#to civilians without those fucking monsters stealing it all and leaving them to die

[ohwellokcomputer]

it makes me very sad that I can count on one hand how many of my close friends haven’t 1. spouted misinformation (blood libel really, but when you say “blood libel” around the goyim they start crying) or 2. said something overtly genocidal about Jews in the last few months. i’m really struggling to keep a positive attitude and i’ve found myself isolating from my friends, even the ones who haven’t said anything bad yet, because I don’t want to be around when they do. I just have to keep making excuses for their ignorance, and it’s exhausting. Crazy how none of the “educate yourselves!!!” rhetoric ever applies to Jews and antisemitism-the burden is always on Jews to ensure that we aren’t being slandered or oppressed.

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 130 Thoughts

My opening joke is going to be a brief description of Historia’s circumstances, because it requires no creative energy on my part to make it a joke.

To review!

107 introduces the concept of Historia being a breeding factory. This is suggested as part of Zeke’s 50-year plan to establish Paradis without it being genocided to death. At the end of 107, present-day Historia is shown to be pregnant.

At the very beginning of 108, the Military Police openly discuss how this is kind of weird. And while the mood is largely in favor of Historia having children so the Founding Titan stays in Paradis control, she’s having a child at a very inconvenient time for everyone, because she’s supposed to eat Zeke before he can cause trouble.

In 114, it is revealed that Zeke’s actual plan is to sterilize all Eldians so they die off and stop being a problem. By virtue of five seconds of pondering, this falls apart when you consider that Zeke’s plan is the beginning of Historia being prepped to breed children. Having any royal children would actively interfere with Zeke’s ability to guarantee that his choices for the Founding Titan would be the last.

In 130, Historia is shown to still be going along with the 50-year concept, and no one is stopping her except Eren, who is against Zeke’s sterilization plan (which a child would stop), and who says that Historia making this kind of choice is what’s driving him to genocide.

To which Historia suggests a baby.

-draws a line back to 107-

-underlines Eren’s angry feelings about all of this-

This would make sense if it were live action and the actress were pregnant.

Not within the story or anything.

But an explanation would at least exist.

I should take up drinking. Or cocaine. Or something.

There’s virtually zero content this chapter. Half of it is just Eren going on rampage. This is how you know it’s the end of a volume for a story that’s ending. The subtle ways the story beats come firing at a machine gun’s pace before slowing to a deliberately controlled crawl.

Surprise, Liberio’s no longer a factor!

-surprised Pikachu faces-

-everyone officially burnt out on violence-

-except Eren-

-this is a problem because Eren is indeed causing the most violence, and violence would probably be a great help in stopping him, so having someone on that boat thinking they should just fucking stab him would be just a little encouraging that’s all I’m saying-

Then we dash straight into a slightly more visible flashback to Eren’s memories of the future being unlocked, and get to the development of his genocide plan.

It isn’t much of a plan.

It mostly still involves genocide.

But worse.

He’s basically going to do what Karl did, only when he tells people on Paradis that all the humans beyond their borders are dead, he won’t be lying. He is keeping the genocide and the mind-wiping, though. In this spirit of how well that worked out previously.

This is a choice.

A bad one.

Even by Eren’s current standards.

This is especially impressive given that he has none.

Alrighty then. Uh.

Here we have Eren’s mission statement. That’s nice?

“The only way to put a final end to the cycle of revenge born from hate... is to remove that history of hate from this world and bury it in the ground, civilization and all.”

Legitimately, Eren’s entire plan amounts to, “The First King was right about everything except not actually making us the last humans alive on the planet.”

See, Zeke’s plan of killing all Eldians off is evil and bad, and Eren is disgusted at the very idea of going along with it.

Eren’s plan of killing everyone else off, regardless of who they are, is a good one.

As is manipulating all of his friends into following it, telling them he hates them, fairly directly letting one of them know this is basically all her fault, and.

.

Look, I’m sorry, but what the fuck?

I mean.

Fuck, do I have to go full Madoka on main?

Here is a brief summary of the third Madoka Magica movie, for those who do not understand the reference: Person who has spent her entire life torturing herself to save one girl feels like she didn’t save the one girl hard enough, and compensates for this mental breakdown by turning into the literal Devil.

These are decisions that can be explained by trauma. The character in question has been through a lot, and arguing that she’s too emotionally stable to undo the universe is harder to do than it feels like it should be.

She still takes the established order of the series and 90% of the movie and drops it in the shredder, leaving the characters who are around and aware of this move to stare, aghast, as the new world order is established.

To catch up the uninitiated, when the new world order is established in the series, it’s a happy ending that ties up all the struggles everyone has been through. Not necessarily neatly, but they’re honored, and the cast continues on.

The new world order of the movie is one character screaming “NO” in various cries for help as she pounds her heart into the pavement and the pavement is everyone else’s quality of life.

..

Anyway, the current reason everyone on the planet hates Paradis enough to attack it is because Eren publicly murdered civilians at a festival with international significance, including the one Eldian in the world with good publicity.

Things weren’t pretty for anyone, but Eren snatches the ball out of the court and throws it into the backyard with vicious guard dogs. He decides to bring everyone into a war, and he decides the initial terms. He makes a violent declaration, and ever since, the story has been devoted to people catching up to him to ask what the fuck his problem is.

As opposed to the usual routine of catching up to him to steal him back from whoever’s kidnapping him that week.

Eren’s the direct cause of this mess.

Fucking Marley doesn’t help, what with their hundred years of brainwashing and titanizing to actively keep the hate of Paradis alive -- but Eren’s the one who turns it into an issue of national immediacy when everyone around him is trying to find more time.

All the while going, “look what you made me do”

Right.

Where it breaks down for me isn’t that it makes no sense for Eren to have fallen this far. This entire series has been destroying him one piece at a time, and I do feel like you could have a very powerful conclusion with Humanity’s Hope turning to Humanity’s Despair, and the people he once inspired having to bear the torch themselves instead of forcing one person to carry their entire future.

Hell, that could still happen. I would still love an ending where Mikasa wraps the scarf around Eren, and he’s finally saved from himself.

What’s aggravating is that as many ominous hints as we’ve gotten about Eren’s monstrous nature throughout the series, there’s just as much material of him loving his friends, and wanting them to be free and happy, and understanding that walls aren’t the only prison.

Angry Eren the Rage Boy is there. He’s even easy to understand, sometimes. OG Ymir’s history inspires a desire for death and destruction. It would be and is wrong, but the impulse isn’t difficult to parse.

He’s more than that. He stays up all night listening to Hange’s theories. Armin’s dreams of the sea catches his mind like wildfire. Fighting Annie even after she’s revealed to be someone who’s ruthlessly murdered his comrades is painful. He wants to believe Reiner and Bertolt are innocent even when they’re making the worst show of hiding it. He smiles every time he sees his friends genuinely happy.

Eren’s rage has always been a direct response to his views of the world. The slavers are monsters. He has no problem killing them. Titans are monsters. He wants them dead. He runs off in Trost and gets his leg chomped off because he’s so upset that a bit character we barely spend time with is being eaten.

“When we’re born... all of us... are free. People who reject that, no matter how strong they are... don’t matter.”

Since leaving his friends in Marley, Eren has rejected the freedom of every single one of them. He doesn’t tell them what he’s up to, but expects them to have his back. He pushes events into motion that nearly lead to all their deaths. He actively lies to Mikasa about how her brain functions. He tells Historia to get on board or have her memory wiped.

The rage and agony and helplessness Eren feels isn’t particularly strange, in my mind. He hasn’t coped with any of the manga’s arcs well, and the few victories he’s been part of have landed him in worse and worse places, emotionally.

The conclusions he’s reaching don’t work.

It isn’t that strange for people to not realize that they’re contradicting themselves, especially when they’re in this frame of mind, but Eren loves his damn friends.

Meanwhile, he’d find it easier to take if Mikasa were attached to him because her bloodline made her do it, but that’s.

