about the specifics of the engagement. It is highly unlikely that there was a contested landing as the defenders lacked the numbers and morale for such a move and there is very little precedent for a contested landing in the historical time period that ASoIaF is based on. He likely arrived at the castle to find an open gate. Part 3

The best mark on Stannis’s record, and the only truly impressive thing he’s done was his destruction of the Ironborn fleet. He managed to split his fleet in two and flank the Ironborn without them knowing. Though this is still impressive it must be mentioned that Stannis likely had a great advantage due to technological superior ships (the ships described in the books are absurdly large and in an age where gaming and boarding was the main instrument of naval warfare that is a great advantage).

During the war of the five kings Stannis refuses to ally himself to anyone. This is a great black mark agains his record. And shows either an abysmal understanding of basic strategy or an incredibly diluted ego. Stannis’s choice to march on Storms end similarly shows either incompetence or delusion, only saved by an entirely unpredictable magical trump card on the part of Melisandre. Combined with the luck of the Stormlander lords agreeing to side with Stannis.

His attack of Kings Landing similarly shows a lack of understanding of basic strategy. This time he seemingly fails to scout ahead before initiating a contested river crossing. Failure to do this is an incredible oversight that cost him the battle. Part five sorry forgot the last one

After Stannis’s previous blunders lead to the annihilation of most of his army he gambles and sails north to try and win over the Northern lords. This is probably his first truly good idea in the war of the five kings. With Robb dead and the Lannister involvement in what seems to be one of the greatest war crimes in Westerosi history the Northern lords are ripe for realignment. Part 6

He crushes a numerical superior Wildling army though his force is made up of mounted knights and the Wildlings too don’t seem to utilize scouts. I would chalk this up to apparent wildling incompetence. Stannis then determines to march on the dread fort. Which is rightly pointed out by Jon Snow to be a stupid idea. Stannis then receives advice that determines his next moves. Part eight

Sorry, had to wait to submit more. Stannis then determines to march on the dread fort. Which is rightly pointed out by Jon Snow to be a stupid idea. Stannis then receives advice that determines his next moves. Stannis also seemingly wins the battle on the ice. His strategy seems to be fairly sound though he likely will receive no small amount of help from the Manderlys. Part nine

Part 10: Ultimately Stannis does not deserve his reputation. He isn’t completely incompetent. But He does not stand up the the likes of Tywin Lannister, Randyl Tarly, or Robb Stark In skill. Most of his victories are largely attributable to events that he had no control over and could not have forseen, from Melisandre’s magic to Jon’s council.

I wouldn’t worry. Whoever wrote that doesn’t really understand warfare either.

Defending against the Siege of Storm’s End was a remarkable feat of leadership. Stannis is young, and this is likely his first real test of major leadership. That he is able to handle it with only one instance of defection is no small accomplishment. A general needs to have this sense of leadership, in order to inspire his men and to get them to follow his orders. This is something we see time and again with Stannis; his troops truly do feel inspired by him, and are not simply fearing punishment for non-compliance. His men cross the burning bridge of ships during the Battle of the Blackwater, they follow him to the very edge of the world (bit of dramatic hyperbole here, but the Wall is remote and he would need to unite his men after the disastrous defeat). 

Capturing Dragonstone. I fail to see your friend’s point. Naval landings are difficult in premodern times. Stannis had to organize a fleet and land, and he had built ships to take on the Targaryen fleet. Again, that’s another part of leadership, particularly since medieval naval combat frequently had ships that would be commissioned for a purpose and then mothballed.

What we see of the Battle of Fair Isle shows instead Stannis using the terrain features and the advantages of his equipment to his full advantage. This is something I often see with amateur military analysts is this idea that good equipment is used as an excuse to dismiss battlefield accomplishment in favor of a preferred conclusion. In real battle, this isn’t the case, it’s a chaotic mess and tools and techniques still have to be used appropriately.

Now I agree that the early moves that Stannis makes in the War of the Five Kings does show that he needs his character development to grow into a better king. The need to secure alliances, and the way his poor interpersonal skills don’t make much headway with Catelyn despite her being tailor-made to support Stannis (save for that pesky Northern independence thing) do show that his problems front and center. 

I’ll be frank, your friend’s interpretation of Storm’s End suggests that he or she did no analysis the battle. I’ve seen a bunch of folks argue that on the r/asoiaf subreddit before. The facts of the matter are that Stannis forces Renly to move and nearly exhaust himself. He prepares his position and ground, he takes key advantage of Renly’s mistakes, and overall shows himself capable of winning the fight. Melisandre is often dismissed by people in our own world, but we have to remember that Planetos is a world where magic actually does stuff. I’d agree that a general in our own time who prepares for a magic bolt of lightning or something to strike down an enemy general is an idiot, but Planetos operates by different rules, and we have to make at least some sort of concession to that.

Now, we do see Stannis making a lot of mistakes in the battle, but we also see Imry Florent making most of the mistakes against tactical sense. Part of that is on Stannis, he is the senior commander, but part of that is also the problems of incompetent feudal leaders. Imry is an idiot, and he only got that position by nepotism. 

Dismissing the wildlings losses as failure to employ scouts simply doesn’t match the text. We don’t hear about the wildlings not employing scouts, what we hear instead is that Stannis joined with the Eastwatch rangers and set out. We also see that the wildlings do employ some of their forces well, particularly their mammoths, which requires Stannis to secure a breakthrough against one of the other wildling contingents to flank the mammoths and bring them down, which is good tactical maneuver to eliminate an enemy advantage.

Stannis relying on Jon for counsel being marked as a disadvantage is a completely foolish argument. Securing local intelligence to better plan and execute a military campaign is one of intelligence’s primary purposes! That’s one of the most prevalent reasons to secure friendly local sources, so that you can adequately plan with better knowledge. Stannis makes a plan, finds local sourcing which gives him better intelligence, so he changes it. That being held against him is just a bad argument, start to finish.

I noticed your friend completely omitted the capture of Deepwood Motte, and I’m guessing because it really tears a hole in their arguments. Stannis using classic military deception techniques, camouflage to hide his troops, and captures Asha as she’s trying to evacuate, all of which showcase Stannis’s intelligence and effectiveness within the military sphere.

The Battle of the Ice we see Stannis again making preparations to take advantage of local conditions. While we don’t see what it is, because we’re still waiting on the book, all of the chapters that we see of him in the fifth novel regarding this show him preparing, show him leading his men. 

Holding up Tywin Lannister as an example of a military genius is laughable, since Tywin gets beaten pillar to post by Robb Stark. His efforts to win the War of the Five Kings completely doom his house, since he violates every social taboo and engenders significant resentment to his family while doing so. I think it is possible to criticize Stannis’s mistakes in the Blackwater, without needing to minimize the actual accomplishments.

Thanks for the question, Anon. Here’s hoping you can correct your friend’s bad arguments.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- I actually though this chapter wasn’t gonna happen. But I’m a procrastinator at heart here it is. The version of Crimson and Clover quoted is the original by Tommy James and the Shondells)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7

Warnings- Angst, sort of, I guess(?)

Chapter 8- Inescapable Bitterness

"Dad!" Y/n shrieked, everything blurring, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug as she stumbled to his path, in an effort to stop him from assaulting Keanu. Standing about a foot in front of him, with her arms outstretched defensively, she racked her brain for helpful words, quickly discarding the useless and desperately searching for anything that would make their situation better. Though, in the end, all she could come up with was a ridiculous, shaky, "This isn't what it looks like."

Vaguely, in the background, Y/n could hear Keanu's confused; "It's not?" But she quickly decided that that was an issue for much later. If there was even a later after everything was over.

"Yeah?" Roger folded his arms across his chest, his shoulders under his red and black flannel tightening and the veins at the side of his neck and on his forehead prominent, "So what the hell is it?" He gave her a couple minutes to scamper for an appropriate response. Though, when not as much as a peep left her mouth, he started moving around her to get to Keanu,  "Cause it looks like Keanu's been taking advantage of my kid."

Loudly, she scoffed in disbelief, grabbing Rogers's forearms to keep him here he was, "He's not taking advantage of me, I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself."

"You're twenty-two," Roger managed, exasperated, shaking off Y/n's grip. Finally free, he approached Keanu and they stood head to head. Y/n could figure out if Keanu was just gonna take a punch or if they were going to have a full on fight, “And he’s fifty five. To him, you are a kid.”

“She’s not a kid,” Keanu managed through gritted teeth, standing tall. If he was phased by Roger, he was definitely good at hiding it.

“Yeah, you should know, right?” Neither of them made a move to get physical; her father was always more of a pacifist, getting loud if necessary but never violent, at least, not in any instance that she could recall. "You had no business."

"I didn't know she was your daughter-"

"It doesn't matter who's kid I am!" Y/n's hasty interjection was met with startled stares, "I'm an adult dad, and I'm gonna date whoever I want."

Before Y/n could speak again, Roger was interrupting, "You think I don't know that? But he's thirty years older than you. And you said it yourself; he doesn't want anything serious, so I'm not gonna stand back and let him hurt you."

She understood his point, well, she tried to; when you have kids, you want to protect them, make sure no harm came their way. But you also couldn't do it forever, there'd come a time when they'd have to make their own mistakes. And if Keanu was one of those mistakes, Y/n was willing to find out on her own. "I know," her tone softened empathically, "And I appreciate that dad, but I'm not sixteen anymore, you can't just yell at the guy I'm dating and ground me so we don't see each other again. I'm an adult and I can don’t need you to protect me all the time."

Tentatively, Keanu added, "She's right Rog-"

"No,” he turned, pointing warningly, his face still beet red with anger, “You stay out of this! God you’re-” Unable to find the words, Roger cut himself off, shaking his head, huffing so he could catch his breath. It was clear to Y/n that he was no longer willing to put up a verbal fight, though she knew that the next time they saw each other in private, all wouldn’t be as it typically was. She was definitely in for a lengthy lecture, the one she’d been duly avoiding. 

Sighing heavily, her father finally continued, his tone significantly softer that time, "Look, I get it, you're a grown up, you can do whatever you want," reluctantly, he shook his head, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, "I can't stop you. But," at that, he turned to face Keanu, his expression hardening once again, and his pointer finger jammed into Keanu’s chest, "If you hurt her, and I mean this, I will destroy you."

"I…."

Before either of them could respond, Roger was already headed for the door, the thuds of his boots heavy on the floor, not even looking back as Y/n called after him, scurrying slowly so she wouldn't actually have to grab him. "Come on. Dad," she tried one final, fruitless time, before he was pulling the door shut behind him, sound of it closing enough to bring a chilly finality to their interaction.

Y/n stood, rooted the floor, staring at the white painted double doors hopelessly. Her heart thumped erratically against her chest as panic swoll up slowly. Y/n hadn't seen her father mad at anyone like that since he'd left her mother. Just like he'd left her a few minutes ago. It was absolutely irrational, she was an adult, and the situation was completely different, but Y/n couldn't help but worry that it would end the same. That really, she was like Elane. First it was Luke, and now her own father. She hurt people too, just like her.

Her glassy eyes stung and there was a lump caught in her throat that couldn't be remedied in time to respond to Keanu's calls. Y/n's lips quivered, though she didn't have the slightest clue on if it was due to words unsaid or her sheer, though unwarranted panic. She had to fix things, she couldn't lose her father again. And it couldn't be her fault. 

"Y/n," Keanu called out to her again, that time, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Jumping slightly, a little gasp escaped her parted lips as she turned, and her paled cheeks were enough to exaggerate the emotion in her eyes. Even as she looked at him, even if he'd drawn her attention, Keanu's words seemed to have failed him and he simply stood there with her, his touch not as intimate as the ones they'd shared over the past two months, but his eyes were sympathetic and dim.

Keanu couldn't have recalled a worse time to be rendered speechless. He knew that he should have said something, anything, but nothing seemed right. He couldn't believe that he hadn't put the pieces together; her name and the things he'd heard from Roger in the past. Hell, it was probably plastered all over the fucking internet. But ignorance is bliss. 

Would he have been with her if he knew who she was? If they'd met a few years before, when he and her father were frequent poker buddies, playing rounds with a slew of other bachelors at Chateau Marmont on Thursday nights? 

Sometimes, over the summer, Roger would skip poker or whatever else they'd planned, telling everyone that he was headed to spend some time with his daughter. "She's great," he'd say, a haughty, proud smile plastered on his features as he slapped Keanu on the back, "I've gotta bring her out to meet everyone some time."

He'd never brought her.

And now, Keanu knew her. Better than any of those other men surrounding the green felt ever would. It was funny, Keanu thought, back then, he'd envy Roger, wishing that he'd have someone waiting to spend vacation with him. Someone he could spend hours talking about, being proud of. Someone he loved. Maybe a kid, maybe a wife, just anyone really. But shortly after that, he'd aged out of it, the tingle of jealousy turning into disinterest; his time for those things had passed, and all that was left were fleeting pleasures.

Reverting to the present, Keanu tired to blink the guilt away, refocusing his attention on Y/n, who still seemed tragically bewildered, "Y/n-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she sunk into herself and Keanu couldn't help but be a little grateful. He didn't think he'd do a very good job at explaining things, and he could tell that their….. companionship had hit a new level of fragility, now easily shattered by whatever came next. 

"What do you want to do?" Desperately, Keanu needed her to tell him. He wanted to fix things for her, for them, but the situation was less than familiar, it wasn't everyday that he'd get caught with his hands up a friend's daughter's blouse, and really, Keanu didn't have the slightest clue on what would make things better. It would help if she'd let him in, but he'd learnt that Y/n wasn't the type of person that was quick to do something like that; he'd have to earn the privilege of hearing her thoughts. Though seeing her like that, so shaken and in need of comfort and an emotional band aid, he ached to do something, even if it meant she'd have to spell it out.

For a moment more, Y/n regarded him curiously, as if assessing to see whether or not his offer was a genuine one. "Have a drink with me," she finally determined, slipping out of his loose grasp and heading to the kitchen.

"Why don't we go out?" Keanu offered, he knew just the place he'd take her, it was secluded and not too popular, meaning that they wouldn't have been discovered, and they served almost every kind of liquor available. It was the perfect combination of trashy and classy. 

Her hand was already gripping the handle of the refrigerator, though, it wasn't open yet when she stopped to consider his offer. Going out would be good, at least she could forget the horridity of what had not too long ago happened. "For drinks?"

"Yeah," Keanu nodded slowly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, "If we leave soon, it shouldn't take us too long to get there."

A faint ghost of a smile brushed Y/n's lips, and she let her hand fall  to her side as she nodded, “Okay, let’s do it.”

Instead of taking the bike he’d gone to her place with, they’d taken Y/n’s car after she’d showered and changed into a simple pair of black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, with a loose, lace tank top on the inside. The drive had been an hour and a half longer than Y/n had expected it to be, and she and Keanu had spent most of it in tense silence. She couldn’t figure out if she was mad at him for not trying to break it off or if she wanted it to stay that way for a while. 

For the most part, she’d spent the ride propped on her arm, jammed against the passenger door, while Keanu manned the driver’s seat, maneuvering her sleek grey vehicle with ease; five fingers easily closed around the velvet wheel covering, his other hand stationed on his thigh, never reaching over console. At some point, she’d turned the stereo on, playing what she had saved there, but the soft hum of music wasn’t enough to cut the tension swirling around the enclosed vehicle, and at some point, Y/n had shifted her gaze, to out the window, staring blindly as glittering buildings grew sparse, replaced with houses, those eventually becoming infrequent too while periods where the headlights were the only source of light growing longer and longer. Desolate desert lined the street on both sides, and it was like that for a considerable chunk of the journey, until, out of nowhere really there a bar came into sight. 

It was at the helm of what looked like a small, scantily populated town and didn’t look very credible with beat up concrete walls and a gravel filled parking lot. When Keanu parked, her Tesla stood out impressively among the less eventful cars that were there, scattered about the large lot. There weren’t many though, and when Keanu led her through the door, Y/n found that there weren’t many patrons either. 

The nameless establishment was just as she suspected, a bit worn down from years of use; upholstery boasting hints of wear and tear while the heavy wooden interior constituting the lengthy bar, chair frames and floors told their age in surface scratches and a dulled color that was mostly hidden by the dim yellow lighting. A lone television hung over one end of the counter, the rerun of a football game on mute while rock music wafted softly from speakers stationed at the corners. It wasn’t at all the kind of place that Y/n usually ventured to, with her half a handful of friends; it had a sort of eighties biker feel that she found was charming. As far as she was concerned, the bar didn’t have a name, but it had one hell of a personality. 

With a gentle hand stationed at the center of her back, Keanu led Y/n to  a circled booth at one of the corners, leaving her for a handful of minutes to get them a couple of drinks- that definitely wasn't the kind of place with a wait staff. He returned not too long after, setting down a couple glasses of whiskey neat. “I figured you’d want something strong after…..”