Actually, no, that’s relevant.

Eren suggests plot magic chemistry before he considers that Mikasa actually loves him.

He’s a dying man.

He’s condemned himself already. It doesn’t matter what he does, as long as his friends are alive. Anything else -- everything else is secondary. They’ll be alive, and he’ll be dead, and it’s as simple as that.

But it isn’t like he doesn’t know right from wrong. This might be a wrong he can accept on his deathbed, but it’s undeniably wrong.

How horrific is it that people might be so attached to him that he can do all this, and they’ll still fight for him instead of putting him down like the monster he is?

Eren struggles with greys. If he’s willing to be the bad guy, it makes sense for him to commit. He’s rejecting freedom, so by his own rules, he doesn’t matter.

It would be so much easier for him if everyone else agreed on that point.

He seems to be doing what he can to make that happen.

...But that’s just whimsical speculation born of profound pity more than anything. I still have trouble figuring out what his deal is. He’s eviscerating his friends in the name of them surviving, but he still terms his want as them having “long, happy lives.” While actively interfering with both those aims.

This chapter doesn’t seem to leave much room for a secret other plan that Eren is secretly putting into action. That’s been my hope from the beginning, and pretty much every bit of my confusion here is why. The majority of the conflict here comes from Eren deliberately fucking things up. It’s like he accidentally poisoned a bunch of people by using the wrong chemicals to clean up the dead body of the person he killed who totally deserved it, and figured the best following response was to repeat the process.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the Eren we’re starting to see looks broken beyond all repair, and we’re missing the breaking point. We can puzzle out possibilities and trauma, but at the end of the day he has chosen such a destructive route that it needs more justification within the story.

Personally, I think that this Eren is buying into his own bad press so completely that he’s stopped giving himself freedom. That is my most established take.

The fact that that read play in nicely with Mikasa wrapping the scarf around him and taking him home has very little to do with that except that’s where my brain spends most of its time now, I guess.

.

.

AND NOW WE’RE BACK TO HISTORIA BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I EVER GET TO HAVE A SINGLE MOMENT OF PEACE.

Hell.

I am tired of going over all the ways in which this does not make sense. I am, perhaps, equally tired of how every single time the pregnancy subplot comes up, it manages to get worse.

‘what oh noooo she’s being used to breed an army of royal babies who will eat their mother’ ‘wait nooo she manipulated a guilty childhood bully into fucking her so zeke could live for some strange reason’ ‘oh nooooooooes it turns out she actually goes and fucks npc farmer guy because zeke needs to live for eren to commit genocide and if she doesn’t let eren commit genocide that’s bad for some reason even if she was just saying it’s actually bad for him to commit genocide’

I.

????

Additionally, I realize this chapter has probably reinvigorated people’s theories that Eren is the father, which. um. continues the trend of being worse, because then you have Historia feeling like she’s backed into a corner where fucking the guy who’s about to commit genocide is her only option because if she can’t come up with some good excuse to not eat Zeke he’s going to wipe her memories.

(ETA: Hours later, I sit here remembering he can’t actually wipe her memories until after Zeke shows up. Oops. ...That somehow manages to make all of this make less sense.)

I deeply do not want to discuss that element.

I’m just bringing it up to establish that every way you spin Historia’s situation is fifty shades of rape, and it’s skeevy as fuck along with making no sense.

Glad to know that in two years, literally nothing has come along to make this better or more logical.

That’s vaguely true because it lends more credence to the idea that it’s all a lie, but at this point, the writing is breaking its own back bending over to try and make this work.

“If there is a most reliable way to make sure that this island lives on... I’ll go along with it. There was no other way... But... you defended me back then... everyone acted for my sake... That’s enough for me.”

I’m going to try to explain my problem with this without screaming.

I’m probably going to fail.

The thing is, Historia’s entire arc is about fighting fate.

Her entire arc is about undoing the cycle of abuse her family has perpetuated, breaking free of it to reclaim her identity as a person and forge a better future for the world.

She almost kills Eren for her father’s approval.

When she doesn’t, her commentary isn’t that it’s wrong, or ineffective (though she’s aware of both these elements).

She makes her case very succinctly.

“God?! What a load of bull!! You’re just saying whatever you can think of to manipulate me and save yourself!! That’s it, I’ve had enough! I won’t let you kill me!!”

Replace “save yourself” with something related to Eren, and we have the exact same plot beat we already had, for a character who’s already gone through it.

Historia’s lack of agency would be bad enough on its own.

The entire focus of the pregnancy subplot has been that it causes Eren angst.

We have not gotten Historia’s thought bubbles.

We have received her verbal compliance.

We have had her misery over her situation on display.

This is something for Eren to feel guilty and angry over, not something for Historia to interact with.

On its own, that’s bad.

When you have it attached to a character whose entire arc is about breaking damaging cycles and living a life designed by her own choices instead of following orders and roles, you have a problem.

Historia never tries to resist this fate. Not that we’re shown. She’s clearly terrified, even in the scene where she staidly offers acceptance, but Eren is the one to speak up. She’s miserable whenever we see her pregnant, but every scene with her involves her sadly going along with this thing she clearly does not want. Even when she asks Eren what he thinks about her having a child, she’s unhappy.

This is the first time she’s gotten dialogue of her own in two years.

The first little bit is her shrugging at her inevitable suffering.

The second bit is being appalled at Eren’s everything.

Then somehow we land at her proposing her inevitable suffering.

Which...

How does that help??? Anything???

My answer to that is that I’m Team Fake Pregnancy, and Historia is proposing a hypothetical thing where she ponders how her having a child would play out, but I’m sorry, what?

Eren’s upset about you losing your bodily autonomy.

Among other things, yes, but having a child you’re not enthusiastic about is the entire fucking ignition point of this fucking fuckening idiocy how is it that NEITHER OF YOU ARE IN POSSESSION OF YOUR SOLITARY BRAIN CELL WHAT IN THE  F U C K.

Even if you read it as Historia not having a child with the intent of future cannibalism, but simply having a child to get out of eating Zeke --

Holy fuck is that not better.

It’s still her feeling forced to have a kid because the alternative is lots of people dying.

She’s nineteen.

At the very fucking least this could have the decency to be her story, not a story built around making the main male lead angst enough to commit genocide. At the time of this writing, we are denied that, and while I don’t think this is totally beyond saving, the story the narrative is selling is inexcusable and insulting. The only room for improvement is if we’re actively being misled.

Which is a valid theory, but that doesn’t change my disgust at what we’re being told to believe.

Having Historia simply accept her fate is a sledgehammer to Historia’s entire character development, and Historia’s character development is a microcosm of the guiding themes of the main story. You can’t dethrone her without the manga’s entire thematic significance ringing false.

Also, while I’m here, Eren’s being a fucking prick.

In case that was somehow missed.

'hi historia friendly reminder that i’m only here to commit genocide because you saved my life because like you said you’re the worst’ ‘lol remember that time you said the titans should just kill everyone and i teased you and you said you were caught up in the heat of the moment well guess what i listened to you and everyone’s gonna die thx for the protips’

Anyway.

This is either really good or really bad.

Because Historia does some very stupid things. That is not a writing flaw, it’s a character flaw and feature. She’s impulsive and dumb and realizes things conflict with her principles nine steps into committing criminally negligent homicide, and if that’s how this is all justified...

Hell, I guess I’ll just be tired. Which I already am, so that’s. fine.

It’s funny. This is one of the times I could have gotten away with writing barely anything, since half the chapter is just trailer shots for Eren’s monster movie. Yet here we are, many words in.

I’ve thought a lot today on if I should keep reading or not. One of the things that got under my skin is that I’ve spent a long time coming up with ways for this all to turn out okay. I complain a lot, and certainly lose my temper, but I like to think I stick around because however bad this gets, I have faith that the story’s thesis is that beauty wins against cruelty.

If that’s the case, I want to be here to see it through. I want that high of things being okay when all signs point to nothing ever being okay again.