“Yeah,” Y/n breathed, bringing the simple glass to her lips, wincing at the burn of the alcohol. It wasn’t as smooth as the ones she’d witnessed Keanu ordering before, he had exquisite taste when it came to spirits, but it was definitely from the top shelf. “That was…..” Embarrassing? Traumatizing? Confusing?

Even if she hadn’t finished, Keanu knew exactly what she was talking about. It really wasn’t up there with the moments of his life that he wanted on mental speed dial, but it was too late, forever, probably every time he saw that armchair at her place or wore that t-shirt, Keanu would remember, and probably cringe, at that memory. It was branded into his brain. “It was,” he followed suit when Y/n took another swing of her drink, quietly hissing at the tinge of the amber liquid

Y/n took several of those ‘almost’ breaths, the kind that people took before they said something important or asked a question that they weren’t too sure of. The type where you’d inhale, but only halfway and where your chest expanded, but not noticeably so. Those breaths. “How do you know him?” When Keanu glanced up at her, the darkness of his gaze was seemingly tripled by the shoddy lighting as dark strands curtained his ruggedness. He was so attractive, so sinfully perfect, it was hard to believe that he and her father could be the same age. Why’d he have to be so handsome? 

“Your dad?” He cleared his throat, staring at his drink, probably considering downing it in one go, before looking up at her again, “When I used to live at Chateau Marmont, about….” he thought on it for a minute, “Maybe twenty years ago, he’d stay there whenever he was in Los Angeles, we’d talk in passing but didn’t really know each other personally,” Y/n listened intently, her head tilted to the side, some of her loose hair cascading over her shoulder, her head propped up by her hand as she leaned into the lip of the table. She didn’t remember anything from the time Keanu was referring to, she couldn’t have been more than a couple years old anyway. “We only got to really know each other after I moved out,” he leaned into his side of the small booth, one fist still on the table, the other hand bringing his glass to his lips, moistening his lips before he continued, “I’d still go sometimes, and then Roger- your dad,” Keanu seemed unsure of how to refer him from them on, and Y/n was too intrigued to offer anything helpful, “He told me that he was living there, he and his wife were separated.”

Y/n gasped quietly; that must have been no more than a few months before her parents’, very messy,  divorce but definitely after he’d left their home. It wasn’t breaking news that he’d spent a few years at a hotel before finding himself the Malibu pad, but Y/n just hadn’t known what hotel he’d been living at. “That’s it?” Y/n probed, referring to Keanu's long pause.

He’d hoped it was enough to appease her, though Y/n could apparently see right through him, already knowing that he was holding back, “No,” he sighed heavily, “The two of us, and some of the other regulars started playing poker together on Thursday nights, drinking and whatever,” he waved it off, not going into much more detail. “He talked about you a lot,” Keanu quirked half smile, “How smart you are, how proud he was and how lucky he was to have such a great kid.”

Huffing quietly, Y/n took another sip of her whiskey, returning his faint smile. She always knew that her father was proud of her, Roger never made any attempt to hide it, but hearing it from someone else sparked a warmness in her chest. As upset as he’d been when he left her apartment that evening, Keanu’s words were enough to instill some level of reassurance, he was still her father, and he’d always love her. 

“Did you know?” Earlier, Y/n had heard Keanu tell her father, several times, that he didn’t know who she was, but Y/n had to hear it for herself. She needed the truth, desperately.

For the first time, since they’d left her building, Keanu reached out to touch her, easing her grip from the glass and taking hold of the tips of her fingers, “I promise you,” he leaned forward, his eyes pleading with hers to believe him, “I had no idea. I should have put together somehow. If I’d known……” Keanu let the words trail off, thinking better of hurting her like that.

But Y/n wasn’t so quick to let the issue go, “If you’d known?” Keanu just carried on with absently stroking her knuckles, turning his face towards the open space of the floor left for dancing. There was no one there, everyone seemed interested in drinking and quiet chatter, but nothing more. “If you’d known,” she repeated slowly, dragging his attention back to the moment, “What would you have done?”

He probably wouldn’t have fucked her.

Probably wouldn’t have cornered her in an empty pool.

He probably wouldn’t have asked her out, or whatever he’d done.

Keanu probably wouldn't have done a lot of things.

But he couldn’t tell her that and risk hurting her. Besides, that would have been a really awkward ride back. “Come on,” he polished off his drink, pulling Y/n off the seat, gently tugging her towards the makeshift dance floor. “Dance with me,” pretending to not hear her question, or rather, blatantly ignoring it was probably his safest, least emotionally taxing option. And Keanu was going to take it and run.

“I asked you a question,” Y/n urged, though, still letting Keanu pull her to his chest. An old song was playing, one from when he was a teenager, a slow rock ballad that had been covered several times since the original.

Ah, now I don’t hardly know her But I think I could love her.

"I know," Keanu held Y/n against him, looking down at her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her middle and hers looped his neck. They swayed slowly in one place, not really in time with the beat but, unless his eyes had betrayed him, Keanu didn't think the other patrons were paying them any mind anyway. 

My, my such a sweet thing I want to do everything  What a beautiful feeling

Y/n shifted her head, casting her gaze to the glittering bottles adoring the oak shelves behind the bar, fixed on the skewed reflection of their forms of the reflective glass behind the stocks, bodies in sync though minds gravely troubled. "Aren't you going to answer me?" Her words were void of any urgency, a mere, husky whisper barely heard above the hypnotizing mantra of Tommy James.

Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over

"No," was all he offered, just as softly as her previous words, one of his hands sliding to the center of Y/n’s back. She didn’t look at him, apparently unaffected, but considering their position didn’t afford Keanu a ready view of her expression, he didn’t think he could actually determine anything. 

Keanu didn't need to tell her for either of them to know. He prided himself, well typically, on being the keeper of a strong moral compass. Infidelity wasn't something he took lightly, even if he'd proven himself wrong in recent months. But a friend's daughter? That was something else. 

Keanu didn't tell her, Y/n knew it anyway.

If he'd known, he'd have never slept with her. 

If he'd known, they wouldn't even be standing there.

It was a tumultuous thought. And the worst part? Neither of them knew if they'd preferred it that way or not.

********

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana  @allie1804-fan @keandrews  @greenmanalishi

[runner5ive]

😠!!! Grumpy apocalypse mom and our gremlin child, pretty please! 🥺

Janine and Five!

If you'd like to request something please go here to see who’s who! I've had a few requests so far and I'm starting to work through them, but there's still plenty of characters available 💕

Apologies this ones longer than I expected 😅 I just have a lot of love for Janine.

The moment Five arrives in Abel, Janine is delighted at the thought of having an actual military trained recruit in her township.

And for a while, it's exactly as she'd hoped it'd be. Five stands and salutes her whenever she walks by (even if no one else does), they do whatever tasks are given to them without argument. Hell, her name sign is 'Boss' and she is thrilled.

She thinks, for a moment, that perhaps This new soldier would be good for Abel. Maybe they'll help... reign in the other runners a little. Bring a level of seriousness to the township.

But then she starts to see Five change. Five becomes sillier, bouncier, less like a soldier and more like... like someone their own age.

And at first Janine's put down. She blames Sam and Simon for corrupting her perfect little soldier. Uncertain what she's doing wrong, she asks Five what Mullins was like, hoping for an idea of how to reign in her own runners. And so Five tells her, and Janine realises just how broken and miserable Five actually was when they arrived.

So, she figures, she might not have the perfect little soldier, but at least she has herself a happy, loyal runner.

And Five is loyal.

They don't leap to their feet every time she walks by anymore, but they always, without fail, salute her. They still call her Boss. They still do everything she asks without question. They're just... happier.

When Five thinks they'll be going back to Mullins at some point, they mostly crash on Janine's couch in the farmhouse, refusing any permenant lodgings incase they get too cosy. The minute Five decides they're staying - they move out and get their own corner of a housing tent and the farmhouse seems a lot... emptier without them there every morning and night.

Janine refuses to admit she misses them. She carries on, business as usual, certain that Five wouldn't be too bothered about seeing her other than during missions. But Five surprises her. She'll be sat in her office, pouring over documents and trying to figure out how to fairly share out rations, or planning missions. And she won't even notice anyone come in until she notices the mug of coffee and a biscuit beside her.

When she falls asleep during her work, Five will usually be the one waking her gentle, smiling warmly and giving her a friendly salute before suggesting she went to bed.

Janine is a strong, but somewhat socially awkward too. Listening to her on runs always makes them smile.

Spoilers from S1M6 below the cut:

Season 1

S1M6 Janine feels awful after leading Five into an ambush. She almost can't believe it. She was so sure they could trust New Canton, and she was wrong. She's frustrated with herself and her own poor judgement, taking it out on Sam before storming off to bed.

S1M7 When Five returns that night, dehydrated, exhausted and a little battered, Janine goes to visit them in the quarantine hospital rooms. Five is asleep, unaware she's there, but Janine is comforted at that moment just by watching them breathe.

After that, Janine shows more concern for Five in her own subtle ways. Checking they have all their supplies for long missions, making sure they have enough warm clothes in winter. She always asks Maxine for updates on their health if they ever need to go to the infirmary. She pretends not to care... but Five knows. And Five cares too.

Season 2

S2M1 Whilst Five is staying at New Canton, their cat Simon Pawchlan Feline De Luca ends ups living with Janine. She pretends to hate it, but honestly he’s good company. Plus, he’s a good mouse catcher. Though she cant help but think that the combination of hers and Simon’s names is a not so subtle hint from Five. 

S2M4 The attack on Abel practically destroyed Five's bunk. Their friends were able to salvage most of their stuff, but the broken bed and the influx of those needing housing means that Five doesn't really have anywhere to stay when they return home from New Canton. Janine act frustrated that Sam had brought them back without checking with her first, especially since there's nowhere for them to stay, but she's secretly glad they're crashing on her couch again.

With the Major back at Abel, Janine can't help but notice the same stiffness return to Five when they take orders from this stranger, and it surprises her. Because this was the Major, the one in charge, and although Five had never met her before they must know she's trustworthy.

But Five warms slowly to this new person in charge. Not many others notice because they're all treading on eggshells now the Major is back, but for Five it's different. Janine is the one to realise that perhaps she reminds them of Mullins a little too much.

Janine is also surprised to see that any orders the Major gives them, Five's eyes would dart to Janine for confirmation. Five is a loyal runner, but only to those they know, and at that point they're loyal to Janine, not the Major.

Janine doesn't mention it to them, but she keeps an eye on Five, watching over the weeks as they gradually warm up to the Major. Still, there's not the same level of trust for the Major as there is for her.

S2M40 But then it turns out there's a traitor in Abel. And there's only so many people it can be. And Janine can't help but suspect Five. Because, let's be honest, Five hadn't really been there that long. Five arrived through rather suspicious circumstances. And Five still hadn't admitted who exactly they were before the apocalypse. Not even a name.

Five is hurt that Janine suspects them. It leaves them uneasy around her. But they still refuse to give her their name. When Janine demands an explanation why not, Five struggles to sign coherently. They're upset, but they manage to get the message across: they don't like who they were before and they're trying to forget. They're trying to be better. This of course only builds more suspicion.

S2M43 The day Simon is revealed to be the traitor, Janine is devestated. Because it can't be Simon. Not Simon. Not her stupid Simon. She listens as Jamie attacks him with the bat, stunned and horrified, but also hating herself for how she suspected Five more than anyone.

When Five gets back, they run straight up to Janine and throw their arms around her, stunning Janine, who is not a hugger. She's not sure if Five is trying to comfort her or looking for comfort themself. She awkwardly pats them on the back.

That day, Five gives Janine their birthname. It's hard to do, but they do it. They tell her that if she wants to look them up, she can. They're tired of secrets. Janine waits for them to leave before searching that name, and then deleting everything she can find on them, without reading a single thing. As far as the world is concerned, Five's life started at Abel.

Season 3

S3M5 The day Five accepts to become the Head of the Runners, Janine decides to make the role official. With the promotion, Five works a lot closer with her, planning mission and training regimes, and earning an official 'Head of Runners' bedroom in Janine's house. It was a downstairs pantry, but it's a decent size and already has lots of shelves and a nice view from the window. Everyone helps to do it up so it's nice and cosy, and Five can finally move off the couch and into their own space.

Five has no idea what to do with a bedroom of their own and is very overwhelmed. More hugs for Janine, even if she's more of a handshake kind of gal.

Five has an entire shelf dedicated to the people they've lost. Sara's sunglasses, photos of Simon.

Five is a lot more cautious about Janine's wellbeing than they've ever been. There are more instances than not where Five will physically drag Janine's in her chair from her desk, seizing her work and refusing to give it back until she went and had some food.

Janine's raised, frustrated voice can usually be heard from outside, and people ask Five how they cope, since all Janine seems to do is shout at them.

Five doesn't care. Because they know Janine cares too. With their additional duties, Five's often working late, and Janine is somewhat surprised by how seriously they're taking this role. Five just wants to do her proud, which is weird because they've never really done anything to make anyone proud before. When Five falls asleep in their work, they'll wake with a blanket over them.

Mornings are cosy. They both usually get up at a similar time. Whoever gets to the kitchen first usually makes the other a hot drink, and they usually sit in silence, reading the mornings memos together.

Five knows Janine's missing Simon, but neither of them can bare to talk about him. Still, on days Janine's feeling particularly low, Five can usually tell. They give her extra buscuits these days.

Season 4

S4M22 Five is a wreck after Sam gets bit. Like, a complete mess. Everyone tries to consolidate them when they get back to Abel, but they are in self-destructive mode. They run off, and hours later Jody finds them having raided one of Simon's old whisky stashes. They're rotten drunk and barely able to stand.

They DEMAND to be taken to Tom. Their shotgun is in their hands, and there is rage on their face. Everyone's panicking, but Janine doesn't say a word. She just marches up to five, punches them in the gut so hard they drop to their knees, and yank their shotgun from their hands.

Janine refuses to take them to the infirmary, saying they just needed to sleep it off, and drags them into the farmhouse to look after them herself. It's very much tough love. This includes forcing her fingers down their throat to get them to puke up as much booze as they can, forcing them into the shower so she can hose them down, and getting them ready for bed. Five asks if she misses him, and for a moment Janine thinks they mean Sam, until she realises she'd tossed Five one of Simon's old shirts to wear as pjs. That night they sit on Janine's bed talk properly about Simon, not really speaking just quietly signing between each other, and Five ends up falling into a drunken sleep against her shoulder. Janine has no idea what to do, so she doesn't disturb them and lets them sleep. Besides, at least this way she can make sure they don't choke on their own vomit in the night.

Thankfully, Five doesn't puke on her in their sleep. They do drool a lot though.

Five knows Janine is going through some stuff when they capture Tom, and although they want to help, she refuses. Still, they're there for her. They don't even care when she threatens to court marshal them again. They just keep telling her: whatever you need, I'm there.

[always5hineee]

Hell and Back- Chapter 4: Preliminaries (Trials 2-5)

Chapter warnings: Mild language

Word count: 1401

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       As they all looked down at their screens, the next trial popped up fairly quickly. As Y/N hit the start button, one thing changed. Rather than the regular space beneath the text, there was a new string of words. Drop-Out Fee: $50. Hmm. So there was the first drop-out fee.

       "That seems like a lot of money for the second trial." Luhan commented idly.

       "Yeah..." Chen agreed. "If it increases by fifty every round, that's like a million dollars."

       "Actually, that'll only be five thousand dollars by the end." Kyungsoo corrected.

       "Whatever, imagine doing math. Anyway, it looks like we're in this for the long run now." Chen continued.

       "Guys, look at the second trial." Kris called their attention, reading it out loud. "Pick a location for trial 3... That's it? That doesn't seem difficult at all."

       "I mean, I expected them to be easy at first, but really?" Baekhyun agreed. "At this rate, we'll have our wish by the end of the day." Shrugging, Y/N tried to get them back on track.

       "So, where do we want to go?"

       "You think they'd tell us what the challenge is before we pick a location." Chanyeol muttered, a bit annoyed with the game. "Who's the limited power?" Looking down, Luhan answered him.

       "Oh... it's me."

       "Telekinesis?" D.O. wondered. "Maybe it involves moving something. We should pick a location that has stuff that's easy to move."

       "Or we just go wherever." Kris muttered.

       "Take this seriously! We don't want to be detrimental to our progress later on!"

       "Who cares? It's literally the second trial-"

       "What about we stay in the practice room?" Suho offered, trying to defuse them both. "Except for some of the speakers, everything's super easy to move, and we're familiar with it. It's not too small, we can all fit comfortably, and there's access to windows and water and everything we might need. Sound good?"

       No one really had an objection, so they chose to move onward with that plan. Looking at the controls, Y/N noted that there was a 'Choose Location' button where the 'Start Round' used to be. Selecting it, a smaller pop-up appeared. Are you sure you'd like to submit your current location for Trial 2? She pressed Accept, watching as the pending trial boasted completion.

       "Well... are we starting trial 3?"

       "I don't see why not." Suho allowed her to press the next button. As she was starting to get used to , the words faded away to give leave to new ones. "Trial 3: Break Items" Underneath, the italics read Each person is required to adequately destroy one item of their choice. You will have thirty minutes to do so. Moving on, it also read, Drop-Out Fee: $50 and Restricted: Luhan

       "So you can get restricted two times in a row?" Luhan asked, waving his hands, a bit annoyed.

       "I guess. It makes sense that they'd choose you, though. Assuming we had picked a more difficult place, you could just lift stuff up and slam it into the ground." Kyungsoo pointed out.

       "Sure,  but you could probably crush stuff up just as easily." He argued.

       "It doesn't matter, it's not like I'm the one picking. Let's focus on completing the trial. We have-" He looked down to check. "Twenty-nine minutes and fourteen seconds left."

       "I don't wanna break anything in here!" Baekhyun panicked. "All our instruments and stuff are valuable, and they have memories!"

       "Do you think it would count if I just set off the explosive and destroyed a bunch of shit?" Kris asked, joking of course.

       "Why are you already trying to blow something up?" Sehun asked, irritated.

       "All of you calm down!" Y/N said putting her hands out as she watched the group go wild separately. "No one has to destroy anything important. And there definitely doesn't need to be any blowing things up. There are definitely plenty of pencils, sheet music, old cups- useless stuff in here."

       "Oh. That's actually a good point." Chen thought. Reaching over to pick up an old napkin, he tore it apart into little pieces, letting it flutter to the floor. A small counter appeared next to the bar. 1/13. This was going to be more simple than even she had expected. They all found something irrelevant to rip apart, from a plastic bag to a pencil with a flat eraser. Kris was still mildly disappointed that he had no opportunity to use an explosive, but at least they had no troubles. They completed the challenge with 24 minutes remaining.

       As it disappeared, she thought about bringing up the ease at which they were continuing, but she didn't want to run it into the ground. She simply pressed the continue button. After all, they had been mentioning it for every trial. She could only hope that the next trial proved just as-

       "Ew!" Kai said in disgust. It had been a while since he'd chimed in, but apparently the new challenge was not to his taste. Looking down in concern, she read it out.

       "Eat a piece of the object you have just destroyed. You do not have to ingest the full object, and it is of no matter whether you swallow it whole or chewed up. You have fifteen minutes." Sure enough, the counter was right there, ticking down. Not only that, but the restricted power was Kai's. He was already complaining about it.

       "What were you gonna do, teleport it into your stomach?" Chen asked laughing, pushing Baekhyun playfully in the shoulder to get him to join in on the joke.

       "For real, as if you could even aim for it properly!" He said back, sending the two into another fit of laughing.

       "Guys, stop." She reprimanded them for what had to have been the millionth time. "We only have thirteen minutes-" She looked down, noting another changed number. "Wait, who already ate theirs??"

       "Me." Luhan said nonchalantly.

       "Are you serious?" Kai asked, looking like he wanted to throw up.

       "Man, it's not that hard. Literally just swallow it like a pill. Tao's the worst off, he had a pencil." As they looked to him, though, he was in the process of swallowing a tiny chip of wood, sending the counter up again.

       "It's not worth the trouble, just do it." Kai, being the drama queen he was, made a fantastic theatrical performance out of having to eat a little piece of the paper he ripped up, but they finally managed to get him to do it. Watching as the trial cleared, she looked to the next one.

       "Trial 5: Switch clothes." She read out loud.

       "Excuse me?" Sehun asked curiously. "With who?" Pointing to the phone, Suho answered his question.

       "It says, 'For each person, each piece of clothing should belong to a different team member, excluding those wearing two undergarments'" Breathing a sigh of relief, Y/N was happy to hear that she wouldn't be put in too awkward a situation.

       "I call Y/N's-" Lay started to ask with a laugh.

       "No!" Suho cut him off, trying to get everyone in order. "We just need to go by size. Everyone who's closest in size should just kind of pass off clothes, okay?" This mostly made sense to them. For instance, Kris and Chanyeol traded pants because they were of similar heights. The shirts didn't matter as much, although Kai had to switch twice due to a size issue. While it was uncomfortable, it was complete.

       "Alright, let's-" Y/N started to say, before looking confused. "Wait... where's the start button?" When she clicked out of the current tab trying to figure out what was wrong, a pop-up banner covered her screen.

       Congratulations! You have completed the preliminary trials. Welcome to Round 2!

       "Round 2?" Tao asked, confused. "It didn't say this was categorized by rounds."

       "Look at the description, though." Suho pointed out. Reading it, they picked up a few important piece of information.

       Round 2 will consist of 26 trials, two for each player. If a player cannot continue or chooses to drop out, the trial will be delegated to another player and the initial failed player will be penalized with the drop-out fee. Other players may help the active player, but one will be restricted as per earlier game rules. Round two will end after trial 31.

Go to Chapter 5

[ahiddenpath]

36 Questions to Make You Fall in Love

SO my boy Eugene Lee Yang released a video where he answered the 36 first date questions to make you fall in love.  Apparently, the idea of the questions is to create an emotional connection upfront.  

(Related: It’s been interesting to see what Youtube/video content creators have come up with to produce content from home during quarantine!).

ANYWAY I thought it was an interesting “get to know you” thing, so I’MMA DO IT TOO below the cut!  It is extremely long.

1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

I have way too much anxiety to impose on a stranger to this extent, so I’d magically have my friends teleported to my home (pre or post quarantine).

2. Would you like to be famous? In what way?

Fame is a nightmare scenario for me.

3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

Yes, but only with service providers.  I can and will utterly blank on what I need and what my dang name is when asked, “How can I help you?”

4. What would constitute a "perfect" day for you?

Ha!  Right now, just a day without covid-19.  I miss the outside world.  Even things like browsing a store sound heavenly.

But...  The best days of my life thus far were my Hawaii vacation, especially snorkeling and hiking through a rain forest.  So...  I’d want a day where I wake up early in Hawaii to snorkel and hike, and then drink mai tais and watch the sunset with my husband.

5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

...I sang “Let’s All Sing Like the Birdies Sing” in the shower today...

6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

Oh, yikes, my mind.  My mother’s father started degrading from Alzheimer’s when I was about 10.  

(I’m assuming this refers to having a healthy mind throughout your life, and not remaining frozen in your 30-year-old mindset/experience set).

7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

No, not at all.  Definitely hoping it’s not Alzheimer’s related.

8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.

Well, I assume you and I both love Digimon!

As for my husband, we’re alike in habits and hobbies, but different in personality.  We’re both introverted homebodies who love video games/nerd stuff in general/learning.  We also highly value security, so we tend to work hard and save.  I’d say we’re both grounded and reasonable, although I’m the more emotional one.

9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

This is too hard!  I’m constantly feeling so grateful.  I love existing as me!  I seem to have a strong sense of self, and of where I stand, and that’s so dope.  I’m also intensely grateful for my husband, who is so generous with his love and affection and care.  And I’m glad that I found a career that suits me so well.

10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

Er.  

I had a difficult childhood.  It’s hard, because my Mom loves me and my brother and sacrificed so much for us...  But she (and all of our relatives) failed to protect me from my father’s various flavors of abuse.  We were both also under a ton of pressure to excel academically.

Still, I can’t change the past.  I’d rather donate to women’s shelters and resources for people dealing with abuse at home.

11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

Let me bullet point it:

-Spent most of my time from 6 months old to 2 years old in a body cast because my hip wasn’t in the socket, and my muscles developed around it like that.  Went to tons of physical therapy.

-Drew comics when I was 3 and 4 because I needed to get ideas out, such as they were, but I couldn’t write yet.

-I love cats, and have had at least one since I was five.

-My home situation was rough.  I started trying to plan how to get out and be independent early and have been working and saving since I was 16.

-Interests/hobbies: animals, singing, nature, science, books, music, writing, video games, art, baking

-Met and started dating my husband at age 14.  We’re blissfully married.

-First job was at an aquarium.  Worked summers at a biotech firm during college.  I’ve been working in biotech since I graduated.  I currently research immunotherapies.  I have a B.S. in biology.

-I have general anxiety disorder and see a therapist every other week.  Therapy has been amazing, A+ would recommend.

-I’m an asexual cis lady

-I need to read and write to stay sane.  Reading connects my mind to other minds, which helps me grow, understand, and think.  Writing releases the pressure that builds up in my brain.

-I’m introverted, but friendly.  Also, I’m an enormous dork.

12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

Teleportation

13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?

No, thanks.  I realize the point is to share information about myself through my response, but...  This just isn’t how humans are meant to live.  We’re supposed to discover our way and forge our futures, not have answers magically handed to us.

14. Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven't you done it?

...Sigh.  My husband and I have dreamed of visiting Japan since we were teens.  We were just starting to plan the trip when covid-19 hit.  Thankfully, we hadn’t booked anything yet.

15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

Being me, being happy, whole, fulfilled, and confident.  There’s no one magic accomplishment that makes everything “worth it” or makes me feel like I “made it.”

16. What do you value most in a friendship?

Oh, oh, oh, there’s a lot to this!  Obviously, a friend needs to be kind (you don’t want to spend time with a jerk), but they also need to be emotionally mature (lending a kind ear is good, but functioning as a therapist for a friend is exhausting).  But it’s the best if a friend has both of those things, but also is interesting in some way.  Like... maybe they’re funny, or charismatic, or share your hobbies.  And it’s a great feeling when a friend reaches out to you and makes time for you now and then; it’s a vulnerable feeling to always be the one to reach out.

17. What is your most treasured memory?

My first kiss, which was with my husband when we were 15.

Also, my entire trip to Hawaii with my husband.

18. What is your most terrible memory?

I’ll probably go with the time my father called me into his room while I was doing homework- I was probably 16ish?  He told me I’d never be as smart, talented, or successful as my brother, at great length, for no discernible reason.  He said I’d have to work more than twice as hard as him to get by, since I was so deficient.  I still have nightmares where this replays.

19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?

I would say that I would quit my job and travel with my husband, but...  You know, covid-19.  I’d want to spend a ton of time with my husband, see as much as I can of the world, and do whatever I can to get details in order and make things as easy on my husband as possible.  

20. What does friendship mean to you?

It means that you love someone and actively want them in your life, and you treat them as such.

Life is short, and people only have so much physical and emotional energy.  If you choose to freely and joyfully give it to someone, then that’s a big deal.

21. What roles do love and affection play in your life?

???  Same as anyone else, I’d assume.  People need people, although everyone has different levels of need.  I guess I do tend to avoid casual relationships so I have more energy for my closest relationships.  I’m also extremely independent, so I think my needs are smaller than average.  

22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.

I assume that you, reader, are a cutie pie.  Hello!

But let me talk about my husband!  He is wicked smart, always learning for fun, and skilled at logic/reasoning.  He’s also a hard worker, and the head of software development at his company at age 31.  He is sooo shy and terrible at small talk, but I adore that he’s the quiet type, since the world is always so loud.  He’s gentle and loving and kind, and he takes amazing care of me and is constantly looking for ways to do something for me.  And he’s laid back and easy-going, which is so soothing.  

23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people's?

No and no.

24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?

It’s... complicated.

25. Make three true "we" statements each. For instance, "We are both in this room feeling ... "

WE ALL STAN THE CHOSEN.  We are all excited for the Digimon Reboot to restart.  We all love Koushiro!

26. Complete this sentence: "I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... "

...I want more writing and reading friends.

27. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.

I’ve had to explain to a lot of people that, despite being friendly and open, I’m introverted and independent, and a total homebody.  I often find that people want to go to bars with friends, or maybe see movies or go to festivals.  I would rather talk on a video chat while we each do our own thing.  People tend to want too much too fast for my slow, cautious pace.

28. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you've just met.

I like that you love Digimon and have somehow managed to read this much of this never-ending thing.  Also, you look cute.

29. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.

I asked my husband out over the phone when I was 14.  I was sitting on a wooden chair that was far, far older than me.  Because I was so nervous, I was rocking the chair back and forth.

It splintered and broke while I was trying to ask my husband to my school’s homecoming dance, pitching me to the floor in the middle of the most crucial sentence.

30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?

Yikes, this is a lot, but I last cried in front of my therapist.  I asked out loud, for the first time, why no one did anything to protect me as a kid and ended up bawling.  

I can’t remember the last time I cried alone.  Generally, I go to my husband for support.

31. Tell your partner something that you like about them already.

Your fine, fine taste in blogs.

32. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?

You know, I’m not sure.  Millennials tend to have fairly dark/nihilistic senses of humor.  I will say that, generally speaking, you should only “punch upward.”  Ie, don’t kick people who are down.  It’s better to joke about the rich than the poor, for example.

33. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven't you told them yet?

Sometimes I wish I could articulate some things to my parents, but they wouldn’t hear me, anyway.  I know because I’ve tried.  

But my loved ones know I love them, so that’s taken care of.

34. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?

The boring and honest answer is my important documents and my computer/external hard drive/charger/cellphone, followed by a fire extinguisher.   But I realize the question is about what physical items I hold dear, so...  Assuming my wedding bands are already on my finger, like always, and that I am wearing my glasses and some clothes, I’d grab my grandmother’s clock.

35. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?

Jesus Tap-dancing Christ.

My husband’s.  I love him beyond compare.

36. Share a personal problem and ask your partner's advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.

I’m 31, and I’ve been thinking a lot lately about whether or not I want children.  The trouble is, I feel like my country has gotten so much worse since I’ve been alive, and especially over the last four years (I’m American).  Meanwhile, the environment is deteriorating globally...  Would my child even have clean drinking water when they’re 30 or 40?

Is it ethical to have children under these circumstances? 

And this is all before I even address the question of whether or not I want to be a mother, or if I think I would be a good mom!  Yikes.

THAT WAS A LOT, are you still here?  Thanks for reading xD

[singingisfun]

Changing Tides - Chapter 22

link to cover art by @otpapprovedbythegods

And here’s a link to an adorable pic of Dopey as a pirate by @clockadile

ff.net: From the beginning - Current Chapter

AO3:  From the beginning - Current Chapter

Tumblr: Prologue - Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9-Ch 10 - Ch 11- Ch 12 - Ch 13 - Ch 14 - Ch 15 - Ch 16 - Ch 17 - Ch18 - Ch19 - Ch 20 - Ch 21

Chapter 21: The Confession & The Declaration

Hello everyone! No, you're not seeing things. I've finally finished the next chapter! Thanks for all of the encouraging messages. Sorry it took so long. Hopefully, the last few chapters will go faster. Lots of love for sticking with me! Hope you enjoy!

Rachel

And, as always, thank you @optomisticgirl for your beta services!  

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Dopey has always prided himself on his ability to see the best in every situation.  And he’s always endeavored to encourage others to see it as well.  Life can be stressful.  It can be fraught with danger.  And in the case of those closest to him, stress and danger are a regular occurrence which, at times, has made his goal nearly impossible to accomplish.

And it certainly has been impossible for the past week.  The blanket of anxiety that has settled over the Jolly Roger since the night they escaped Regina’s warship has been nearly suffocating.  Everyone is tense.  Everyone on edge.  And no amount of distraction is helping.  

The Spark of Prometheus is still unlit.  Regardless of how many times Emma and Killian try to light it, it continues to lay stubbornly in its case, dull and black.  And with each failed attempt, the peace the two of them had forged since finding each other again has deteriorated.  In fact, it’s gotten so bad, they are barely speaking.

For instance, right now. There they are at the helm with Merlin while he holds the case and murmurs encouragement.  Killian’s hand is resting on Emma’s waist, but that’s the only point of contact between the two of them.  Emma’s hands are balled into fists at her sides, her brow glistening with perspiration and her eyes clamped shut in concentration.  

No one else is on deck and Dopey can’t blame them.  During the first few attempts, everyone had been gathered around, watching expectantly, but now they intentionally make themselves scarce.  Even Merlin looks like he wishes he could be anywhere else.

Long minutes pass, and Emma’s breathing becomes harsh.  Her eyes squeeze tighter and her head bows.  Then, with a sound of frustration, she stomps her foot and opens her eyes.  

Killian’s hand drops from her waist and Emma mumbles something Dopey can’t hear.  Then she turns and walks to the hatch, disappearing from view. Killian shakes his head and walks to the opposite hatch.

Dopey sighs and goes back to polishing the Jolly’s bell.

The way Dopey sees it, there are two obstacles standing in their way.  