But it’s been a long day, and I’ve spent two years split between anger and hope that I’m not sure if I feel because I trust the story or if it’s become a habit I’m afraid to break.

Or if it’s because if I did give up, I’d feel insanely guilty for any of the times I’ve tried cheering people up over the bleak things going on in the manga.

I want this to be a happier story than anyone I know thinks it will turn out. I’m an optimist to a degree that people tolerate, but don’t find particularly realistic when gauged against the content.

The main character is on a genocidal march in the name of friends he has broken and betrayed. Friends who can still barely vocalize the option of putting him down.

I don’t know if I want to be here for this.

I don’t think I need to watch more cruelty unfold, no matter how much beauty survives it.

[kob131]

https://rwdestuffs.tumblr.com/post/616806790896680960

Ironwood: Yells, screams, rants extensively, shoots things, breaks things

He never screamed, he never ranted, he broke like one thing (a chess piece) and shoot one guy (who in his mind was trying to stop him from saving people).

Yeah, Ironwood is emotional. He’s a fucking veteran Huntsman fighting a war that he was lied about by the man he trusted and the allies he thought he had. He also kind of just had HIS ONE GOOD ARM FUCKING SCORTCHED AND HIS PARANOIA CONFIRMED. Pretty fucking understandable, you shouldn’t be misrepresenting him.

Fandom: Clearly this man is a rational, logical person who is making his decisions based solely on cold reason. RWBY is being too emotional.

Who the FUCK has argued that James is operating under cold logic? He’s not, of course he’s acting under emotion.

What are you even saying?

RWBYJNR: Lies, cheats, steals, rants about a politician trying to do his best to protect a kingdom from going to shit, and also harassed a kid when they’re lied to

You know, Psyga, it doesn’t help that not only are you ALSO misrepresenting shit (They never cheated, the stealing of one airship pales to the numerous DEATHS that would have been caused, they didn’t rant and ONE PERSON  messed with Oscar while the LEADER RUBY comforted him) but you yourself are guilty of this shit (Lying, cheating and stealing? Gee I wonder who else does that? *cough* RWDE *cough*)

Fandom: Clearly these group of well thinking, mentally scarred teenagers are rational, logical people who are making their decisions solely on reason. Ironwood is being too emotional.

Again, WHO IS SAYING THAT? Also, implying that Ironwood isn’t basically a walking mass of mental scars.

Has it ever occurred to you that maybe grown men in charge of armies should be held to a slightly higher standard than teenagers, rather than the other way around?

Has it occurred to you that they’re both adults, they’re both fucking up and everyone screwed Salem’s pooch here? Honestly the only guy doing good is Ozpin. Yeah, he started this mess but he did some damn good work before Cinderella.

Also no Psyga, I am not supporting your hypocritical ass. “they’re taught to be pinnacles of man kind’’ By the headmasters....which includes IRONWOOD.

I laugh at the idea of James “A few city blocks”   Ironwood trying to do the best to protect his kingdom. Especially when he peaced out and decided to scarper not cos of Salem but due to a chess piece, all while ignoring the fact he had Salem agents on his stupid little rock already to instead focus on shrieking at RWBY a bout loyalty. 

The same James “I’ll promote you all to Huntsmen, I’m the one to tell my subordinates the truth first and I SUFFER FROM PARANOIA AND PROBABLY A HOST OF OTHER MENTAL SCARS” Ironwood right?

I mean you support Yang Tumblingxelian because ‘uwu vagin- I mean PTSD’ so SURELY you support Ironwood RIGHT?

Also, he freaked out about a chess piece because it’s SALEM’S SYMBOL. Its like saying “Oh its not Hitler it’s just his CALLING CARD”. And no shit James is calling out Team RWBY, he trusted them and they lied to his face. You know, the same position Team RWBY was in with Ozpin.

Plus Ironwood himself lies and steal in regards to supplies from Mantle and rants too, except unlike RWBY he doesn’t have nearly as good of an excuse save for the fact he’s surrounded himself with enablers and refuses to accept or seek out help. 

Amity? Yes.

Supplies? Where? Robyn says they should be going to Mantle, that doesn’t mean they’re Mantle supplies. Show me where it was shown, said or explained he TOOK the supplies.

Also, what enablers? People who put their trust in him? That’s like saying Team RWBY were enablers for Ozpin: it’s the Ace Ops and Winter’s fault for not looking out for their leader, just as it was James’ issue for not looking out for Ozpin.

Like seriously, nothing is ever done to show RWBY as unstable or irrational, at best they are uncertain which is frank;y better than Ironwood or Opzin’s “I know best” attitude because it means they are open to changing rather than breaking the moment they run into a problem their methods can’t solve. 

Changing, like going from opposing lying to lying themselves right AFTER knowing how bad of an idea that is.

This is the fucking Yang/Adam situation all over again, removing fault and agency just because you don’t like the other side.

We also literally see their rationales, they need to get he lamp to Atlas before either Salem’s agents find them or it potentially lures Grimm in. They make a good plan that only doesn’t work out cos the local general decided t bust out a super mech and prance around screaming and they still hung around long enough to help solve the problem that idiot created. 

Strange that you don’t their talk of telling the truth....

When it comes to Mantle their rationales for why its awful and Ironwood’s decisions are wrong are explained both morally and in terms of practicality, Ironwood sometimes listened but usually ignored them cos he’s an arrogant ass. 

Or, you know, he’s been lied to numerous times, he’s in immense physical pain right now, his mental issues are being played on and he’s in a rushed, fucked if you do fucked if you don’t situation.

You know, WHAT THE SHOW FUCKING SHOWS.

On one side is a pack of teenagers dragged into a lot of nightmarish shit they were in no way ready to deal with, who are trying to work together and find a way to save the world. They do this despite being horribly traumatized, physically dismembered in two cases, having to fight off their abusers (to the death in one case), all the while admitting they’re in over their head, they’ve made mistakes, and trying to fix them and generally improve things.

The other side is a military general blatantly abusing his political power to deprive a city of critical resources, leaving them exposed to man eating monsters, declaring martial law to stop the rest of the government from stopping him from outright abandoning the people of that city (and the rest of the planet) to those monsters, ordering the cold-blooded murderer of an elderly woman to steal her magical powers, ordering the arrest of a group of teenagers and one older man because SOME OF THEM vocally disagreed with these actions, then shot a teenage boy for politely disagreeing with him, with the intent being that the boy would die from either the bullet of the long fall that followed. He does all this while insisting he’s being logical, that he’s making the hard choices on everyone elses behalf, and that he is always right. While hallucinating, ranting and screaming about disloyalty, all of which because he failed once (And that’s ignoring how he backstabbed several supposed friends before that traumatizing incident.)

A. Ironwood is also dragged into this by the same metric.

B. James is ALSO in over his head. Everyone not named ‘Ozpin’ is and Ozpin BARELY qualifies.

C. And James is being abused and used too!

D. ‘physically dismembered in two cases’ One and *taps Ironwood’s metal arm*

E. To try and help EVERYONE he’s ‘depriving resources’ because shit ain;t infinite.

F. Aas opposed to the genocidal, ancient witch CONTROLLING the man eating monsters?

G. And the other option? Have everyone DIE in his eyes.

H. Cold blooded murder...that she agreed to of her own volition....

I. You misspelled ALL as SOME. As in, ALL of the protags disagreed with him.

J. ANd you know, trying to stop him.

K. You know, like literally everyone else

M. He never hallucinated, ranted or screamed

James Ironwood is a coward and a traitor to the Kingdom of Atlas. On top of that, he is an entitled little shit that neglected his responsibilities to the civilians of the Kingdom, and then was so fucking arrogant that he was actually OFFENDED that people were angry with him for not doing his job. Quite a lot of that can be blamed on the culture of the Atlas military, of the demands of blind loyalty and yes-men creating an echo chamber without him even noticing. But in the end, he made the decisions. He decided the people of Mantle are an expendable resource, months or even years before Cinder broke into his office. He decided to order the murder of an elderly woman, to overthrow his government, to arrest anyone that dared to disagree with him, and to personally shoot a boy in cold blood. 