First, David.  As much as he loves his king, the man is hell bent on keeping Killian and the princess from having more than a few minutes alone.  His protective nature was a bit comical at first, but as time has passed, it’s become clear the king is hindering more than the couple’s… um…  romantic tendencies.  

The second reason is less obvious. At least to most.  But Dopey can see it plain as day.  Killian is keeping something from Emma.  A secret that weighs heavily on him.  And he’s been keeping it from her since the first day she awoke on the Jolly Roger.  

“Do you know what it is?”

The sound of Merlin’s voice startles Dopey so thoroughly that he drops the scrub brush to the deck with a clatter.  

Turning, he faces the wizard with wide eyes.

“Do you know what he’s keeping from her?” the wizard asks again.

Confused, Dopey turns to scan the deck behind him to see who on earth Merlin is addressing.  Finding no one in the vicinity, he looks to the other man and points to his chest.  Me? he thinks.  

“Yes, you, Dopey,” the man confirms.

I… I don’t…  You can hear me?

“Yes, I can.”

That takes a minute to process. Dopey has never had a full conversation with anyone.  He’s always been limited to hand gestures and the occasional nod, so the thought that Merlin can understand him is a bit awe-inspiring.

A grin breaks across Dopey’s face. This is amazing!

Merlin mirrors his smile. “No more amazing than your innate skill of observation.  I’d be willing to bet you know more about the goings on in this kingdom than anyone, even the king himself.”

Dopey didn’t think his eyes could get any wider, but now they feel like they’re ready to burst from their sockets.

The wizard is right, though. He does know more than anyone. People tend to disregard his presence most of the time.  It’s almost like his inability to speak renders him invisible, which has made it very simple for him to learn a great many things.  Of course, his knowledge is all for naught since he can’t communicate it, but…

“You can now,” the wizard says.

Right.  Wow.  

Dopey bows his head, his brow wrinkling.  Now, what’s the one thing I’ve always wanted to - Oh! He looks up to Merlin as the thought gushes out.  Doc and Granny have been having an affair for almost five years now but they’ve kept it secret because, when we were young, the seven of us swore we would always put our brotherhood first which included never getting involved with a woman.  Whew! It feels good to get that off my chest. But – you can’t tell anyone.  Doc will have my head if you do.

Merlin laughs outright. “How long have you been holding that one in?”

A long time.

“Well, their secret is safe with me.”

Thanks.

“What about Killian?  Do you know what he’s keeping from Emma?”

Sorry, no.  I just know he’s keeping it from her.  Something catches his eye and he points over the water. Oh, look!  A baby dolphin!  Isn’t she sweet!  I wonder where her mother is…

“Dopey, focus,” Merlin says, bringing Dopey’s attention back to him. “Are you sure he hasn’t mentioned anything?”

Nope. But can’t you see it?  I mean, you can see things, right?  Things you weren’t actually there to witness?

“Yes, but not everything.  I can’t pick and choose what to look at.”

Dopey eyes scan the water as he replies, Well, I’m not sure it makes a differ – Oh there she is! Look!  He points over the rail to the mama dolphin who has just emerged next to her calf.

This time, Merlin spares a glance over the rail and a grin flitters across his face.  “Yes, the mama won’t let her get too far.  But back to Killian and Emma?”

Oh, right, well, I’m not sure it matters what the secret is.  Only that he won’t tell her.

“Fair enough.  But why wouldn’t he?”

Dopey thinks back to the first day Emma awoke and tells Merlin about the whole ‘pirate’ issue.

“Ah, I see,” Merlin replies.

And… Well…

“Well, what?”

Well, I’m not sure having the king here is helping matters.  

“You’re right about that,” Merlin says.  “We need to figure out a way to get him to go back to Camelot.”

Any ideas?

“Usually the simplest way is the best one.”

And that is?

“Tell him the truth,” Merlin replies.

Predictably, the king is none too happy about the suggestion.

“You can’t be serious!” David bursts.

“Unfortunately, I am, Your Majesty,” Merlin replies.

The king’s arms are crossed over his chest but he drops them to his sides.  “I’m not leaving my daughter!”

“David – ” the wizard tries again.

“No.  I’m not going back to Camelot without her!”

“But they need time alone.”

“They can have time alone.”

Dopey can’t stop the pfft that comes out of his mouth but when David turns his fury on him, he sidesteps to stand behind Merlin.

“Your Majesty, please,” Merlin says in a calm voice, “I know you can see Emma’s frustration growing.  She and Killian need to talk.  And it’s not the type of discussion either of them can have if they’re worried about you hovering around.”

"I don't 'hover'!"

Merlin lets his silence answer.  

"Okay, fine.  Maybe I hover a little.  But if I didn't..."

"If you didn't, what?"

"Don't treat me like a fool, wizard.  I know damn well they were sharing a cabin before I showed up."

"And I feel certain they'll share one after you leave."

David’s voice takes on a dangerous edge.  “If that’s your way of trying to talk me into going, I can assure you it’s not helping.”

This from the man who snuck into Snow White’s room every night for a solid week before their wedding, Dopey thinks.

“Did he?” Merlin asks, turning to Dopey with interest, “Did he really?”

“’Did he really,’ what?” David asks.

Merlin smiles at Dopey.  “You really are a font of information, aren’t you?”

Dopey shrugs and Merlin shakes his head in wonder.

“You and I are going to have to have a little sit down later to see what else you know.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” David growls.

Merlin turns back to David but amusement still lights his face.  “We were just discussing a castle wall you figured out how to scale in your youth.”

David’s eyes widen then land on Dopey.

“You knew about that?”

Dopey tilts his head and gives David a sardonic look.

“It doesn’t matter,” David declares, “This is a completely different situation.  Snow and I were – ”

“True Loves?”  Merlin interrupts.

David grits his teeth.

“Look, there’s more to this than just giving them time.  Think of all the things you could do in Camelot.  You could prepare for our arrival, find out if Arthur has found the other half of the dagger, coordinate with the other kingdoms.  There’s not much time left and a great deal that still needs to be done.”

David remains steadfast, shaking his head.  “Then, you go,” he says to Merlin, “Check in with Lance and come back and give us a full report.”

Merlin rolls his eyes.  “You think if I return to Camelot without you, Lancelot will answer a single one of my questions?  If you’ll recall, he wasn’t too keen on you joining me in the first place.”

“I can write him a letter.  Explain everything.”

“And he’ll think I forged it or forced you to write it.”  

“Then we’ll wait,” David asserts, “We’ll be there in two days, anyway.”

Merlin lets out a long-suffering sigh.  “Okay,” he says, “You don’t want to leave your daughter. I understand that and I sympathize. But they’re further from lighting it today than they were the day after we escaped the Regina’s warship.”

“That can’t be…”

“It is,” Merlin insists.  “If you don’t believe me, watch our next attempt.  We’ll be trying again after dinner.”

“Fine.”

K&EK&EK&E

Three hours later, David has to admit Merlin might be right.  He’s standing on deck, subtly observing the lesson.  

Tension radiates from the couple standing at the bow.  Killian stands behind Emma, his hand on her hip but keeping an obvious and awkward distance between their bodies.

As David watches, Emma releases a frustrated growl and opens her eyes.

Killian drops his hand from her waist.  “Emma…” he says gently.

“If you tell me I need rest again… “

Killian’s mouth snaps shut.

Looking back to Merlin, Emma adds, “I think we’re done for the day.” Then stalks away and disappears into the ship.

Killian stands immobile as he watches her go, an indecipherable emotion crossing his face that causes David’s brow to wrinkle.  It’s not anger.  It’s not frustration.  It’s something else…  Defeat, maybe?  No. Not with the way his eyes cloud and his jaw tightens.

Killian mumbles something to Merlin and goes off in the opposite direction Emma had taken, stopping at the rail to look out over the water. David stays where he is, apprehensive curiosity holding him frozen.  

What the hell is going on?

He watches the pirate run his hand through his hair and lean over, bracing his elbows on the rail.  His shoulders are slumped, his head bowed and realization slams into David’s chest.  

Guilt.  

David’s not sure how he knows, but that’s what the indecipherable emotion had been.  Guilt.

Guilt and fear.  

Over what? David wonders.  

“He’s keeping something from her,” Merlin says in a low voice, having crossed the deck to stand beside him.

“Do you know what it is?” David asks.

“I have my suspicions.”  

David continues to study the pirate’s defeated posture and things start falling into place.  This is the reason for that look they shared when they read the prophecy, when they found out they were True Loves.  Apparently, it was an issue before he even showed up on this ship, he’s just been too distracted by other things to see it until now.

“Something that happened while they were separated?”

“Yes.”

While they were separated… which the prophecy said they should never be.  

“Now do you understand why you need to give them space?”

Resigned, David bows his head.  “Yes,” he replies, “I guess I do.”

“Good,” Merlin says.  “So, you’ll go back to Camelot?”

It’s a struggle to be sure.  He doesn’t want to leave Emma.  He’s just gotten her back and the thought of willing saying goodbye to her makes his stomach churn.  It’s not just about the thought of her and Killian sharing a bed.  She’s his little girl.  His family.  

He’s waited years…  Years of solitude in Camelot.  Years of being cooped up while others were out doing.  And the past week, while he’s been on this ship, he finally feels like he’s contributing.  

The end of this is near and his patience is thin.  He’s always been a man of action.  And the thought of going back to the virtual prison of Camelot, grates under his skin.  

“Couldn’t I just stay out of their way?”

Merlin’s voice is sympathetic. “I don’t think that will work. They need privacy.  The kind of privacy that excludes parental supervision.”

David’s thoughts take a dark turn at Merlin’s phrasing.

“Not like that,” Merlin adds quickly.  

David huffs out a breath.  “Fine.  But I’m going to have a talk with a certain pirate before I go.”

  K&EK&EK&E

 After staring at the ocean for what feels like an eternity, Killian turns and heads below.  Hesitating on the bottom step, his eyes dart toward his cabin where he knows Emma is but he goes in the opposite direction toward the galley.  

Despite his somber mood, amusement tickles at his lips when he enters the room. He’s never seen the galley look so warm and inviting.  Ruby has put her unique staple on it.  The spices are lined up on the counter in pristine order, a plate of cookies made to look like different animals sits on the table, and where on earth she managed to find a cloth to cover the scarred wood, he’ll never know, but the room looks more suited to royalty than a rowdy pirate crew.  Smiling, he chooses a cookie that was obviously made by Grace, a line of sugar used to draw what would usually be a menacing tiger’s snarl now a happy grin.  

Rolling his shoulders, he pops the cookie into his mouth and sits down to reach for the scroll still sitting in the middle of the table.  He’s read it enough times over the past few days that he could recite it by memory, but he opens it anyway.

He’d been right.  It will be Emma against Regina – every one of his greatest fears confirmed – the now certain fate that the woman he loves is the only hope for the realm.  

His True Love.  

She’s his True Love.

It’s the most powerful magic of all.  Or at least it’s supposed to be.  And yet, when they faced Regina it wasn’t enough.  And that’s his fault…

Stuffing another cookie in his mouth, he leans back and stares at the ceiling.

“Do you have a minute?”

Killian’s eyes swing to the door to find King David on the threshold.  

Standing, he nods and David enters the room.  

“Please sit.”  David says, crossing to take the empty chair on the opposite side of the table.  

David leans forward to study the plate of cookies, taking his time making his choice.

He holds one up.  “What is this one supposed to be, do you think?”

It’s an odd opening for the king.  David is usually the type to get right to the point but for whatever reason, he’s taking his time today.  

Killian examines the cookie.  “My guess would be a dragon.”

David nods, still considering the cookie.  “You may be right.”  

At long last, he breaks a piece off and pops it into his mouth, then he sits back in his chair, eyeing Killian while he chews.  

“I’m going back to Camelot tonight.”

It’s the last thing Killian expected to hear and his mouth drops open.

“I don’t really want to leave Emma, but it would be better for me to return ahead of the rest of you so that we can prepare for your arrival.”

He pushes a map across the table and Killian sees an ‘X’ that has been added since the last time they spoke.

“This is where I want you to dock.  It’s remote but the cliffs are easily defended and the cove will provide privacy for us.”  

Killian looks more closely at the map, examining the area to see if he can identify any potential danger.  

The king drums his fingers on the table while he waits, and after a few minutes of study, Killian drops the map.  

“It’s an excellent choice, Your Majesty.”

David doesn’t respond, he just keeps drumming his fingers, his eyes narrowed and on Killian’s face.  

After a few tense moments, during which Killian has to resist the urge to squirm, David finally speaks.  “Are you still planning to marry my daughter, Captain?”

Killian can feel his eyes widen, but before he can reply, the king continues.

“Because your engagement is still official to my mind.”

“I… well… I hadn’t really…”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” David says with a touch of derision.

“I – I mean, we – we haven’t really discussed…”

“You love her,” David says, reaching for the prophecy.  “You can’t say you don’t.  The proof is right here.”

“It’s not a question of love.  It’s…”

“It’s what, exactly?”

It’s a question of whether she’ll still want me when this is over, Killian thinks.  But he can’t say that, so instead he bites at his lip and lowers his gaze to his lap, idly twirling the ring on his thumb.  

Several heartbeats pass in silence before the king speaks again.

“You want to marry her, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do,” he replies instantly, “But…”

“But, what?”

Sucking in a harsh breath, he regards his king.  David isn’t going to let this go.  And Killian can’t blame him.  The king isn’t a fool and he’s surely aware that Emma and he have already… consummated their relationship.  But the thought of voicing the doubts plaguing him makes his stomach churn.  

His silence prompts David to sit back in his chair and let out a small sigh.  

“I’ve heard a lot of stories about you, you know.  Stories of the ruthless pirate, Captain Hook.  Some were brutal, some were impressive, and some were simply outlandish.  I imagine the truth lies somewhere in the middle.”

It’s doesn’t surprise Killian that David has honed in on the real issue. He’s intuitive and smart and misses very little.

“I’m not asking what you did,” the king continues, “but you need to talk to Emma about it.  If you’re afraid she won’t understand – ”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Killian interrupts, but then sucks in a deep breath.  “No, that’s a lie.  I am afraid she won’t understand.  But that’s not…  all.  It’s…” He picks the scroll up and holds it out.   “I love her. She loves me.  Like you said, the proof is right here but…”

“But what?” David prompts.

“What if that’s not enough?”

“How do you mean?”

“Merlin told us that our magic is light magic.  Its power is fueled by good.  So what if I tell her and our magic still isn’t powerful enough?  What if that power has been diminished because I’m… dark?”

“But you’re not.  Not anymore.”

“Maybe.  But I lived in darkness for a long time.  I’ve done some terrible things.  And I do regret some of them.  But others I don’t.”

David regards him in silence for a long moment before speaking.  “Everything you did – every choice you made – brought you here.  It brought you back to my daughter.”  

“Yes. It did.  But you don’t understand.  That darkness, it’s…  it’s still there.  I can feel it inside me.  So if I tell her.  And if she forgives me… What if that’s not enough?”

“You’ll never know until you try.”  The soft feminine voice has both of their heads swinging toward the threshold where Emma is standing, silently watching them.  

Both he and David freeze, but the king recovers quickly.  

“I’d say that’s my cue,” he says, standing and crossing to his daughter. “I’ll see you in a few days, pumpkin.”

“A few days?” she asks.

“Yes, I’m going back to Camelot tonight.  Merlin is taking me.  I’ll ensure everything is ready for your arrival.”

“But I don’t want you to – ”

“Merlin – and Dopey – think it’s better this way, and as much as I don’t want to agree with them, I do.”

Emma’s smile is a bit sheepish but she nods her head.

The two embrace before David crosses back to Killian and extends his hand. Killian takes it and nearly winces at the strength of the king’s grip.  

“You will marry her,” he says in a voice low enough that Emma won’t hear.  “Do you understand me, pirate?”

When Killian nods his agreement, David releases his hand and Killian immediately shakes it out to allow the blood to flow again.  

“Good,” David says, then raises his voice back to a normal level.  “I’ll see you both in Camelot.”

K&EK&EK&E

 Regina is sitting in her storeroom, pouring over her books when the door swings open.  She snaps her head up in annoyance at the interruption but before she can react, Claude steps in, his pace urgent.

“Sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty, but there’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

“I think it’s better if you see for yourself, my queen.”

Regina’s brow wrinkles. It’s not like Claude to speak in riddles so whoever it is must have substantially flustered him.  With a long-suffering sigh, she lays the book down and stands.  

Claude follows her out and half-way down the corridor motions to four other knights to flank her. His concern piques her curiosity. It’s not usual for her to have bodyguards.  She doesn’t really need them and Claude knows that and yet, for some reason, today he feels she does.  

Who on earth would warrant such a display?

The doors in front of her swing open and she stutters to a halt, her eyes widening.  

Well, that answers that question.  

Of all the people in the world, this would have been one of the last people she would have expected to show up on her doorstep.  

Her guest turns, eyes meeting hers.  They size each other up for a heartbeat then her guest inclines their head with a quirk of a smile, “Your Majesty.”

Regina raises a brow. “What do you want?” she asks, refusing to deal with pleasantries.

Their smile spreads into a full-fledged grin.  “A great many things.  But let’s start with what I can offer.”

 K&EK&EK&E

 Emma follows behind Killian as he leads her to his quarters.  He hasn’t said a word since her father left them in the galley and his shoulders are stiff and set.  

He holds the door open and lets her proceed him into the room.  Once she reaches the center she turns to see him leaning against the now closed door, watching her.  

A distant ‘whooshing’ sound has her glancing to the deck above them, and she tries to smile.  

“Alone at last,” she comments in an attempt to lighten the mood.

But Killian doesn’t smile, his expression doesn’t change at all.

“I think, perhaps, you should sit down, love.”  

His voice is flat but not harsh and she complies, taking a seat at the table and folding her hands.

Crossing to his desk, he pulls out a bottle of rum and two glasses.  He pours both, then drinks one and refills it before crossing back to the table to hand one to her.   She stays silent, worried that any word from her would only make his anxiety worse, so she simply throws her head back and downs the contents of her glass, laying it gently on the table when she’s done.  He’s already turned away again, studying the amber liquid in his own glass as he swirls it around, then with a long exhale, he lifts the glass to his lips and swallows.

Keeping his eyes on the empty glass, he begins, his words slow and controlled, “The news came of your death while we were still in the Evil Queen’s dungeon.  The guards celebrated it, cheering in the corridors and rattling their swords along the bars – taking immense pleasure in taunting all of us.  Our kingdom was lost.  Our beloved queen was cursed, our brave king on the run and our beautiful princess dead and…”

He trails off, dropping his chin to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut as though trying to fend off the pain rising in him.  After taking a moment to gather himself, he lifts his head, his gaze unfocused somewhere on the wall in front of him.  

“I nearly died in that cell. My wrist was infected and I was burning with fever, and losing you took away all the will I had left to live. But I hallucinated, you see…. vivid hallucinations of you galloping across an open field of flowers, of walking through the woods, and I…  I just…” his voice starts to rise, “I thought I’d know it if you were gone.  I thought I’d feel it and I… I didn’t.”

He enunciates the ‘t’ on the last word, practically spitting it out, then takes a deep breath.

“After we escaped, I convinced Jeff to help me search for you.  Liam had told both he and Graham about an inn where we were supposed to meet you and he made them swear that if anything happened to him, they’d try to get me there.  So that’s where we went.  The innkeeper denied having ever seen you but I didn’t believe him.  He’d obviously been paid off to keep your whereabouts a secret, so we searched the area, looking for any clue and… and that’s where we found August.”

His voice breaks and he stops again to take several deep breaths.  

“I knew August would protect you with his life and it seemed that, if he were dead, there was no hope… But even after that, I kept hoping. I didn’t tell Jeff.  He always thought it was a slim chance and finding August was enough to convince him.  And since there was no trail to follow, we couldn’t continue the search anyway but… But I held onto that hope.  I lived off that hope until…  Until I found something that, in my mind at least, proved you were gone.”

His eyes flick to the chest and Emma has to fight the urge to stand and go to him.

He angles his body away from her, his voice rough and dripping with self-loathing when he tells her what he did.  He tells her about the ship they came across.  He tells her how he’d felt when he found the proof of her death.  He tells her how he’d wanted to die himself. He tells her about the venom that had run through his veins when he’d stood at the bow and given the order to sink the ship, the need to make someone pay for stealing his life.  He even tells her about the satisfaction he’d felt when the ship disappeared beneath the waves…  

Then he tells her about the fall out.  He tells her about the instant he’d realized what he’d done and the grief that rained down on him.  

Emma almost wishes he’d stop speaking, not because she doesn’t want to hear anymore, but because she can see how much it hurts him, how badly he’s tortured himself over this. He made a terrible mistake, a mistake that, yes, was horrendous, but it was a mistake.  

Tears stream down his cheeks, and hers, too, the image of him blurring as the words drip like acid from his tongue. “They didn’t deserve to die,” he says fervently, finally swinging his eyes to hers, “They were simple tradesmen who happened upon something of value.  They had no idea what they had.  They had no idea it was ever yours.  They were innocent men trying to provide for their families and I murdered them.  And for what?  Vengeance?  They hadn’t done anything wrong!”

The blue of his eyes bore into hers like he’s trying to convince her to hate him as much as he hates himself and her stomach drops to the floor.  She starts to rise but the step back he takes stops her.

“But it didn’t matter to me who they were,” he goes on with venom in his voice, “They did business with Regina and that was enough to justify it in my mind.  I made widows and orphans out of their wives and children – wives and children who, to this day, don’t know what happened to them because I couldn’t see past the hatred in my heart!”

He stops there, his confession complete, viciously swiping at the tears on his cheeks, like he realizes he doesn’t even deserve to mourn those men.   Shaking his head, he sniffles and crosses the room to stand in front of the chest.  

When he speaks again, his voice is clogged but his tone is calm and detached.  “Every time I’d find something of yours or your family’s, I’d put it in here.  Other than a few things of Liam’s, everything in here belongs to you.”

Slowly, he lifts the chest and carries it to the table, setting it gently down right in front of her without meeting her eyes.  The click his hook makes when he removes it echoes through the quiet room before he lays it on top of the chest.  Instinctively, she covers his hand with hers before he can draw it back and he sucks in a breath, his fingers contracting around hers.  They stay like that for several seconds while he watches his thumb traces circles on the back of her hand but then he shakes his head and steps away, pulling his hand from hers.  

The message is clear: This isn’t over yet.  It’s not over until she sees what’s in the chest.  But more than that, he’s not ready to accept her forgiveness no matter how badly she wants to give it.  He doesn’t trust yet that this isn’t a snap judgment.  He wants her to take some time alone to process everything he’s said.  

He looks raw and broken when he meets her eyes one last time.  Then, without another word, he turns and walks out of the room.  

She keeps her eyes on the closed door, almost tempted to chase after him without even looking in the box.  She even takes a step in that direction but stops herself.  Because he’s right.  She needs to see what’s in there.  She needs some time to gather herself – not because there’s a chance she’ll change her mind but because she needs to take a minute to let everything sink in.

With shaky hands, she reaches for the key, twisting it in the lock until it clicks.  Slowly, she lifts the lid and her eyes widen, amazed at the number of treasures he’s found.  Her father’s crown is on top, her mother’s rubies, her pearl necklace, her mother’s ring…  She looks through every piece, memory after memory blooming with each new item but then… Then she sees what he found and her eyes gloss over, her heart contracting.

Her jade necklace. The necklace she was wearing the night they were separated.  

With slow movements, she reaches in and curls her fingers around the jewels.  Tears stream down her cheeks and she cradles them to her chest, misery crawling up her throat until she sinks into the chair and sobs.

K&EK&EK&E

The night is starless and still as he stands at the helm and surveys the ocean.  There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, to see but pitch black in every direction; there aren’t even any waves being illuminated by the Jolly’s lanterns, the calm eerie and desolate.  

He doesn’t hear her approach, which is surprising given the utter silence of the night, and he startles when a plank only a few feet behind him creaks.  

Turning to face her, he finds her cheeks dry, but her red-rimmed eyes tell him they haven’t been dry long.  His own eyes are gritty and burning and it takes a great deal of concentration to keep them from filling.  She stands speechless for a moment, the diamonds and jades on the necklace in her hand glittering even in the near black night.

At long last, she looks down to the necklace, fingering at the jewels.  “I had to sell them to pay for a new roof for The Gold Mine,” she starts, “Leroy wanted to sell it because we couldn’t afford the wood, so I offered to sell these to make up the difference.  I didn’t want to move again.  I’d finally found a place where I could have a little peace and the thought of giving that up was agonizing to me.”

She sniffles lightly, finally looking up to him and he’s surprised to see how tortured her expression is.

“Do you know what brought me that peace?” she asks quietly and he shakes his head, his lungs burning from his attempt to hold the tears at bay.  “Naval ships used to dock there and, occasionally, the officers would come in and it…” she pauses to swallow and swipe at a tear that escapes, “It was the only thing I had left of you.  The only connection I could find and… And I would have done anything to keep it. This necklace… It meant nothing to me but… Being near the sea…  Being near anything that kept you close to me… I – ”

She cuts off and turns away, struggling to find words once again.  He aches to hold her, so much so that his arm twitches at his side, but he stays where he is, knowing there’s more she wants to say.  

“It never occurred to me that you might still be alive.  Graham told me he saw you die and I had no reason not to believe him.  I never had any hope, so I don’t know what it must have been like to have it crushed.  But I do remember what it felt like when Graham told me you were dead… the way every muscle in my body turned to stone, the way my lungs squeezed into an icy cold weight that pressed on my heart…”

She pauses for several more deep breaths and then her demeanor changes, her shoulders straightening and her head lifting as she looks out at the blackness of the night.  When she speaks again, he’s surprised by the malice in her words. “The next night, black knights caught up with us on the road and I was…  I was glad to see them.  I wanted them to catch us.  I wanted an excuse to draw my sword.  And I wanted them dead.  I charged into them before August could stop me and...  and…”

She shakes her head to cover the crack in her voice, “He chased after me.  He was standing right next to me when he died.  And I can’t help but wonder…  If I’d been more retrained…  If I’d waited like I should have but…” She clears her throat and tightens her hands into fists.  “But I was so angry that I… I couldn’t stop.  I wouldn’t stop until either they were all dead or I was.  I can still remember that rage racing through my bloodstream.  I was consumed by it.  I enjoyed killing them.  Every single one that fell made satisfaction rise up in my chest, every drop of blood was gratifying to watch as it spilled to the earth.”

Killian’s feet feel rooted to the ground, his heart hammering to the point of pain as her confession settles cold and hard in his stomach.

Turning only far enough to see him out of the corner of her eye, she takes a deep breath. “I know it’s not the same as what happened to you.  But my point is, I know how what it feels like when fury blocks out everything else and twists you into another person for a time.  I remember it with perfect clarity.”

The last words come out as nearly a whisper and he forces his feet to work, crossing to her and spinning her into his arms.  Cupping her chin, he lifts her eyes to his, smoothing his thumb over her temple as he takes in the dark emerald.  

She does understand. She does remember.  And she’s just as tortured and repentant for her mistake as he is.  

His heart aches for both of them, but there’s a cleansing quality underneath it that surprises him, realizing this is something they’d both been in need of.  They’d both needed to make these confessions.  And now that they have, they can bear the burden of them together.  It’s an astoundingly profound feeling, this feeling of being completely exposed, of breaking down the remainder of the walls that had been between them.  

They stand silently for some time, slowly allowing the guilt and sadness to release itself, both seemingly content to simply hold the other.  A breeze begins to blow, soft and warm, and Killian feels a sudden peace settle into his heart.  He hears Emma release a long sigh and snuggles further into his chest.

He lifts her chin to find her eyes soft and smoky and he smiles.

“I love you, Emma,” he whispers.  

Her chest expands against his on a sharp breath.  

“I love you, too.”

The moment she says it, he feels an overpowering crackle of magic rush through him but he ignores it in favor of lowering his lips to hers.  They meet softly, light grazes filled with reverence and love while the world around them brightens.  He doesn’t notice at first and she doesn’t either, too distracted by the shimmering peace that settles more firmly with each brush of lips, too caught up in the relief and joy of finally having no barriers left between them. Eventually, though, the light amplifies so much that it can’t be ignored and they turn in unison to see the Spark of Prometheus burning brightly in its case.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Democrats running for president in 2020 are faced with a choice when making their pitch to voters: make attacking President Trump a key part of their message or ignore him and focus on introducing themselves and their ideas.

On the one hand, criticizing Trump could help candidates convince primary voters that they’re able to defeat him, but depending on what shots they choose to take, they could risk alienating voters in the general election. So we wanted to see how the candidates tackled this choice by looking at one of the most direct ways they regularly communicate with voters — their emails.

Lindsey Cormack, who runs the DCinbox project, a public database of email newsletters sent by members of Congress, says emails, like tweets, can give us insight into how politicians try to brand themselves. “They don’t have to deal with editors at the paper. They don’t have to deal with booking an agent to be on a TV or radio program. They can really say anything they want.”

So to get a better sense of what the candidates told their followers about Trump, we subscribed to the mailing list of every candidate that FiveThirtyEight considers “major” and looked at all the emails they sent in the month prior to the first Democratic debate. (Though, for a variety of reasons — including email targeting practices, engagement testing techniques and the fact that we haven’t given money to any of these campaigns — we may not have received all the emails sent by all the campaigns.1)

Overall, the candidates have taken very different approaches. Some candidates, like Sen. Elizabeth Warren, seem to be ignoring Trump almost entirely, while others, like former Vice President Joe Biden, are heavily peppering their emails with invocations of Trump. Even some lesser-known candidates like Montana Gov. Steve Bullock are going all in on Trump — every email we received from his campaign during this period contained a reference to the president.2

Biden’s emails contained the second-most mentions of Trump. In total, we received 27 messages from his campaign that referenced the president by name. This strong focus on Trump seems aimed at portraying Biden as a strong general election candidate, which makes sense, as his perceived “electability” has been a central argument of his campaign.

In his emails, Biden has attacked Trump’s campaign tactics, his policy stances and his values. Biden has even sent an email that, rather than concentrating on his campaign, asked readers to sign a petition to “tell Donald Trump that welcoming foreign interference in our elections is unacceptable.” Even many of Biden’s fundraising emails are all about Trump, asking readers to “imagine the shock on Trump’s face” when they hit their fundraising goal and collect enough to “compete with Trump’s fortunes.”

While Biden mentions Trump often, his emails completely ignore the rest of the primary field — none of his messages mention another Democratic candidate by name. Another thing Biden never mentions? Impeachment.

Biden also sent the most emails with “Trump” in the subject line.

And that’s a telling omission, because many other candidates have called for Trump’s impeachment and are renewing those calls in their emails. The move could help them in the primary election, as impeachment is popular among Democrats, but could prove risky in a general election because most polls find that more Americans oppose impeachment than support it.

In the month leading up to the first debate, Sen. Kamala Harris, former Cabinet secretary Julian Castro, Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand, Sen. Cory Booker, former Rep. Beto O’Rourke and former Gov. John Hickenlooper all sent at least one email entirely devoted to calling for Trump’s impeachment. O’Rourke, for example, sent a long email on May 30 explaining why he thought Trump should be impeached, and then a punchier one about two weeks later with “Donald Trump” as the subject line and “… should be impeached” as the only text in the body of the email, with a link to a petition.

While Warren was the first 2020 Democratic candidate to call for Trump’s impeachment — she publicly embraced that stance after the April release of special counsel Robert Mueller’s report on Russian interference in the 2016 election — we didn’t receive any emails from her campaign that mentioned the topic in the month before the first debate. Likewise, Sanders has also called for Trump’s impeachment, but didn’t send us any impeachment emails during the period we looked at.

Some candidates largely avoided talking about Trump at all in the month before the debate. For example, South Bend, Indiana, Mayor Pete Buttigieg only mentioned Trump in one email, when he called Trump’s tariffs on Mexican goods “politically-motivated gamesmanship.” Warren also was largely silent on Trump in this period. Of the 56 emails she sent us that month, only four mentioned Trump, and of those four, only one focused on him for the bulk of the message.3 That email explained, “Our campaign isn’t about Donald Trump. That’s because he’s just the symptom, not the cause, of the crises we face as a country.” And Rep. Tim Ryan, who sent us 78 emails — the most of any candidate — didn’t mention Trump even once, although he, too, has called for Trump’s impeachment.

Bullock, on the other hand, mentioned Trump in every single email, often as part of a formulaic reminder to subscribers that he is the only presidential candidate to have won statewide office in a state Trump won.4

Candidates who have a harder time making an “electability” argument than Bullock varied widely in the tenor of their emails that mentioned Trump. New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio, for example, sent us fewer emails in the month leading up to the debate than most candidates, but he mentioned Trump in five of the seven emails he did send us. (And one the two that didn’t mention the president’s last name still used the hashtag #ConDon, which showed up in six of de Blasio’s emails and is meant to imply that Trump is a con man.) In many ways, De Blasio seemed to be trying to out-Trump Trump, aggressively attacking him and using name-calling tactics that the president is known for. In one email, for instance, he called Trump a “New York con man who’s just been made to smell his own BS” and referred to Rudy Giuliani, Trump’s lawyer, as Trump’s “lapdog,” whose insults were “even lamer than his boss’s.” But unlike de Blasio, most of the Democratic contenders seemed to have heeded former First Lady Michelle Obama’s advice to “go high” when their opponents “go low” and are trying to strike a different tone than the current president, rather than trying to outdo him.