You want to know the twisted part? I think those of us that admit Ironwood is in the wrong actually respect him more. We can see how he came to this point, the cultural indoctrination, the dangers of military culture, the PTSD he’s clearly suffered since Beacon... We can feel sympathy for a fallen hero. Those who support him continue to insist that he’s in his right mind, that all his decisions, from volume two onwards, have all been completely logical... And what kind of person would that make him?

Oh fuck you with that “Because I disagree that makes me better bullshit.”

You didn’t portray a fallen hero, you portrayed a flatter version of Adam, denying Ironwood’s reasons, glorifying Team RWBY and painted it black and white.

And before anyone claims I am supporting Team RWBY:

Actually look up my opinions of them on my blog. Or hell, this single post. I think both parties are at fault for the situation here for their own flaws. ANd I feel sad for both them.

The conflict in the fandom, however?

[thiswasinevitableid]

#7? NSFW? Sternclay? Pretty please 🙇‍♀️

7: It’s our one year anniversary fuck how does one celebrate an anniversary of rivalry and one-sided devotion?

Joseph Stern, alias Agent M, has accomplished what no other member of the National Hero Control Task Force has been able to: he has captured a member of the elusive Pine Guard.

The guard has been causing chaos for the better part of two years, bringing important projects such as oil pipeline development, ICE facilities, and start-up construction to catastrophic halts. 

Stern isn’t invested in those projects, but he believes in the greater good, in law and order. 

One member of the guard in particular has caught and held his attention since he first laid eyes on him. Bigfoot, or so he’s called, has eluded most of their security tapes in a way his compatriots haven’t, and has been reported as more than once saving civilians and bystanders from danger.

He also once stayed behind to ensure Stern stayed conscious after sustaining a head injury. Stern has never been able to get an explanation as to why. But after that day, puzzling out Bigfoot’s motives, his past, his personality has become Sterns true goal. 

Convenient, then, that the man is currently strapped, standing up, to a holding table in his base.

“I knew word of those files would get your attention.”  He stands toe to toe with Bigfoot, who growls but says nothing.

“There’s no call for that. Besides, even if you’d managed to infiltrate here without alerting me, there wouldn’t have been anything to steal. All the information on the identity of the pine guard members is up here. I haven’t shared it with my superiors yet.” He taps his head.

“So, you’re bluffing.”

“Not at all. Barclay.” 

Dark brown eyes go wide with concern. 

“Okay, so you got me. That doesn’t mean you got the rest of us.”

Stern sighs, counts off on his fingers, “Mothman is Indrid Cold, Jackalope is Aubrey Little, Cactus Cat is Dani Coolice, Champ is Duck Newton, Hodag is Ned Chicane, Jersey Devil is Arlo Thacker, and Echidna is Madeline Cobb.”

Barclay sags in his restraints. 

“What do I have to do to keep them safe?”

“Nothing. You’re eco-terrorists, Barclay. Even if I wanted to I can’t keep the information I gained secret from my superiors.”

“You could. Like, literally. Just don’t tell them.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The apology doesn’t come out as hollow as he needs it to, and Barclay arches an eyebrow.

“Ahem, anyway, you won’t be needing this anymore.” He lifts off Barclays blue mask (one that compliments his coppery beard), not surprised at all by the face underneath yet delighted at seeing it. He’s thought it handsome since the first time he laid eyes on it

The spell is broken by Barclay biting his hand. He yelps, dropping the mask on the floor. 

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Neither was unmasking me. Jesus, you never struck me as some gloaty douche  but obviously I was wrong.”

That stings, and so Stern turns on his heel with a flourish. 

“Careful, or I won’t share dinner with you.”

“Oh no, no gruel or power bars or whatever you joyless fucks eat for me--do you smell saffron?”

“Yes.” Stern wheels out the small cart, covered platter glistening atop it and a vase that’s too small for the bouquet sitting in it trying valiantly not to tip over. “I made us saffron rice with lamb, and red wine dark chocolate cupcakes.” He removes the cover, feeling rather smug.

“Shit that looks good.” Barclay whispers, licking his lips. Then he looks up, “Wait, made us?”

Oh lord, the confusion on Barclay’s face sends pangs through his chest. What he wouldn’t give to kiss it away. 

“I, well, it has been exactly a year since we met. And I was trying to think of ways to mark the date, and I know you like cooking and food and so this seemed like a good gift.”

“...Did you make us a fucking anniversary dinner?”

“Technically? Yes.”

“Alright, Mister special agent, how am I supposed to eat it when I’m strapped to a fucking table?”

“I could, um, feed it to you? I shut off the cameras in this room so that I could do so without embarrassing either of us.”

“This what you do every Friday, strap random guys down and feed them? Sounds pretty kinky.” Barclay smirks. 

“I enjoy being helpful, something a so-called ‘hero’ should understand. And I didn’t choose a random guy; I strapped you, specifically, down.”

Barclay fixes him with an amused look before shrugging as much as his bonds allow, “Fine, you clearly worked hard on dinner. May as well make the most of it.”

Stern slices a chunk of lamb, offers it to Barclay who parts his lips without hesitation.

“Holy shit, that’s good.” The blissed out look on his face is one of Sterns favorite views in the world. He hates having to pretend like he hasn’t seen it before. 

As he cuts another piece Barclay asks, “You make the bouquet too?”

“Yes. I took some classes on flower language and  arranging a few years back, and I like doing it.”

Another bite, and this Barclay sighs happily before cocking his head, “You just not gonna eat?”

“Guests eat first.”

“I’m a hostage, agent, not a guest.”

“My point stands.”

“Y’know, if you just undid my hands, we could eat at the same time. Make it a real anniversary dinner instead of some repressed man in black feeding me my last meal as a free man.”

“I’m not just any man in black, I’m your main rival. You said so yourself, once. And the answer is no to the unlocking.”

“Well, there goes that option.” 

Stern sees him tug the strings of his woven bracelet a moment too late. He braces for an explosion or a weapon flying at him. 

Instead, reality warps for a nanosecond, and then Barclay isn’t in front of him anymore. Staring down at him is what he can only describe as a Bigfoot. And honest to god, fur-covered, claw-handed Bigfoot.

A Bigfoot that is no longer restrained. 

“You’re, you’re really-”

“Yep.” Barclay lunges, but instead of grabbing Stern he reaches for the cutlery, tossing it up and over the rooms computer center and far out of range.

Then he grabs Stern by the back of his neck, slamming him against the restraint table. Stern retaliates, jumping up and landing his feet against Barclay’s chest. There’s an “oof” but nothing else. Stern tries to catch him with his stunner, but Barclay avoids him easily, twisting his hands behind his back and letting go as he launches Stern into the window. Mercifully it's made of bullet-proof, triple strength glass, so he doesn’t plummet fifty stories to his death.

He’s simply pinned by his nemesis, the city lights thousands of eyes watching his defeat.

“Are you, ow, all monsters?”

“Nope, just some of us. And you’ve put me in a real bad situation, agent.” Barclay growls in his ear, “first by blabbing that you, and only you really did know our secret identities, and then leaving me no choice but to take off my disguise.”

“I, I’m sorry your poor problem solving skills caused you to reveal that Bigfoot is not merely a codenameOW.” Barclays claws pierce his suit, “Go ahead and kill me. I won’t give up any information to the Pine Guard. I’m prepared to die in the service of my agency.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” He lies

“Nothing you’d miss?”

“No.” 

A rumbling purr in his ear this time, “Not even me?”

“N-no, what, where on earth would you get that idea?”

“Flowers gave you away. Red carnations are admiration, daffodils mean unrequited love, and orange roses are fascination.” 

“That’s a coincidence.” He grits his teeth to prevent the truth spilling out. 