So what does this tell us about how Democrats are crafting (or not crafting) their campaigns around Trump? Well, a few candidates, like de Blasio, Bullock and Biden, are at one extreme — mentioning Trump at practically every opportunity — and a few, like Ryan and Buttigieg, are firmly planted at the other extreme, remaining largely silent on Trump. But perhaps unsurprisingly, most candidates fall somewhere in between, striking a balance between talking about Trump and focusing on their own message. It’s early yet, though, and some candidates’ communication strategies might change as the primary progresses. Still, with so many Democrats running, the party will have collectively tried out many different avenues of attack before the general election. Ultimately, however, there will only be one Democratic nominee, and whoever that is, he or she will have a wide pool of pre-tested approaches to draw from.

[the-record-newspaper]

The killing of Rhonda Hinson Part 29

Rhonda Hinson in a photo taken shortly before her December 1981 murder.

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

For The Record

(Editor’s note: This is the continuation of a series on the December 1981 murder of Rhonda Hinson)

When he first met Pat [Sisson], he got her into the patrol car and said to her, ‘You are going to have to convince me that you are legit.’  She threw her arm over the seat of the patrol car and told him that word. He said, “Ok, Lady; let’s go.”—Detective James “Flash” Pruett recollection, as recorded by his wife, Rhonda Fender Pruett on October 20, 2019.  

 Detective Gene Franklin does not believe in psychics—he said as much in a Sept. 15, 2019 interview with The Record.  “I don’t believe in them nor place much stock in what they say; but Flash [Detective James Pruett] did and consulted with a couple of them,” Mr. Franklin recounted.

But on Feb. 3, 1995; both detectives, along with Sheriff Richard Epley, D. A. Brown [an investigator from the District Attorney’ Office of the 25th Circuit], and Lt. Greg Calloway met with and interviewed one of them—Ms. Pat Sisson.

Over this past weekend, Detective Pruett recounted his interaction with the psychic; his thoughts were recorded in a series of written messages by his wife, Rhonda, and forwarded to this writer.    

“ [Pat] lived in Knoxville when she and Flash worked together….She came to our house; [she’s] really nice…The thing that made him really believe in her, she spoke a word to him no one knows—not even me.  It was a word uttered to Flash dating back to his military service that only he would know. When he first met Pat, he got her into the patrol car and said to her, ‘You are going to have to convince me that you are legit.’  She threw her arm over the seat of the patrol car and told him that word.  He said, ‘OK, Lady, let’s go….’”

Judy Hinson recollected that Detective Pruett told them the same story relative to his first encounter with Pat Sisson.  “He said that she whispered to him a word that only he knew the meaning of.  That seemed to win his confidence in her.”

During the Feb. 3, 1995, protracted taped interview, Ms. Sisson related, to those present, images as they came to her—at times in an almost stream-of-consciousness manner. Occasionally, the investigators would interject questions for her to consider.  

Often, however, Pat would respond as if she was retrieving informative images from the middle distance—her replies frequently incompatible with the queries.  Moreover, a perusal of the transcript reveals some contradictory observations, shifts in her perceptions of the chain of events as her inner vision became clearer, and variations in her description and biographic information of the shooter.  

Several insightful details emerged, however. After viewing four photographs from the crime scene, Ms. Sisson observed:

“…I don’t feel any sexual violence to her at the time of her death…And what was used was a pretty high-powered—I don’t know anything about guns—but was a pretty high-powered gun…I think it was a hunting gun but very high-powered... [It has] sighters…it’s got this, it’s got a strange thing, instead of looking through a little V, you look through a little circle.  It looks like a little circle that you look through.”

In several instances during the interview, the psychic provides descriptive details regarding the shooter:

“He is about five-foot; he is somewhere around 5’9’; 5’10” and has curly brown hair…light brown… and he has light eyes.  [He’s] slender maybe a 100 and 70, 70, about a 172 pounds.  I guess.  Very angry and very upset…I don’t think that he meant to kill her.  I think that he meant to scare her and I just do not feel that he meant to kill her….”

And it was Pat Sisson who described for Flash several features of Greg McDowell’s office in the Brittain Engineering building that he passed along to Jeff Hinkle prior to his meeting with his old high school acquaintance on Friday Dec. 15, 1995, at 9:30 a.m.  Mr. Hinkle recounted the sequence of events during two separate phone interviews with The Record—one of which occurred this weekend past.

He [Detective Pruett] told me about several things to look for when I met with Greg in his office.  I remember two in particular:  The first had something to do with a sign that I would see through the window in Greg’s office…I don’t remember now what was noticeable about the sign; but something was different about it—a symbol or something...The psychic also told me to look for a picture of his wife that I would find in the office. She described it and told me that his wife would look like Rhonda Hinson with blonde hair.”

Flash recalled that the sign Ms. Sisson imaged was mounted on a two-story building, and it was, “upside down or funny looking…possibly containing the name Abernathy on it.”  Further, during her Feb. 3, 1995, interview, the psychic averred that the suspect’s wife, “…believe it or not…has hair very much like Rhonda...”

Armed with these images and wired to capture a voice print of Greg McDowell, Jeff Hinkle walked through the front door of Brittain Engineering, located at the corner of 3rd Street NW and 1st Avenue NW in downtown Hickory.  He reported to the receptionist who phoned Greg to announce Jeff’s arrival. Presently, the young engineer appeared to escort his former East Burke classmate to his upstairs office.

Hinkle said, “As we walked, we talked about generalities, reminiscing a bit.  When we got to his office, we stood and talked—mainly about the electrical details for which I made the appointment.  Greg had a nice size rectangular office.  He had a desk—I don’t remember how it was oriented—but I do remember a sizable drafting table.  There was a window that looked out toward the 1st  Avenue side of the building.  And I saw almost immediately what the psychic predicted I would see outside that window.   I thought, ‘Wow!’  We walked toward his drafting table on one side of the room.  And above it, was a framed wedding picture of his wife [Jane] who really did resemble Rhonda.”  

It was at that juncture that Jeff Hinkle felt what he described as, “cold chills and the hair standing up on the back of his neck.”  Everything was unfolding as Pat Sisson had predicted to Detective Pruett and communicated to Hinkle.  It was at that moment—remembering everything he had seen and been told—Hinkle was struck with the thought that he stated without equivocation during both interviews with The Record, “I am standing in the office with the man who shot Rhonda Hinson.”

Flash and Special Agent Roy Brown were sitting in a nearby coffee shop on Hwy 127, awaiting word from Mr. Hinkle that his mission was accomplished.  “I had my departmental cellular phone with us,” Detective Pruett wrote in his case notes. “Jeff called on his cellular phone and said he had completed the task.  I asked him to meet with us back at the SBI office.”  Shortly after 11 a.m., the trio convened for debriefing. Flash summarized the proceedings for his records:

 “We removed the unit from Jeff (Hinkle) noting the on/off switch was in the on-position and taped over with white tape. The reel-to-reel unit was turned off and opened.  The used part of the tape showed about one-third full.  We hooked the unit up to the speaker unit and started listening to the tape.  It was very clear as Jeff left his office and started towards [sic] Greg’s office.  It continued to be clear until the exact moment Greg’s voice should have started.  At that exact moment the tape went silent with no audible sounds.”  

The narrative continued:  “Roy and David Keller examined the unit and tried to determine what the malfunction was in the system.  Nothing could be found to cause the problem; in fact, the unit had continued to go from reel-to-reel and starting recording again when Jeff left Greg’s office.  Roy could not explain the quirk.  The malfunction was devastating to me…I quickly interviewed Jeff to gather what personal facts he could remember.”

After sketching the layout of Brittain Engineering’s side of the building and the location of Greg McDowell’s office therein, Hinkle gave Flash as many details as he could recall. Most of the information was of a biographic nature gleaned from the conversation.  

At that juncture, Greg McDowell and his wife, Jane, had two children—a boy and a girl. He met Jane at NC State; she was originally from Kinston, N.C.  The couple married as soon as they graduated.  Hinkle described a wedding picture of them, mounted on the wall, in which Greg is wearing a light-blue suit or gray tux; Jane wore a white dress. A small picture of Jane revealed a resemblance to Rhonda Hinson.  “Greg told me that his wife didn’t like to be photographed,” Jeff related to Detective Pruett.

Hinkle also noted that his former classmate was not “much of a talker;” however, he did mention that Greg stipulated that he had never gone to any of his high school reunions.  And he averred that Greg “would not make eye contact with him.”

At the conclusion of the debriefing, Flash discussed the possibility of another attempt to record Greg’s voice—but not in the immediate future.  The detective concluded:

“We all feel like any other contact with Greg by Jeff at this time may alert him to our intentions.  It may be after the first of the year before we are able to record again. This is a big setback in my time schedule.”

There were at least three such endeavors to utilize the available technology to obtain information from Greg McDowell—this failed attempt was but the first.

Three days later—on Monday, Dec. 18, 1995, Detective Pruett called Jill Turner-Mull.

[stfumras]

The rape case against Rhiannon Brooker’s ex-partner had fallen apart.

Rhiannon had accused him of assaulting her numerous times over a two-year period, but detectives had found discrepancies in her story shortly after they arrested him, so prosecutors dropped the charges.

Elsewhere around the world, that would have likely been the end of it. Not in Britain.

Instead, one afternoon in January 2012, police in Bristol, a city in southwest England, called the 28-year-old back to the station for another interview. Rhiannon thought the purpose of the meeting was to bolster the case against her ex. Police were indeed trying to make a case – against her.

What Rhiannon did not know as she answered the detectives’ questions was that she was now suspected of perverting the course of justice by fabricating her allegations. The crime carries a maximum sentence of life in prison.

British authorities are supposed to exercise extreme caution when deciding whether to prosecute someone for lying about rape, especially if the person is vulnerable or if it’s unclear whether the accusation was made maliciously.

Rhiannon ticked many of those boxes. She told police that she had an abusive childhood. Police later said in court that Rhiannon had been extremely reluctant to move forward with the case against her ex in the first place. In fact, detectives blindsided Rhiannon when they arrested him without her knowledge or consent.

As investigators considered charging Rhiannon, one voiced a concern that had nothing to do with the evidence against her, documents seen by BuzzFeed News show. There was a “reputational risk” to the police if her ex “made a complaint or went to the media”.

When the recording light went on in the interview room, detectives told Rhiannon that prosecutors just wanted to “clarify some material”. They told her it was all completely standard – hopefully, they said, she wouldn’t have to come back again.

Rhiannon told BuzzFeed News that the questions they asked were, by now, familiar:

Why didn’t she report her ex-partner earlier?

“I didn’t want him to be arrested,” Rhiannon told them.

Was she sure she had stated the dates and times of each allegation correctly?

No, Rhiannon told them, they were just “guesstimates”.

“It’s not like I sat there looking at my watch timing everything,” Rhiannon recalled saying.

Rhiannon left the police station completely unaware the authorities were hoping to arrest her as soon as possible. By 2014, Rhiannon was on trial. She pleaded not guilty to perverting the course of justice but was convicted and sentenced to three and a half years in prison, separating her from her 9-month-old baby. The judge declared that she had lied in a “completely wicked” way.

Rhiannon is now a convicted criminal, virtually unemployable and forever tarred as a liar.

“They listened, they noted, they took it all down, then they just cast it aside and turned it against me,” she said.

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Rhiannon Brooker during her graduation.

A BuzzFeed News investigation has found that UK authorities are exceptionally aggressive in pursuing women for lying about rape, prosecuting hundreds over the past decade.

The Crown Prosecution Service, the state prosecutor for England and Wales, has even written rulesfor whom to target and when – something other Western countries don't do, experts say.

The policy is meant to restrain law enforcement from going after people who did not make clear and malicious accusations, those who are young or mentally ill, or those who have experienced past abuse.

But BuzzFeed News today exposes how prosecutors routinely fail to follow these rules as they send vulnerable women to prison. Our investigation can reveal:

At least 200 women in the UK have been prosecuted for lying about being raped in the past decade, according to a BuzzFeed News analysis of press reports. Most of these women were sent to prison, dozens of them with sentences of two or more years.

Prosecutors went after teenagers, and women who reportedly had mental health issues, had experienced past physical and sexual assault, or were grappling with drug and alcohol addiction.

Women were prosecuted even when they reportedly went to police only under pressure, quickly recanted, or never named their attacker at all.

The CPS has prosecuted women who police were not sure had lied. In one instance detectives declined to charge the woman for making a false complaint. Prosecutors went ahead anyway.

Yvette Cooper, Labour MP and chair of the influential home affairs select committee, described BuzzFeed News’ investigation as “very troubling” and called on the CPS to make sure the guidance is followed so that “victims are not deterred from coming forward” and “vulnerable women are not inappropriately prosecuted”.

Britain’s approach stands in stark contrast to that of the US, Australia, Canada, and other European countries. Women in these countries do not typically face prosecution – let alone prison – for lying about rape, state prosecutors and experts said, because it’s not considered to be in the public interest. Norway’s public prosecutions authority, for example, said its priority is encouraging more victims to come forward and warned that “a low threshold for opening a false accusation case could counteract this goal”.

A spokesperson for the CPS told BuzzFeed News that it prosecutes “very few cases” of false rape complaints and this should not dissuade rape victims “from coming forward to report their assault”. Prosecutors treat these cases “extremely carefully” and consider the mental health and other vulnerabilities of the suspect before deciding whether to move forward.

False rape complaints can ruin lives. Even suspects who are quickly exonerated can face public scrutiny and lose their jobs and reputations. But such cases are rare: A 2012 Ministry of Justice study estimated that only 3% of rape reports were “perceived to be malicious”. In contrast, most victims don’t report a rape to the police and when they do, a successful prosecution is unlikely. Only one reported rape in 14 results in a conviction.

Rape cases are, in general, notoriously complex: They rarely involve third-party witnesses, and research shows trauma victims often have fragmented and incomplete memories. CPS guidance on prosecuting false rape allegations warns prosecutors not to “resort to using myths and stereotypes once associated with victims of rape”, such as assuming they always have straightforward, consistent memories of events. It also makes clear that just because there is not enough evidence to bring charges, doesn’t mean there is proof the accuser is lying.

Even if the authorities strongly suspect an allegation is false, there are many reasons not to charge the accuser with a crime. The prosecutors in the 2006 Duke University lacrosse gang rape case – one of the most infamous false accusations in US history – seemed to understand this. They took no action against the accuser because they said she was not of sound mind and might have believed “the many different stories that she has been telling”.

The UK, however, seems to have a “unique appetite” for prosecuting false allegations, said Lisa Avalos, an American law professor who studies false rape reports. She has not found another Western country that “encourages” charges against suspected false rape reporters as a matter of policy, nor has she been able to find a case in which an American accused of falsely reporting rape has faced a jury trial.

“It is not in the public interest to aggressively prosecute disbelieved rape complainants,” Avalos said. “Rape victims commonly express the concern that police do not believe them and do not take them seriously, and these types of prosecutions only serve to reinforce victims’ fear of being treated poorly if they come forward.”

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British tabloids cover false rape convictions with relish, running dozens of stories a year about “attention-seeking” women who “cry rape”. It’s not uncommon for sentencing judges to call these women “wicked”; one male judge went as far as to say a convict had “betrayed the sisterhood”.

At least twice in recent years, UK law enforcement have wrongfully arrested rape victims for lying. One woman, known as “Sarah”, was jailed after retracting a true rape allegation. The case drew public outrage and a rebuke from a High Court judge.

In response, the CPS apologised and published new guidance in an effort to curb overzealous prosecutions, along with a review documenting 132 charges and 38 prosecutions during the preceding 17 months. It found that many of those accused of making false allegations were “young, often vulnerable people”. In nearly 40% of the cases studied, police received the initial rape complaint from someone other than the suspect – who then watched as the case “spiralled out of control and he or she felt unable to stop the investigation”.

The guidance instructs authorities that before going forward they must have enough evidence to prove that an allegation is false. But Avalos says her research shows there are not enough safeguards in place to protect women from wrongful prosecution.

“How can women feel safe reporting rape to police under these circumstances?” she said.

The CPS told BuzzFeed News it does not keep consistent data on how often it prosecutes women for lying about rape, although a spokesperson said that many of the 200 cases uncovered in BuzzFeed News’ analysis “appear to feature” prosecutions before the legal guidance was published. However, the press clippings show that the CPS has continued to go after reportedly vulnerable women. In May 2018, judges rejected an appeal by a woman whose lawyers argued her five-year jail term was “excessive” and didn’t account for her “significant mental health difficulties”. The same month, another woman with mental health problems was sentenced to four years in prison on appeal – her original sentence of community service and rehab was deemed “too lenient”.