“Not for a guy who admitted he knew their meanings. And you know what else?” He clips Stern’s hands behind his back in cuffs designed to hold the super-strength of Duck Newton, making escape impossible for Sterns normal-human abilities “you put some wild grasses in their to fill the whole thing out.”

“So?”

“Grass means submission. You put all your feelings for me in a vase and gave me plenty of time to take them in, probably thinking it a clever in-joke to yourself. But that one? I’m betting that one was accidental, subconscious. You want to submit. Whether that’s in general or to me I have no clue.”

“Just you.” He may as well confess it. One less secret to carry to his grave.

A low, dangerous chuckle fills the room as he’s spun away from the window and shoved to his knees.

“That what you want, agent?” Barclay replaces the bracelet, becoming human before his eyes, “Want to be a good boy for me?”

He nods, cheeks hot and gaze locked on the floor until Barclay yanks it up by his hair, tearing strands loose from their carefully gelled hold. 

“Aw now, no need for that.” Barclay traces the path of the blush with his thumb, voice mockingly sweet, “know your overlords like everyone to be emotionless, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting a good fuck, even if half the city can probably see it from here.”

“Oh lord.” He moans, the image sending his thoughts, his dignity, his blood, south.

Another laugh, his head yanked sideways to take in the view, “Damn, you like that too, huh? Like the idea of everyone watching while one of America’s finest begs me to fuck his face. Your superiors finding out their best agent is so needy he’d do anything for me to touch him?”

The tears pricking his eyes are from want, not shame, when he chokes out, “yes.”

Barclay turns his head forward, then up. 

“Please, Barclay,  please.”

“Please fuck you?”

“Yes.” He whimpers.

“Nope. Sorry, agent, I don’t sleep with the enemy, even if he gives me the worlds bluest puppy dog eyes. Not to mention, threatening the people I love is the opposite of being a good boy. But since it’s our anniversary, I think you do owe me a gift.” His fingers touch the edge of Sterns mask, “let’s see who’s been tracking me for a year.”

“Wait, don’t-” The mask tears off. The two men stare at each other, frozen, one in surprise and the other in fear.

“Joseph?” 

“Hello.” He wants to look away, to see literally anything other than the betrayal on Barclay’s face.

“I, uh, I imagine this will lose me the title of ‘favorite customer’ at the Coffee Lodge.”

“You, you’ve been spying on us. You’ve been at the Lodge almost every fucking day since June, and you’re Agent fucking M, I, I can’t-” Barclay paces, fingers running through his hair, “Did you start coming just to stake us out?”

“Yes. I tracked your movements, Barclay. I’m ashamed to say I accessed the medical records of anyone in the target area who had top surgery to narrow down my suspects, and eventually identified you as Bigfoot. Once I started getting coffee at the lodge everyday it was easy to piece together who else was on the team.”

“Yeah, and flirting with me probably helped a lot.”

“Uhhhhhhhhm.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t try to pretend that wasn’t part of your investigation.”

“It isn’t. Wasn’t.”  He lowers his head meekly. 

Barclay stops moving, sighs heavily, “Is there anywhere in this damn place that’s smaller and doesn’t have cameras?”

“My bedroom only has one. Just take down the smoke detector on the right hand side as soon as we go in.”

Barclay easily lifts him over his shoulder and trudges down the hall and into the bedroom. Rips the “smoke detector” from the wall, sparks crackling when he does. Then he deposits Stern on the bed and turns his desk chair to face it. 

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes before my ride gets here. Talk.” Barclay sits down, crosses his arms while Stern attempts to sit up straight.”

“Wait, how can you know that.”

A mild smile, “You really think I’d walk into such an obvious trap without an escape plan?”

“No.” He mutters, dejected, “what do you want me to say, Barclay?”

“The truth, genius.”

“You seem to know most of it already.”

“Yeah, but one big piece is missing; why the hell didn’t you write down our identities somewhere the higher ups could find them if something happened to you? Shit, why not just sic a bunch of agents on us when we were all at the lodge making, or drinking, coffee?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Because the lodge was my haven too, alright?” Stern snaps, “I felt understood there, safer than I did in any secret base. And every time Dani laughed at something Aubrey did, or Duck told some corny joke, or you smiled at me, I understood more and more why you all do what you do. I felt my commitment to my work waning. I had to do something to reiterate my belief in it. This was that something.”

Barclay is silent for a moment, taking Stern in bit by bit.

“You want to leave the NHCTF, don’t you?” He leans forward in quiet shock. 

Stern nods, defeated, “I’ve been questioning our methods for some time, but always thought that what we did was in the service of keeping people safe. I’m still not fully convinced the Pine Guard is going about it the best way, but from what I’ve seen, you do a far better job of it than we do.”

“So join us. Help us figure out how to be even better.” Barclay reaches for him, takes his hand.

“You’d ask me to just like that?”

“Most of us like you, Joseph. We’re not super into Agent M, but it’s not like we haven’t noticed you’re not chasing us down as much as you used to. Also, I’d be a really crappy superhero if I didn’t at least try to recruit the smartest man I know to our side.”

Stern blushes more than necessary at the compliment. 

“Okay. I’m in. I’m ready to try being a different kind of good guy.”

“Welcome to the Pine Guard.” Barclay presses the secret hinges on the cuffs, and they drop to the floor. 

A fit of giggles in Sterns throat pours out into the space between them, “Jesus, I didn’t think betraying the government would feel so liberating.”

“Always knew you were a good guy, deep down.”

Another blush has him cursing his capillaries. 

“Heh, you do like it when I call you good.”

“Yes. Though as you observed, I have a weakness for humiliation as well.”

“Y’know, we’ve got a little bit of time still.” Barclay leans back, and Stern perks up when his hands hit his belt.

“And it is our anniversary.” Stern sinks to the floor, covers a few inches on his knees to rests his head on Barclays thigh.

“Shit, you really are a needy little thing.” Barclay shifts and wiggles awkwardly in order to get his close low enough to give Stern the access he needs. Stern nuzzles his inner thigh, skates his hands along muscular legs, making a mental note to discover what they feel like naked and tensing in time with their owners moans. 

“You’re rather, uhm, slick already. Is this where you tell me you got into heroics because you get off on fighting?”

“Nope, just on manhandling you. And you’re in no position to comment, agent.” The growl he puts into that last word has Stern melting forward. Which is helpful, in that Barclay shoves him down the rest of the way. He licks and sucks eagerly at him, moaning messily when Barclay tilts his hips up, pressing and rutting against him. 

“Like I, fuck, said babe, you’ve got no room to feel smuggAH--shit that felt good--amazed I didn’t walk in on you in the lodge bathroom with some dudes dick down your throat while another one fucked that tight ass.”

Stern would like to point out that a) he would never do such a thing in a business he respected and b) there’s only been one dick he’s wanted anywhere near him in months. But he doesn’t dare pull away. Instead he whimpers, shakes his head and takes all of Barclay’s cock into his mouth.

“Hnnnshit, maybe I got it wrong, maybe you, fuck, were one smile away from falling to you knees and begging me to fuck you over the counter.” 

Stern nods emphatically, pawing at any exposed skin he can find on Barclay stomach and hips,  and the larger man laughs.

“Fuck, much as I wanna hold you down and come all over that handsome face, got something else I wanna do even more.” He lets go of Sterns head, nudges him back so he can join him on the floor. 

“Wha-ohshit’ He gasps when Barclay rips the front of his pants off, wrapping one large hand around his cock. But when Stern tries to thrust up into the warm, tight fist, Barclay pins his hips down with one hand. There’s such easy strength in the movements that Stern tilts his head back to rest on the spotless bedspread, because baring his throat feels like the only suitable response. 

Teeth just sharper than they ought to be sink into the base of his neck, but even as he arches and thrashes in response, he can’t get any stimulation on his cock. Coarse coppery hair tickles his skin as Barclay laughs, “Cute how you think that’s enough begging to get what you want.”

“Barclay, please, I, I’ve wanted this for months, it’s all I want, I will do anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Poor special agent, so desperate.” Barclay’s tone is cruel as he drags his hand up in one long, slow stroke. Stern eagerly awaits a downstroke that doesn’t come. 

“Well? Gimme one good reason to indulge my pathetic new plaything.”

“I, I, I’ll be good, so good for you, let you do whatever you want, fuck.” The barest movement of Barclays hand and he sobs, “please, I just want to be good, I just want you to use me, god, please just tell me what you want.” 

“Admit you’re a needy fucker who likes the fact the other cameras in this building can probably hear him begging me to-”

“I am, I need you so badly, I need this, I want you so much, I need youOHyes, yes.” He groans happily as Barclay switches to rapid strokes and drags one of Sterns hands between his legs. He keeps his fingers outside for the time being, focuses on circling his thumb and dragging the other digits in tight patterns.

“C’mon handsome, jack me off, show me how much you like your reward oh fuck, fuck, Joseph, that’s it babe, fuck that’s good.” His head drops to mouth at Stern’s neck with a moan as he grinds against Sterns palm, “shit, shoulda asked you out last week like I was planning to, coulda been doing this every night, yeah, ohyeah.” As he comes his grip on Sterns cock tightens, and even as he rides out his orgasm he’s growling, “come on agent, lemme see you ruin those fancy clothes.”

Stern comes with what sounds, to his ears, like a pathetic cry. Yet as soon as he spills onto his stomach and Barclays hand, the larger man kisses his chest, whispering sweetly, “You’re so good, did so good for me baby, you’re amazing.”

With unsure fingers, he brushes a strand of loose hair from Barclays cheek. Barclay looks up, smiling so tenderly Stern worries he’s dreaming. Then Barclay sits up, cupping his chin and drawing him into a gentle kiss, sighing happily when their lips meet. 

“Is it selfish to be happy that you joining the team means I get to see you everyday?”

“Not in the least. Though you see me most days at the coffee shop anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I get to do this” another kiss, somehow twice as tender as the first, “when I do.”

Stern curls into his arms as he continues, “guess we oughta get you a codename now.”

“You know, I’ve actually given that some thought. Given that only some of you drew your names from cryptids or, um, I suppose your true forms, I think there’s room for a codename that reflects my history with secretive government agencies while staying on theme?”

“I think so too.” Barclay smiles expectantly. 

“In that case,” Stern grins back, future brightening ahead of him for the first time in years, “just call me Roswell.”

[theashemarie]

Riding Out the Wave Ch. 4 | Pearlina Fic

↪Read chapter 1 here: [Adventures in Babysitting]

↪Chapter 2: [How We Got Here]

↪Chapter 3: [Gulf Space]

Crossposted: [AO3] [FFN]

Ch. 4: Morning Breakfast

When Marina leaves her room at eight in the morning, right on the dot, the first sense that activates is smell. It’s the most primal, and it alerts her to the smell of bacon fat, to eggs, to pancakes. Her feet start up next, piloting her body toward the kitchen before she can remember that she’s supposed to be stealthy, stealing into the fridge for an easy, light breakfast before alighting back into her room. She isn’t sure if she’s ready to see Pearl yet, mostly because she’s ashamed. Ashamed of her behavior yesterday, ashamed of her choices, of her fear.

There’s a lot that she should be ashamed of, considering her life, but this feels like the most acute: her actions were rash and her fear was something to be apologized for. But, she also isn’t sure what she wants, what she needs, what she’s going to say to Pearl. And that’s— That’s scarier than anything. She’s never felt this unsure about anything. Even when she left behind the world she knew for Inkopolis, she had some sort of confidence, a powerful drive to do, to get out, and she knew she would be okay eventually. But this?

This is something else. This is—

“Marina?” She comes to a stop just outside the kitchen. There’s Pearl, actually making breakfast. She has a spatula in her hand and everything.

Marina can’t help but stare, not because of the spatula, or the apron with the words kiss the cook splattered across it, or even the fact that the smoke alarm is sitting on the counter without its battery, but because this is Pearl, Princess Pearl, cooking, right here, in their kitchen.

Oh... Oh no. This is bad. Pearl is... Pearl is domesticating before her very eyes.

Pearl mistakes her staring for interest, or else she’s just trying to compensate for her own uncertainty with humor, but she says, “You like it?” and gestures at the apron. It’s pristine, still has creases from the packaging it came in, and Marina is absolutely sure that it’s not actually made for cooking. “I had it overnighted,” Pearl continues, before whipping back around and attempting to flip a pancake. It splatters, splits, and Pearl hisses at it to get its fucking act together you’re embarrassing me. Marina can’t help but smile.

There’s no getting out now, so she moves forward and takes the spatula from Pearl’s hand. “Like this.” She pushes the spatula under the pancake and flips it effortlessly, stomach gurgling as soon as the tell-tale sizzle begins anew. Pearl elbows her lightly.

“Hungry, huh? Did you sleep any?”

She didn’t, but she can’t admit that. “A little,” she says instead, avoiding Pearl’s eyes. Marina offers Pearl the spatula. “You try.”

Pearl takes it without a hint of fear, ever the little fighter, and makes to stab it under the next pancake. Marina lets out a small noise and jerks to stop her. “Be gentle,” she says as she wraps her long fingers around Pearl’s shorter ones. She guides the spatula toward the pancake, repeating the process from earlier and trying to show Pearl how easy it can be. “You gotta ease under, and then you... flip!”

Pearl doesn’t say anything as the pancake begins to sizzle, and Marina realizes that she’s staring at their hands, at Marina’s green-tipped, dark fingers clutched tight around her own. Marina extracts herself and steps away, prim, adjusts her tank top. “Excuse me,” she says, mind suddenly missing all the Inkling words she needs. It’s all a different language up there, one that she misses dearly. She’s so smart in Octarian, but she feels so stupid in Pearl’s language. She can’t express her feelings like this, and she doesn’t want to screw it up, so she simply turns to the fridge.

Pearl stays blessedly silent, and Marina can’t help but remember last night, the muttered “I don’t want to give up on this,” followed by “but if you want me to, I will.” She’s sticking to that, letting Marina make the first move, and Marina appreciates that, but, more than anything, she wants someone else to take charge for once. She’s done so much of that, from setting out on her own to becoming a musician; she wants someone else to grab her hand and guide her.

She grabs the orange juice, realizes that it’s all pulpy, and sighs to herself.

+

Here’s the thing that Marina can’t say:

Love is something she’s unfamiliar with, and she’s so so so terrified of screwing it up. Where she’s from, it’s not unheard of, but it’s also not advertised. She has no idea how to go about it, has no idea what it should feel like, has no idea what is expected of her. Most of all, she doesn’t want to lose Pearl—Pearl with her wicked grins, her loud, explosive voice, her large gestures and flinging arms. Pearl is so much more than Marina’s ever seen, ever experienced, and she can’t jeopardize that with her ignorance.

Life underground was all nuance. It was structure and small barracks. It was living for the next meal, let alone the next day, and it was tenuous, light friendships. Every now and then she heard about fraternization between Octoling fighters, but those were all whispers, the soft sound of a door closing at night, glances in the wrong direction, hands brushing just there under the table. She was, perhaps, too young to really understand it, considering how fast she was promoted, too hypnotized by her world, her life, her superiors, but she sees now the innuendo, the taboo, the hiding in plain sight.

These things happened, she’d heard, people get compromised. They die for each other, not as comrades but as something more. It was dangerous, they taught her, and useless outside of the civilian sector. She imagined that, living in one of the beachy areas, raising a child, having a partner. But, she never considered what it would feel like, how gripping in its totality it would be. She never considered what it would feel like, to want to lay your life down for someone.

And in trotted Pearl. Pearl with her complete and total devotion to whatever interested her in the moment. And Marina was that thing: “The best thing that ever happened to me,” Pearl said on more than one occasion, in more than one interview. Marina always thought she meant their music, and how Marina helped her achieve her dream, but now...