The guidance was meant to ensure that prosecutions of women who falsely report rape “are the exception, not the rule”, especially if those women are “unwell”, said David Malone, the prominent human rights and criminal barrister who represented Sarah’s case.

BuzzFeed News’ findings, “if correct, make it apparent that the guidance has failed,” Malone said. “It’s not just concerning, but shocking,” he said. “Serious questions have to be asked of the CPS.”

The new guidance was published before prosecutors took Rhiannon to court in 2014. The same year, the CPS charged Eleanor de Freitas, a 23-year-old who had bipolar disorder. Psychiatric reports warned that the case could drive her to harm herself. Her own report to the police acknowledged she was unsure whether she consented to sex. And the detectives who worked on her case did not support the prosecution against her.

A CPS review found that actions taken in Eleanor’s case “were correct, and in accordance with our policies and guidance”, a spokesperson said. The decision to charge Rhiannon was likewise “made in accordance with the Code for Crown Prosecutors and was based on the strength of the evidence presented”.

The men in Eleanor and Rhiannon’s cases said the false claims destroyed their lives – and that the women deserved to be prosecuted. Alexander Economou told BuzzFeed News that Eleanor lied about him “as an act of revenge, because I rejected her”. Paul Fensome, Rhiannon’s ex-partner, told BuzzFeed News that it is Rhiannon’s own fault she landed in prison. “It started with a white lie, and it just snowballed,” he said. “She could have stopped it at any time, but she let it roll, and let it roll, and let it roll until it was too late.”

A spokesperson for the Avon and Somerset police pointed to “a number of factors in this case, including the fact the allegations resulted in an innocent man being wrongly detained and remanded in custody”. It would be a “travesty” if this case “were to undermine the confidence and experiences of victims in any way”, the spokesperson said.

But CPS guidance outlines many reasons why prosecutors could have chosen not to prosecute Eleanor and Rhiannon. They both fit the description of “vulnerable”. They were upfront with detectives about flaws in their stories. Some police officers did not seem convinced their cases would make for straightforward prosecutions. But alongside the consideration of “reputational risks” in Rhiannon’s case, and after a private case brought by a wealthy financier in Eleanor’s, the authorities went after them anyway – and shattered both of their lives.

RHIANNON

Something was clearly wrong with Rhiannon. She had shown up to law classes with black eyes, deep purple bruising across the top of her forehead, aching ribs, and a swollen finger in a splint. Persuading her to talk about it was like “getting blood from a stone”, a close friend would later say; Rhiannon would just make up excuses.

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Avon and Somerset Police handout photo of Rhiannon Brooker.

But slowly, Rhiannon started telling people – friends, a university lecturer, and a domestic violence counsellor – that her partner sometimes beat her up and, increasingly, forced her to have sex.

From January to May 2011, they pressed Rhiannon to go to hospital, seek legal advice, and start counselling. But much to their frustration and concern, Rhiannon still wouldn’t report Paul, a railway signal operator who was 43 years old to her 24 when they met.

In April 2011 she emailed her lecturer a document with a list of times she claimed Paul had abused her. “It is literally thrown together and makes no sense in places,” Rhiannon wrote to the lecturer, adding that she’d elaborate when she could “find the courage to put down the more difficult things that I am still struggling with the details of”.

Finally, in late May, Rhiannon spoke with police. Detectives noted her reluctance; the first officer she met with spent four hours persuading Rhiannon to give him Paul’s name. Among her many concerns, he noted, was “fear of losing control of the situation, i.e. police taking over and going ahead with prosecution without her”.

Over the next two months, detectives spent hours with Rhiannon in the hopes she would give a formal statement accusing Paul of sexual assault. Still, she held back. Prosecutors would later argue in court that Rhiannon was reluctant because she knew her accusations were fake – and that if police got involved, they’d out her as a liar.

Although Rhiannon hadn’t given a formal statement, police did exactly what she feared. On 1 August, they arrested Paul without her consent, based on their interviews with Rhiannon’s friends, and photographs and medical reports about injuries she’d claimed to have suffered at her partner’s hands.

When detectives told Rhiannon that unless she gave them concrete evidence, they’d have to let Paul go, she handed over the document she had sent her lecturer, and she sat for hours of videotaped interviews, answering officers’ questions about when and where each alleged incident had occurred. She wasn’t great at recalling dates and other details from the past two years, she told police, because she never thought she would actually move forward with a case. Detectives saw her as a victim and tried to reassure her.

“I wouldn’t use the term ‘have sex with you’,” one detective said when Rhiannon described an unwanted encounter. “I’d say it’s rape.”

At the end of the interviews, detectives praised Rhiannon’s cooperation and promised she would always have their support.

“We ain’t gonna go anywhere,” one told her.

ELEANOR

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Eleanor as a baby with her mother and father, David de Freitas.

Dr Christopher Bench was away for Christmas in 2012 when his psychiatry practice received an urgent phone call that “something traumatic” had just happened.

The call came from Eleanor, a patient who traced her mental illness back to her first year in university. Once a sociable straight-A student, she had withdrawn from both class and social activities, even turning off her phone for three months. She lost weight, refused to leave her bed, and contemplated suicide.

She was diagnosed with depression and, later, bipolar disorder, and she began seeing Bench, who prescribed antidepressants. After two years of ups and downs, in the spring of 2012 Eleanor had a full breakdown and began “harbouring grandiose delusional beliefs”, Bench wrote in a psychiatric report seen by BuzzFeed News. She went on manic shopping sprees she couldn’t afford, accused her parents of trying to poison her, and claimed her landlord had sexually assaulted her. She was sectioned and admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a month while doctors adjusted her medication.

For a while after she was released, she seemed “very much improved”, Bench wrote. She took up Pilates and dance, and started socialising again.

But at the appointment following her emergency call, Eleanor appeared “tense and quite guarded with a degree of grandiosity”, Bench later wrote. She “acknowledged she was not well”. Eventually, Eleanor told Bench that she had been “sexually assaulted by someone she knew”. A few days later, she went to the police and started talking.

Eleanor was at a party a few months earlier where some of Chelsea’s young and wealthy had gathered to celebrate a birthday. Wearing an elegant, long-sleeved dress with her honey-blonde hair pulled back to show shimmering gold earrings, the 22-year-old had hit it off with a man named Alexander – a tanned, dark-haired 33-year-old financier and son of a shipping tycoon with whom she shared some mutual friends.

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Eleanor and Alexander at a friend's birthday party in 2012.

After the party, Eleanor and Alexander became friends on Facebook and started sending each other lighthearted and flirtatious messages, records show. They chatted about sexual fantasies, and Eleanor offered to give him a massage. For a while their relationship went no further than the messages.

Eventually the two met up for a Sunday brunch date at Alexander’s apartment in Chelsea. They spent a few hours chatting, eating pizza, giving each other massages, and having sex, Alexander said. “She was supremely confident and taking the lead in almost everything we do,” Alexander later wrote on his blog.

He was horrified when he learned that Eleanor had told police a different story. She claimed he would not let her get her phone from her car unless she let him tie her up and that he’d poured water over her face in what Eleanor described as “waterboarding”. “I feel that I made it clear to him that I wasn’t into, to paraphrase him, ‘this kinky shit’,” she told police.

They had sex at least once that night, Eleanor told police, maybe twice. Her memory was hazy, she said. Her bipolar medication often made her drowsy, and she wasn’t supposed to drink with it. Asked by police if the sex was consensual, she replied: “I don’t think so, I was just laying there frozen with fear, I didn’t say yes, or no, I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t in control of my body, I was groggy....”

Alexander completely denied that account. He said that Eleanor consented to being tied up and that far from being waterboarded, she had asked him for a drink of water and it had spilled on her.

Alexander was arrested around two weeks later on suspicion of rape.

He spent a night in custody and six weeks on bail before the police released him without charge. He would later start a blog called “Falsely Accused” and discuss the case extensively in court and in the media.

He told BuzzFeed News that Eleanor was “100% guilty” of making up a “malicious” lie. “I’m not going to be bullied by people who suggest she is a victim,” he said. “Because she is not a victim, she is a nasty piece of work.”

When police didn’t charge Alexander, Eleanor thought the case was over, and so did the detectives who had worked on it. They had no plans to investigate her for lying. But someone else did.

RHIANNON

“Load of rubbish,” Paul told police after they arrested him in August 2011. “I've never sexually assaulted or hit a woman in my life.”

He faced 19 charges of rape, attempted rape, false imprisonment, and assault.

Paul was able to provide evidence that he was working or out of town for some of the dates when the assaults were alleged to have happened, and mobile phone data and road camera footage cast doubt on others.

Police and prosecutors met to figure out what to do next, and came to a sobering conclusion: They no longer had a case against Paul. “They eventually saw through her lies and knew she was lying all along,” Paul told BuzzFeed News.

At this point they also started to worry about something else. Paul had spent more than 30 days in jail, which didn’t reflect well on police. “I felt the reputational risk to the constabulary was great if the original suspect made a complaint or went to the media,” detective inspector Janice Pearson wrote in a memo later discussed in court. An Avon and Somerset police spokesperson told BuzzFeed News that “reputational risk” is “never” a factor in charging decisions.

They decided not only to drop charges against Paul but also to go after Rhiannon.

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“The arrest of the original victim was to be done in a very respectful manner,” Pearson wrote, “understanding there may be some truth to the account or that she had a previous history of abuse which was manifesting itself.” Officers gave an additional, baffling reason for investigating Rhiannon: She “would be very upset if the case was dropped and she would need an explanation which we would not provide sufficiently without arrest,” Pearson wrote.

Prosecutors then asked detectives to interview Rhiannon once more. They did not tell her she was now a suspect.

This was a controversial strategy. “I felt we would be treating the victim as a suspect but not affording her the rights as any other suspect who is arrested,” Pearson noted. She said they took care to prepare questions that were “open”, giving Rhiannon the opportunity to explain discrepancies in her story.

Prosecutors were not happy with the subsequent interviews.

Pearson claimed in her memo that she “received a very angry phone call” from a prosecutor, who upbraided her for not pushing Rhiannon “until she broke down and made an admission so she could be arrested”.

The CPS refutes this version of events “entirely”, a spokesperson for the agency said.

The case against Rhiannon was closed – for now.

ELEANOR

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For six months, Eleanor’s case was as good as closed.

But in the summer of 2013, Alexander brought a private prosecution – criminal proceedings carried out not by the state but by ordinary citizens or companies. “I intend to get your daughter sent to prison for a very long time for the crimes she has committed,” Alexander wrote to Eleanor’s father.

A private case has the same powers as a state prosecution. However, the CPS can stop a private prosecution if it believes it is not in the public interest. So in September 2013, Eleanor’s lawyer wrote to Keir Starmer, the director of public prosecutions at the time, asking him “as a matter of urgency” to stop Alexander’s case, saying it “falls short” of CPS charging standards.

Prosecutors did the opposite: They took up the case against Eleanor themselves.

And they overruled the Metropolitan Police to do so. Detectives did not want to charge Eleanor and refused to reopen their investigation, documents show. They believed that a prosecution against her would not succeed.

Alexander and the CPS say the police simply failed to investigate and were not in a position to form a view.

In fact, prosecutors didn’t need the police. Instead, they adopted the case handed to them by Alexander’s lawyers.

That case included the mutually flirtatious Facebook messages exchanged before their date and text messages Eleanor sent to mutual friends afterwards. She told one that she had “fun” and the pair were a “good match”, but later she texted another friend that she was on “suicide watch” after Alexander “fucked me and chucked me”. Prosecutors also pointed to CCTV footage of the couple’s shopping trip to Ann Summers – a high street lingerie and sex toy shop – the day after the alleged rape, as evidence that Eleanor’s “actions and behaviour” were “wholly inconsistent” with the allegation of rape she made.

Alexander told BuzzFeed News that the CCTV was conclusive. “Tell me, have you ever come across a rape victim who goes to a sex shop immediately after?” he said.

CCTV footage of Eleanor and Alexander shopping the day after the alleged incident.

The head of the CPS, Alison Saunders, would later say the footage “unassailably contradicted” Eleanor’s account of the shopping trip.

Even so, under CPS guidance “the first question” before deciding to prosecute someone for lying about rape is whether the accusation was “clear and unambiguous”. Eleanor’s account to the police raises questions about whether this test was met. However, a spokesperson said the evidence in Eleanor’s case “was strong and it was clear there was sufficient evidence for a realistic prospect of conviction”.

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After Alexander launched his private prosecution, Eleanor began to spiral. The rape counselling that the police had arranged when she was regarded as a victim was withdrawn, because she was now a suspect. Having lost the anonymity granted to rape victims, she was terrified of being identified in public. She became delusional and her behaviour turned increasingly bizarre, documents show. She believed that she was being followed and her phone had been bugged, and on one occasion police found her throwing food and shouting at staff in a supermarket.

Before they pursue false rape charges, police and prosecutors consider whether the suspect has any significant mental health issues, according to CPS guidance. The CPS was given a psychiatric report, which determined that Eleanor was fit to stand trial because she had the mental capacity to understand and challenge the court proceedings. But the report included a key caveat: She would need to be constantly evaluated, because the nature of her illness meant that her state “could quickly change”. His ultimate concern: She might kill herself.

He wrote that Eleanor was at “chronic and significant” risk of suicide.

Prosecutors set a court date.

RHIANNON

When police told Rhiannon they were dropping the case against Paul, she fled to the riverbank with a bottle of vodka and packets of antidepressants. But, slowly, she got back on her feet: She continued counselling, started thinking about going back to law school, and began to date a former coworker. Then, in November 2012, six police officers knocked on her door.

After Rhiannon’s last interview 10 months earlier, in which she was an unwitting suspect but police had not secured a confession from her, police had assigned more resources to the case against her.

In a memo later introduced in court, the police superintendent wrote that they had enough evidence to soon arrest Rhiannon. It also noted that Paul had recently filed a formal complaint against the police. “I was lucky my case never went to court,” Paul told BuzzFeed News. “It’s an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

Even before a jury decided whether Rhiannon was guilty, authorities sent Paul £45,000 for legal costs and damage to reputation.

The six officers who arrested Rhiannon for perverting the course of justice took her to the police station.

There, Rhiannon told BuzzFeed News, she met the lawyer assigned to her case and learned she might be asked about her childhood trauma. After getting advice, she decided to confess in hopes she would just get a caution without having to talk about her past.

Still in shock, Rhiannon said, she read out loud a statement to police: “The allegations were not true and I’m sorry that I made them. I find it very difficult to understand why I said these things.”

Rhiannon made the confession because it “seemed like the best option at the time”, she told BuzzFeed News, and because she thought it could help her avoid prison. “It seemed like the only option, to be honest.”

It didn’t work. She was charged with 20 counts of perverting the course of justice and pleaded not guilty.

Police conducted a thorough investigation of Rhiannon’s life in order to secure her conviction. It was a harrowing experience: She later told the court that police contacted social services about the allegations against her and said they believed her then-unborn child was at risk.

They also dug through Rhiannon’s decades-old medical records and spoke with her childhood classmates to investigate whether she had faked other injuries throughout her life and lied about being abused as a child.

Rhiannon’s family members told police that her childhood had been abusive. The CPS guidance says that prosecutors should consider previous histories of domestic or sexual abuse when deciding whether to bring charges. In this case, prosecutors did not believe Rhiannon and moved forward anyway.

ELEANOR

The thought of testifying in open court so terrified Eleanor that she started showing up to court in a burqa to hide her face. Her lawyers hoped she wouldn’t have to take the stand, but they could give her no assurances. The reason: The CPS failed to share Eleanor’s police interview, despite a court order to do so. Without seeing this key piece of evidence, Eleanor’s lawyers say they couldn’t decide whether they would need further testimony from her, or whether they could make the case without putting her on the stand.

But finally, the CPS coughed up the tape, and on 4 April 2014, three days before her trial, her lawyers planned to give her good news: She didn’t need to go through the ordeal of testifying. They believed her police interview was convincing enough.

It was too late. That very morning, Eleanor’s mother found her hanged at their family home. “Dear Mummy and Daddy,” she had scrawled on the lined paper of an old diary. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I feel trapped and that there’s no way out.”

Eleanor asked that her funeral not be overly somber: “I would like happy songs‚ All things bright and beautiful. Bright and happy party dresses.”

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In the aftermath of her death, Eleanor’s parents demanded answers from the CPS, and won a meeting with Saunders, the director of public prosecutions.

Saunders apologised for the “unacceptable” late disclosure of evidence. It’s a problem she has had to address a number of times since, in the wake of an ongoing scandal over failures to disclose evidence in rape cases.

But in a statement in 2014, she said she was “satisfied that the decision making in this case was correct and that it was made in accordance with our policies and guidance.” Prosecutions for false rape claims are rare, she said, “but where there is sufficient evidence to show that a false claim may have been made, the potential harm to those affected must be very carefully considered and an appropriate decision made”. The CPS had carefully considered “Ms de Freitas’ mental health”, Saunders added.