She’s... overwhelmed, terrified, panicked. She wants this more than anything, but she doesn’t know how to explain to Pearl her hang-ups without going through her whole unwritten history. And she’s scared that if she does that, Pearl will never see her the same way—she helped create the Flooders, which eventually lead to a deal with the Salmonids and the creation of the Grillers, both of which render Inklings to small splats of ink. Not to mention all of the training, in hand-to-hand, with different weapons, to kill. Pearl might see her as a monster.

It’s not that she’s keeping her life a secret. It’s just that she hates revisiting those things. There are some things that no one should have to remember, and her training is one of them. It’s the reason she still hates it when Pearl yells into microphone without warning, why she hates the feeling of enemy ink on her skin, why she’d much rather stay on stage the whole Splatfest instead of defending her team.

But, mostly, she’s unsure about how to go about it. If they go for this, this relationship, she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what’s expected of her. And that’s... It’s frustrating. And, she imagines that it’ll be just as frustrating for Pearl. Pearl is experienced, knows exactly the steps and the rules, but Marina is still new to all of this, is still getting used to the idea. Sure, she accepted her crush with a simple sort of quiet zen, but that was because it was hers and hers alone. She had time to figure it out. But now, things are suddenly theirs, from the kiss to the aftermath to this breakfast. She has to share it, and, after a life of watching out for and checking in with only herself, she isn’t sure how to go about that.

And, if things go public? If they’re suddenly thrust into the limelight not because of their music but because of their personal lives? Marina knows that she’ll say something wrong, upset a bunch of people, perhaps even reveal herself as an Octoling. Then things will never be the same. An Inkling and Octoling—together?

It’s better... It’s better if they just. If they just leave things as they are. It’s safer, things are good, and, most importantly, they’re perfectly synched with no strife or stress. This whole love thing will only lead to trouble.

But then—why does she so desperately want it, even when every cell of her mind is telling her that it’s a bad idea?

+

Breakfast is quiet, quiet enough that Marina can hear Pearl chewing. It’s so strange, because Pearl is usually clamoring to talk, usually about nothing important but just to fill the space. Now, there’s nothing between them except food, which wouldn’t be a bad thing except each breath is charged. Pearl’s leg is bouncing under the table, Marina can feel it, and Marina knows that her own unnatural stillness is off-putting, but she can’t help it.

They’re both mortified at the idea of talking first, but they need to talk. Marina isn’t sure what she wants or what she’ll say, and Pearl is leaving it up to her. Marina will have to speak first, but what can she say? How can she possibly put into words her fears? Her hesitation?

Well, first, she supposes, she needs to apologize.

“Pearl,” she sighs as she puts her fork down beside her plate, like all the etiquette books have taught her. “I’m sorry.”

Pearl immediately looks terrified. Her fork drops onto her plate with a loud clatter, she pushes her long sleeves up her arms as if preparing for battle, and her face is paler than it’s ever been. Marina swears she sees the blood drain down her neck, past the neckline of her oversized sweatshirt. “S-sorry?” she manages to stutter out, and it’s quite possibly the first time Marina has ever heard her so unsure. “What are you—? If this is about the kiss—”

“It’s not.” Marina looks down at her plate and pushes a tentacle behind her ear, a small moment of trust. Pearl is the only one allowed to see her ears, and Pearl’s leg’s bouncing speeds up considerably. “I’m not sorry about that,” Marina continues. “I’m sorry for... everything else.”

A long beat of silence. Other than the jostling of the table, there’s no sign that Pearl is there. Marina looks up, just to make sure, and Pearl pins her with a hard, critical look. “Marina, I’ve got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Marina refuses the groan that bubbles up, swallows it down. “For everything,” she says quickly, throwing her arms out to encompass the size of everything—Pearl, the table, their apartment, the morning breakfast (and oh how she wishes this was midnight breakfast because at least then the talking wouldn’t be excepted), the world outside. “For... Ugh. I can’t—”

The small admission, the hesitation, is enough for Pearl to realize. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it. I get it.”

“No, you don’t.” Marina pulls her knees into her chest, miserable at her inability to communicate. “I need to explain. I just— I don’t— I’m scared. Of what could happen.”

Pearl doesn’t talk for a long time. Marina doesn’t either, just watches Pearl as Pearl watches her. Pearl’s leg is still.

“So am I,” Pearl mutters. Her long sleeves have come down to cover her hands and Marina can almost imagine her as a small child, solid pink, still more squid than humanoid, dressed in that same sweatshirt. She’s so tiny, so vulnerable in that moment, and it hits Marina then, just how much Pearl trusts her. Not even her father gets to see her like this.

“Oh, Pearlie,” she sighs. “We’re in it deep, aren’t we?”

Pearl shrugs and refuses to look at her, almost like a pouting child. “Maybe.”

Marina picks her fork up and begins to poke at her food, unsure how to continue. There’s so much that needs to be said, but at least, in this, she can be sure: they’re both absolutely terrified of everything that could go wrong.

But they’ve also both fallen so far already.

“Marina...” Pearl’s voice is closer than she expects, and she looks up to see Pearl right there. She’s silent in her bare feet, not even the rustle of fabric to give her away, and Marina has a fantastical thought: a Pearl this capable of silence is something to be respected.

Pearl stands there, hands still hidden in her sleeves, worrying at the hem, crownless, almost like a royal come to beg for something from a peasant. Her eyes though, are alive with something that looks a lot like flame and determination. “Marina, I’m fucking petrified. I don’t want to lose you, or what we have. Hell, I don’t really give a shit what happens to my career! I can’t imagine my life without you. You— You’re my best goddamn friend. But... I know you felt that kiss. I know you—”

“I did,” Marina cuts in, quickly, just to make it completely sure. “I... It was...” She shakes her head, and merely peers up at Pearl with what she hopes is an encouraging expression. “I can’t think of the word—”

“Amazing, incredible, mind-blowing, earth shattering, explosive, wonderful, astonishing, dumbfounding, overwhelming—”

“Yes, thank you.” Marina can’t help the small smile that appears on her face. “Pick one of those, that’s what it was.”

Pearl grins too, and, ice broken, reaches out to grab Marina’s hand. She’s careful to keep her sleeve between them, as if skin-on-skin contact is too risqué. “I know you felt that kiss,” she repeats. “I think that just leaving it there would be...”

“Cruel,” Marina answers.

Pearl nods. “Yeah. It would be torture for both of us. Everything’s different now, even if we want to pretend that it’s not.”

Marina looks down at their hands. “It is...”

“It’s up to you,” Pearl says quickly. “I was listening yesterday, you know? You think I don’t, but I did. I know that this is new for you, but I’m patient. Hey, hey,” she cuts across when she sees Marina’s disbelieving smile, “for this, I can be patient. You’re worth it.”

Everything is moving so fast, but Marina wants this; she wants this more than she’s ever wanted anything. All of her reason is telling her to wait, slow down, please, just for a second, but Pearl is so magnetic, so understanding, so open, so... thoughtful. This is Marina’s best friend, her partner, after all, and she’s shown her no reason not to trust her. They’ve been an unstoppable team up until yesterday—who was she to fight the gravity that had formed between them?

She slowly worms her fingers under Pearl’s sleeve so that their palms are touching. Static electricity lights up her nerves like never before when she sees Pearl’s wide, relieved grin. “Is that a yes?” Pearl asks, almost at a whisper, throat clogged with what sounds like tears.

Marina squeezes her hand. “It’s a maybe. Maybe... let’s give it a try.”

Pearl wraps her fingers around Marina’s, tight, squeezes. “Okay.” She steps closer and Marina feels her heart speed up. “Can I... Can I kiss you?”

Marina tilts her head up, suddenly very dizzy (a good dizzy), and she can practically feel Pearl’s happiness. “Yes.”