The police, however, stood by their decision not to pursue Eleanor. “I have always maintained that Eleanor shouldn’t have been prosecuted,” detective inspector Julian King wrote in an email to Eleanor’s father.

After Eleanor’s death, Alexander sued Eleanor’s father, David de Freitas, for libel, saying he had endured weeks of “public rubbishing” after David publicly questioned why the CPS chose to prosecute his daughter. Alexander is currently appealing the case after a judge dismissed it last year. David declined to comment.

“I really hate that fucking family,” Alexander told BuzzFeed News. “He’s got all the feminists into a frenzy thinking that she’s some kind of victim.” “I’m the victim,” he said, “not them.”

This week the attorney general denied Eleanor’s father’s request for a public inquiry, confirming his view that it was right for the prosecution of Eleanor to go ahead.

RHIANNON

Bulbs flashed as Rhiannon walked through the courtroom door in April 2014, her 9-month-old daughter in tow. Since she was now on trial, tabloids were allowed to trumpet Rhiannon’s name: “Trainee barrister cried rape 11 times to avoid taking exams.”

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The prosecution initially said this was Rhiannon’s motive.

Rhiannon had been “reluctant to seek help because her allegations were untrue”, the prosecution said. “In reality she was having a nice time” with Paul.

Prosecutors introduced evidence showing that Paul’s arthritis prevented him from making a closed fist and a medical expert who reviewed photos of Rhiannon’s injuries and said they were compatible with being self-inflicted. They told the jury that Rhiannon had sent threatening texts to herself using a “mystery” mobile phone and then deleted them.

Perhaps the prosecution’s strongest evidence was that Paul had a “cast-iron” alibi for two of the 20 charges and that mobile phone analysis and other data seriously undermined others.

Rhiannon was cross-examined on the “list” she had long ago emailed her lecturer with the acknowledgement that it “makes no sense in places”, which she gave to the police after they arrested him. Also under scrutiny were dates she had referred to in police interviews as “guesstimates”.

Prosecutors said that Rhiannon had spun a years-long web of lies about Paul that had tricked many people in her life – friends, domestic violence counsellors, doctors, a lecturer, and finally experienced detectives – leading them to “substantiate her false allegations” without realising the deceit.

The prosecution argued that Rhiannon would have left Paul if she were truly afraid of him, and that she was an independent women capable of standing up for herself.

“These are dinosaur prejudices,” Rhiannon’s barrister said in her closing statement. “This prosecution has been a throwback to the bad old days.”

But throughout the proceedings, the prosecution reminded the jury: “This is not a rape trial.”

The prosecution abandoned its “student cried rape in order to pass her bar exams” argument after the defence pointed out that Rhiannon was an “outstanding” student and the allegations took place before and after school.

After an 11-week trial, the jury of 10 men and two women convicted Rhiannon on 12 counts out of 20.

Even after the verdict, no one seemed sure of a motive. “I don’t know why she did what she did,” judge Julian Lambert said, sentencing her to three and a half years in prison. “The likelihood is she cannot know herself.”

Rhiannon’s body, still producing milk, physically ached for her baby while she was in prison. She marked the days in her diary. “Didn’t even recognise my own daughter today,” she wrote after one visit. “This is so so cruel on her.”

Three months in, Rhiannon learned the solicitor general had appealed against her sentence – it was “unduly lenient”, they argued. Rhiannon was terrified: “That is absolutely my last chance of having a relationship with [my daughter] and it’s the last thing they could take from me,” she wrote.

The appeal was rejected. Rhiannon was released early in November 2015, after almost 17 months in prison. When she first sat down in the car on the way home, Rhiannon recalled, a strange expression came over her daughter’s face. “She just looked so confused,” she said. She spent the remainder of her sentence “on tag”, with an electronic monitor attached to her ankle.

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Rhiannon now lives in a remote area hours away from the closest airport and unlisted on Google Maps. Once, she planned on dedicating her life to the law. Now she struggles just to get a supermarket job. She spends her days homeschooling her daughter while her partner is at work. On days off, they build sandcastles on the beach. If her family hadn’t stuck by her, Rhiannon said, she wouldn’t have been able to cope.

“I’m one of the lucky ones,” she said.

[spiritualesoterichighlevel]

Myths of the Brain

                                                                                             1. We use only 10 percent of our brains.                This one sounds so compelling - a precise number, repeated in pop culture for a century, implying that we have huge reserves of untapped mental powers. But the supposedly unused 90 percent of the brain is not some vestigial appendix. Brains are expensive - it takes a lot of energy to build brains during fetal and childhood development and maintain them in adults. Evolutionarily, it would make no sense to carry around surplus brain tissue. Experiments using PET or fMRI scans show that much of the brain is engaged even during simple tasks, and injury to even a small bit of brain can have profound consequences for language, sensory perception, movement or emotion.          True, we have some brain reserves. Autopsy studies show that many people have physical signs of Alzheimer's disease (such as amyloid plaques among neurons) in their brains even though they were not impaired. Apparently we can lose some brain tissue and still function pretty well. And people score higher on IQ tests if they're highly motivated, suggesting that we don't always exercise our minds at 100 percent capacity.

   2. "Flashbulb memories" are precise, detailed and persistent.          We all have memories that feel as vivid and accurate as a snapshot, usually of some shocking, dramatic event - the assassination of President Kennedy, the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger, the attacks of September 11, 2001. People remember exactly where they were, what they were doing, who they were with, what they saw or heard. But several clever experiments have tested people's memory immediately after a tragedy and again several months or years later.

The test subjects tend to be confident that their memories are accurate and say the flashbulb memories are more vivid than other memories. Vivid they may be, but the memories decay over time just as other memories do. People forget important details and add incorrect ones, with no awareness that they're recreating a muddled scene in their minds rather than calling up a perfect, photographic reproduction.

                3. It's all downhill after 40 (or 50 or 60 or 70).          It's true, some cognitive skills do decline as you get older. Children are better at learning new languages than adults - and never play a game of concentration against a 10-year-old unless you're prepared to be humiliated. Young adults are faster than older adults to judge whether two objects are the same or different; they can more easily memorize a list of random words, and they are faster to count backward by sevens.          But plenty of mental skills improve with age. Vocabulary, for instance - older people know more words and understand subtle linguistic distinctions. Given a biographical sketch of a stranger, they're better judges of character. They score higher on tests of social wisdom, such as how to settle a conflict. And people get better and better over time at regulating their own emotions and finding meaning in their lives.

   4. We have five senses.          Sure, sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch are the big ones. But we have many other ways of sensing the world and our place in it. Proprioception is a sense of how our bodies are positioned. Nociception is a sense of pain. We also have a sense of balance - the inner ear is to this sense as the eye is to vision - as well as a sense of body temperature, acceleration and the passage of time.          Compared with other species, though, humans are missing out. Bats and dolphins use sonar to find prey; some birds and insects see ultraviolet light; snakes detect the heat of warmblooded prey; rats, cats, seals and other whiskered creatures use their "vibrissae" to judge spatial relations or detect movements; sharks sense electrical fields in the water; birds, turtles and even bacteria orient to the earth's magnetic field lines.          By the way, have you seen the taste map of the tongue, the diagram showing that different regions are sensitive to salty, sweet, sour or bitter flavors? Also a myth.

   5. Brains are like computers.          We speak of the brain's processing speed, its storage capacity, its parallel circuits, inputs and outputs. The metaphor fails at pretty much every level: the brain doesn't have a set memory capacity that is waiting to be filled up; it doesn't perform computations in the way a computer does; and even basic visual perception isn't a passive receiving of inputs because we actively interpret, anticipate and pay attention to different elements of the visual world.          There's a long history of likening the brain to whatever technology is the most advanced, impressive and vaguely mysterious. Descartes compared the brain to a hydraulic machine. Freud likened emotions to pressure building up in a steam engine. The brain later resembled a telephone switchboard and then an electrical circuit before evolving into a computer; lately it's turning into a Web browser or the Internet. These metaphors linger in clichés: emotions put the brain "under pressure" and some behaviors are thought to be "hard-wired." Speaking of which...

   6. The brain is hard-wired.          This is one of the most enduring legacies of the old "brains are electrical circuits" metaphor. There's some truth to it, as with many metaphors: the brain is organized in a standard way, with certain bits specialized to take on certain tasks, and those bits are connected along predictable neural pathways (sort of like wires) and communicate in part by releasing ions (pulses of electricity).          But one of the biggest discoveries in neuroscience in the past few decades is that the brain is remarkably plastic. In blind people, parts of the brain that normally process sight are instead devoted to hearing. Someone practicing a new skill, like learning to play the violin, "rewires" parts of the brain that are responsible for fine motor control. People with brain injuries can recruit other parts of the brain to compensate for the lost tissue.

               7. A conk on the head can cause amnesia.                Next to babies switched at birth, this is a favorite trope of soap operas: Someone is in a tragic accident and wakes up in the hospital unable to recognize loved ones or remember his or her own name or history. (The only cure for this form of amnesia, of course, is another conk on the head.)          In the real world, there are two main forms of amnesia: anterograde (the inability to form new memories) and retrograde (the inability to recall past events).        Science's most famous amnesia patient, H.M., was unable to remember anything that happened after a 1953 surgery that removed most of his hippocampus. He remembered earlier events, however, and was able to learn new skills and vocabulary, showing that encoding "episodic" memories of new experiences relies on different brain regions than other types of learning and memory do. Retrograde amnesia can be caused by Alzheimer's disease, traumatic brain injury (ask an NFL player), thiamine deficiency or other insults. But a brain injury doesn't selectively impair autobiographical memory - much less bring it back.

8. We know what will make us happy.                In some cases we haven't a clue. We routinely overestimate how happy something will make us, whether it's a birthday, free pizza, a new car, a victory for our favorite sports team or political candidate, winning the lottery or raising children. Money does make people happier, but only to a point - poor people are less happy than the middle class, but the middle class are just as happy as the rich. We overestimate the pleasures of solitude and leisure and underestimate how much happiness we get from social relationships.          On the flip side, the things we dread don't make us as unhappy as expected. Monday mornings aren't as unpleasant as people predict. Seemingly unendurable tragedies - paralysis, the death of a loved one - cause grief and despair, but the unhappiness doesn't last as long as people think it will. People are remarkably resilient.

   9. We see the world as it is.          We are not passive recipients of external information that enters our brain through our sensory organs. Instead, we actively search for patterns (like a Dalmatian dog that suddenly appears in a field of black and white dots), turn ambiguous scenes into ones that fit our expectations (it's a vase; it's a face) and completely miss details we aren't expecting. In one famous psychology experiment, about half of all viewers told to count the number of times a group of people pass a basketball do not notice that a guy in a gorilla suit is hulking around among the ball-throwers.                We have a limited ability to pay attention (which is why talking on a cellphone while driving can be as dangerous as drunk driving), and plenty of biases about what we expect or want to see. Our perception of the world isn't just "bottom-up" - built of objective observations layered together in a logical way. It's "top-down," driven by expectations and interpretations.

   10. Men are from Mars, women are from Venus.          Some of the sloppiest, shoddiest, most biased, least reproducible, worst designed and most overinterpreted research in the history of science purports to provide biological explanations for differences between men and women. Eminent neuroscientists once claimed that head size, spinal ganglia or brain stem structures were responsible for women's inability to think creatively, vote logically or practice medicine. Today the theories are a bit more sophisticated: men supposedly have more specialized brain hemispheres, women more elaborate emotion circuits. Though there are some differences (minor and uncorrelated with any particular ability) between male and female brains, the main problem with looking for correlations with behavior is that sex differences in cognition are massively exaggerated.          Women are thought to outperform men on tests of empathy. They do - unless test subjects are told that men are particularly good at the test, in which case men perform as well as or better than women. The same pattern holds in reverse for tests of spatial reasoning. Whenever stereotypes are brought to mind, even by something as simple as asking test subjects to check a box next to their gender, sex differences are exaggerated. Women college students told that a test is something women usually do poorly on, do poorly. Women college students told that a test is something college students usually do well on, do well. Across countries - and across time - the more prevalent the belief is that men are better than women in math, the greater the difference in girls' and boys' math scores. And that's not because girls in Iceland have more specialized brain hemispheres than do girls in Italy.          Certain sex differences are enormously important to us when we're looking for a mate, but when it comes to most of what our brains do most of the time - perceive the world, direct attention, learn new skills, encode memories, communicate (no, women don't speak more than men do), judge other people's emotions (no, men aren't inept at this) - men and women have almost entirely overlapping and fully Earth-bound abilities.      

[kayla1993-world]

Trial held for owner of Whitehorse properties where bears fed on used cooking oil

The trial for the owner of Whitehorse properties where bears fed on jugs of unsecured, used cooking oil, leading to at the least three animals needing to be euthanized, was held in territorial court last week.

Michele Palma, a Dawson City resident, and his business, the Dawson Group of Companies, face count each under the Yukon's Wildlife Act of failing to comply with dangerous wildlife protection orders after allegedly failing to clean up a lot in the McRae subdivision as well as the backyard of a nearby home in 2018.

Conservation officers Aaron Koss-Young and Matthew Hall testified on Sept. 7 and 8 that they responded to a call on July 5th, 2018 about a bear eating garbage at a residence. They learned there had been nightly bear activity at the neighbouring lot on Boulder Road and went to investigate.

Both officers said they saw vast quantities of cooking oil being stored in plastic jugs, many of which showed evidence of being chewed on by bears. They also said they saw several areas where the oil had seeped into the soil.

The officers described the property as a "junkyard" that also contained dozens of decrepit vehicles, some of which were crammed full of oil jugs.

Hall testified the site "smelled like walking into a greasy fast-food restaurant."

The officers set up traps and returned that night. Koss-Young and Hall said a black bear walked past a trap without showing any interest, jumped into the bed of a pickup truck, picked up a plastic jug with its mouth and carried it over to a lightly forested area, where it punctured the container to drink the contents.

Hall said the bear was not fazed by his and Koss-Young's presence and appeared to have been feeding on oil at the site for a long time. He testified that he shot the animal, believing it posed a threat to public safety.

Hall said they had difficulty picking up the bear afterwards because "every inch of his fur was totally saturated in cooking grease."

"I've never seen anything like that," he said. In total, Hall and Koss-Young shot 3 bears that were accustomed to feeding on the oil at the lot. They later trapped and relocated a grizzly bear and her cub, believing the animals had just discovered the site and not yet become food-habituated.

Food-habituated bears, Koss-Young explained, pose a public safety threat because they can become aggressive while defending their food sources and more bold in approaching humans. He testified there was an increase in human-bear conflicts within a two-kilometre radius of the lot, including reports of bears chasing people on ATVs and, in one instance, a bear entering a home while people were inside.

Koss-Young testified that he also responded to a call from a homeowner on Esker Drive, in the Copper subdivision, who reported a bear in their yard that hadn't reacted to being sprayed in the face with bear spray.

The bear left before Koss-Young arrived. However, while checking the area, Koss-Young said he discovered a house that had jugs of cooking grease, identical to the ones at the lot, in the backyard as well as a ripped-open trailer. Some of the jugs had bear bite-marks on them, he testified, and the ground was soaked in oil.

The officers issued dangerous protection orders to Palma to clean up both properties. However, they said follow-up inspections showed the oil at the lot, instead of being completely removed, had been transferred into open metal drums or emptied into vehicles. The contaminated soil at the site hadn't been removed either and while the jugs were removed from the home, the oil-soaked dirt remained, the conservation officer testified.

Palma, who didn't have a lawyer, called one witness to the stand Sept. 9.

Jozsef Suska testified that he had rented the lot from Palma and was using it to store cooking oil he was converting into biofuel.

He openly admitted to not cleaning up the site within the 10-day deadline given by conservation officers.

"I had more important things to do than to remove the oil right away," he said, testifying it took a year to fully remove. He also said his workers dropped oil off at the Esker Drive address because they "got confused," explaining that he ran a "messy operation" with oil stored at 10 different locations.

Suska and his company, Budget Towing, had face five charges under various legislation in in relation to the cooking oil, including encouraging dangerous wildlife to become a nuisance. He pleaded guilty to the charges in February 2020.

In closing arguments, Palma claimed he had never received the dangerous wildlife protection orders from conservation officers, and that because the oil wasn't his, he shouldn't be held liable. He also argued the oil was sitting on adjacent city and territorial government property, not within the boundaries of his lot.

Crown attorney Kelly McGill argued Palma, because the property owner, was still responsible for ensuring the orders were complied with, and that photos of the scene clearly showed multiple oil containers well within the lot. She also argued the court had " more than enough" evidence that dangerous wildlife had been attracted to the area.

Judge Karen Ruddy will deliver her decision at a later date.