And then, of course, Pearl’s phone rings. Pearl groans, detaches herself, and grabs it off the counter to check, muttering about business. They can't miss an important call, no matter how fraught their personal lives have become.

Her faces goes blank, unreadable. “It’s Mr. Grizz,” she says, and the phone trills again.

“How did he get your personal number?” Marina asks, stomach dropping open.

“I don’t know,” Pearl says, plain, monotone.

They look at each other. The phone rings.

[vaetherborn-blog]

Entry #3

The Day that Bastard Stole my Fucking Rings

Our next step toward our goal was a man with a mine infested with creatures that were terrorizing the miners. He didn’t have money to offer us (his name was Grrg, what do you expect?), but he had a friend who could do us a favor if we helped him. So we went down into the mines, stumbling upon a family of goblins and their bugbear caretaker. We took them out with little issue, picking up a few useful new skills along the way, and went back to let Grrg know we’d completed his task. The following day we met with Grrg’s friend (lover) Leo, who was a pirate with no ship and no crew. Despite his shortcomings (and being chronically late to every meeting we schedule), Leo seemed to know his way around, and was willing to get us going in the right direction. So we left that town and headed north, hopefully in the direction of the man who could help us get off this godforsaken plane. Leo told us we were going to meet his first mate in the next town, and when we all decided to set out, he offered me a high-five. Seeing this as the first sign of comradery since I wound up in this plane, I gladly accepted. He laughed a bit and promptly left.

The following day we met with Leo and left town. Along the path, we stumbled upon a house that had been dropped in from another plane, and only made it halfway through. The more I observed the landscape the more I realized everything was this way: seemingly plucked from a different world and placed here, in a place that had no original landmarks to call its own. The grass was different colors in patches, with different plant life found every few yards. The ground was like a patchwork quilt of different wildlife, constantly changing and ripping apart to accommodate the intrusions from other dimensions. It was oddly appealing to me, someone with no set place in this world and no certainty that tomorrow would come, that this world was so different and constantly changing; the uncertainty was as familiar to me as the dust that formed my “skin.”

We approached the house with caution, but once we were certain that there was no one inside we entered. The house was on a hill, and it seemed to be cut neatly in half. After some investigation, we discovered the food to be rotten or stale, and nothing of use was left behind. The house was certainly from a world unlike any that our group had been to. The flooring was soft and clean like a rug but more evenly sewn, the walls were filled with tiny pictures that were far too detailed to be painted, and the rooms were scattered with books and small gadgets that none of us could decipher. On the second floor was the decaying body of a teenage human, cut in half when the house was teleported. We rooted around for a while and found nothing of use, aside from some interesting looking clothes (some of which I took) and a book entitled “Monster Manual.” I took this, as its pages were full of information on the monsters that exist in different universes. If I was going to save my own life, I was going to need to make sure my comrades survived. And if I was going to keep fumbling in combat, the least I could do was understand the monsters we were fighting.

As we investigated the house, a centipede-like monster plummeted through the ceiling into the hallway. This time I managed to deal a healthy amount of damage to it, and together we defeated it without too much trouble. It fell to the floor and crumbled to pieces, leaving a mess on the wood and forcing several of us to step through it to get to the stairs. When we made it downstairs we found Leo in the kitchen eating stale food, casually asking us what had happened.

It was then that I got a strange feeling of emptiness. I looked down at my right hand and noticed that three of my rings were missing. I never take them off for any reason, so the only solution was that they’d been stolen. I had no way of knowing when they’d been stolen or who could’ve done it, but a knot formed in my stomach – or the area that would have been my stomach – at the thought of having lost them. There were three missing. One was gold with three sapphires in a triangle on the top. One was silver, and had a snake’s head on it. And the last was a simple steel ring. I’d gotten all of them from people I had known on Kaladesh. Hell, I’d even liked one of the people the rings had come from. The rings were marks of unity, signs that people I’d met would have my back in times of need. This was how I’d shown the first four people I’d ever known that I would be there for them, and this was how I’d come to communicate my comradery to people since then. Losing a ring was like losing a friend, especially in a place so far from where the few people I might be able to call my friends were. Those three rings symbolized three connections that may have been severed forever.

I looked at Leo. “Did you take my rings?”

“What?” Leo took a bite of his stale food. “No.”

As far as I could tell, he wasn’t lying. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one who’d taken them from me. None of my companions seemed like the type to take anything from me, except for maybe Xunjra, but she hadn’t touched me a single time. She also didn’t seem like she needed money enough to steal something from me to sell it. After all, she was the only one of us with any kind of stable source of income in this world.

Then again, she almost certainly hated me, so I wouldn’t put it past her.

We decided to settle down in the house for the night. I took a seat by the edge of the house where it was severed in half, looking down over the sheer drop to the ground thirty feet below. The others worked out where they were going to sleep while I pulled the “Monster Manual” out of my bag and cracked it open, leaning back against the wall to look it over. The opening chapters of the book covered basic creatures like goblins, orcs, skeletons, and zombies; creatures any mediocre adventurer could point out their first day on the road. Most of the information wasn’t foreign to me, but there was enough to learn to keep me occupied the full eight hours the others would be asleep.

Aetherborn don’t sleep, eat, drink, breathe, or experience any other bodily functions that other more humanoid creatures do. We can hardly even experience real emotion. The only thing powerful enough to permeate the ashy limitations of our existence is anger, and guilt, and sadness, and occasionally the giddy bliss of a high. I’ve known happy aetherborn, but they are few and far between, considering most of us are vengeful and hedonistic and spend our days causing chaos or making trouble for those around us. What else can we do? They tell us to be happy we get a chance to live, but most of the time I wish I’d never been forced to exist. I didn’t ask to be created, and I never got the choice to live a different life. I’d felt true, unadulterated happiness only once, and it was ripped away from me almost as quickly as I found it; so I gave up on the sensation and have lived my life since then in bitter chaos, refusing to allow myself to experience anything even remotely similar since then. Maybe I didn’t want to get my hopes up, or perhaps I didn’t want to betray the experience I’d had when I was happy, at this point I honestly don’t remember.

I sprang into existence within minutes of four other aetherborn, whom I clung to like they were my family. That is to say, I clung to them as long as I could before they all faded into nothingness. The first to go died only a month after we were all created. The next was six months, and the other two died a few weeks ago. Now it’s just me. I was never the kindest member of our group; in fact you might say I was always the angriest and most selfish member. I hated everyone who wasn’t aetherborn because they got a chance to live that we would never know. In Kaladesh, those who aren’t aetherborn are predisposed to hating the aetherborn. They hate us because we’re destructive street rats, but with our short lives and no real opportunities to better ourselves, what choice do we have? If I could become something better than the dusty husk of hopelessness that I am, I would. If I knew that I could find a way to sustain myself that didn’t involve the draining of others’ life force, I would. But I don’t have any other choice, unless I resign myself to death – and I refuse to do that. I don’t deserve to die because I have no reasonable way to live. I’ve done my best to turn my ability on the kinds of people who deserve to feel pain, but sometimes I don’t have a choice and I wind up picking someone who has a family or wasn’t all that bad or was only stealing because they had no more choice than I did.

It’s amazing what lengths the system will go to exploit the disadvantaged. The higher-ups don’t even care if we wander the streets murdering each other, as long as we do it quietly and stay out of their way. I’ve been caught red-handed draining the life out of a civilian by an official before, and though she watched as the light faded from my victim’s eyes, she decided to do nothing about it. She just rolled her eyes and moved along. That was the only time I’ve ever felt guilty about stealing the life from someone; knowing that even taking the life of an unsuspecting petty thief wasn’t important enough for the people of Kaladesh to give me a second look was emptying. I let the thief’s body drop to the ground and walked away, spending the rest of my day – and most of the following day – standing on the side of the busiest road in the city, watching the cars fly past me, feet away from the oblivion I so badly craved but so deeply feared.

Well, I think we know where I went from there.

Ring count: 9.