#visit [redacted] to see the best version of this

[catinelle]

a child of a god eater

[penrose-quinn]

Green Light | Part Eleven

"You look like you're about to drown," you reasoned as if the closeness needed one, straddling your legs on his lap.

Shinichiro hooked a hand behind your knee, uncertain if he's cradling you to him or if you're lifting him up because he felt as if he's already flung himself from the bridge, six feet deep into rushing water, and you're diving down the river to go after him but somehow, nothing was agonizing when your hand brushed the hairs on his arm, then the vein stretched out like a branch on the bone of his wrist.

He mulled over how you could think that you'd only ever destroyed what you touched. His little finger nudged your knuckle a bit and you curled on him like you're making a promise to be careful with his heart.

pairing: shinichiro sano/gn!reader

content tags: they/them pronounces for reader, but ‘their’ is only used once. childhood friends. angst and hurt/comfort. slice of life ft. gangs. idiots to lovers. old friends trying to reconnect but are being dumbasses about it. they don't deserve the friends to lovers tag because they're stupid and pining. the second part of my sad attempt at writing shinichiro’s backstory but he isn’t a [redacted] here. dysfunctional relationship (for shinichiro and izana). underage smoking and mentions of gang violence. non-explicit sexual content at the end (no gendered terms). tokrev manga spoilers.

a/n: this backstory wouldn’t make a lot of sense if you hadn’t read the first part :’) he isn’t a [redacted] here lol, but i’m still tackling on whatever went on between shinichiro and izana (and everyone else). i won’t accept that he missed out on his adult years in this timeline and simply had to suffer on the other. i’m putting the best of what i could make up and write in this version of his backstory so i very much appreciate every like/reblog/comment this receives!  

m.list ❁ read on ao3 ❁ part 12

There was a time you asked him what he wanted to do someday when he was at the peak of attaining everything.

You were still at the edge of eighteen. Still entangled in each other from the riverbank.

Shinichiro felt a nudge from your socked foot against his leg. Your boot was safeguarded close to his armpit for keeping it away from you. His hair was even mussed-up for it, but he couldn’t recall what the both of you were fighting about earlier ago.

You claimed that you were serious and he shrugged because he had the Black Dragons.

“You’re still planning to be in the gang after high school?”

During that time, it didn’t occur to him that you wouldn’t. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Be real. You can’t keep punching guys and meddling in their unresolved issues forever! It’s unsustainable. You’re more than that, Shin.”

You shook your head in disapproval like Takeomi though he would’ve probably enthused him to keep ruling over Tokyo, be the King.

Takeomi basked in their era like a man who found immortality and you just denounced him for letting the shameless power-trip rot his brain. Shinichiro chuckled, even though you accused him of it too. Called them losers.

You told him you wanted to go to college.

Everyone’s expected to, was what he wanted to say because that’s the least thing any good, grateful child should do for all their parents’ hard-earned labor. He hadn’t visited their grave in awhile. Mused over what flowers to bring them while you meandered on how you’re going to get a job, save up a lot of money to have a place of your own: high-rise studio, spacious room, and a balcony with a nice view of the city. 

Shinichiro didn’t appear like he was listening though his lips fondly tilted up throughout because the sun rose with your voice and he never doubted you.

“You will,” he said finally. He knew because you could see the future.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t know what’s gonna happen to you without me.”

You sounded a little vulnerable. Shinichiro attempted to reach for your wrist but his fingers fiddled around the cold button of your cuff sleeve instead. He didn't want to think about what you actually meant, digressing with a remark that you looked good in the gang uniform, and you just rummaged for his pack and lighter in his pocket with a scoff.

He's lying down on the ground, one leg bent to the other and arms behind his head in the lackadaisical manner where he’s looking forward to a weekend of nothing because he hadn’t really crossed that point where he could have a life untethered to where he was now.

The both of you were still covered in wet grass stains till daybreak, and the world moved on.

How could age stack up like bills, pilling high until it left one bankrupt?

Shinichiro used to count how many stitches he had in a bad scar from a fight. Now, he counted his gains and losses over the years. Learned to budget the good left for himself. The best he could do was work. He had to make this work.

S•S MOTORS used to be a small, forgotten building wedged in the bustling landscape of Shibuya.

There’s the skeleton of an exposed ceiling, water stains on the walls, and a smashed window at the backroom. Shinichiro constantly mulled over if this was worth the loans while toiling himself over wet plaster on cracks. He’s starting from scraps again, though he figured he could be the architect of his future from here and he had a vision unveil itself in the ruins of a building, of the aspirations of a new generation.

Kanda went to see him yesterday. He was with the current president of the Black Dragons.

I want to bring back that place where everyone can belong, Shinichiro-san.

A family, a place to belong; Shinichiro reminisced how much he dreamed to build a home.

Company was divided into strays, regulars, and new customers.

Shinichiro still thought of you, walking in here one of these days.

It felt odd when everyone began to come to terms with your absence – his friends didn't have much to say about you anymore but they hoped you're faring well – and then, perhaps without being deliberate, passed his sentiments over to Seishu to the point the boy had probably ceased to guess what kind of presence you would be in his motor shop.

Seishu stayed in longer than he should, this hovel of scattered hopes and broken machine parts though he liked to watch him work in earnest, digging a hand wrist-deep into an engine as if he could find a damaged, beating heart inside.

He never spoke of that aloud, most of the time he didn’t speak at all, though he never had to tell him what happened to his face or how he's used to people seeing the burn scar before him. Shinichiro just saw a lost boy with raw, torn knuckles.

His thoughts went to Izana, and then back to Seishu, if he had somewhere to return.

He’d wander back in here the next morning.

Seishu opened up that he had a childhood friend who was smarter than him.  

It’s a brief, trusting exchange, though what seemed like one of passing felt more momentous than what it was.

Shinichiro grinned, claiming that it's nice they had something in common. Seishu tilted his head at that before perusing the dead husk of a Suzuki Intruder, eyes frosted over in latent thought. He didn't question him about it like how he would on calmer days, sharing about scuffles and stories rekindled over a freely offered soft drink to soothe the bruises.

There's an irony to Wakasa punctuating on how he shouldn't be feeding the kid with too much sugar. Benkei stepped in the room with him, brandishing a paper bag of meat buns. No one hesitated to bring back the old man misunderstanding to get a rise out of the big guy. Crates shifted together, grating against floorboards, unserious threats, more jeering.

Shinichiro sighed expectantly on how his startup business was diving down into a rowdy one.

There were little, amused blips in Seishu's unaffected expression every time.

Shinichiro asked Seishu if he liked motorcycles.

He shrugged, handing him a torque wrench from the set laid beside him. He’s already familiar of the tools and quick on the uptake with a reserved attentiveness that should’ve been pored more on his studies, though he’s at that rebellious age where he felt like he should be elsewhere than losing himself in the monotony of real life.

Shinichiro understood, remembering a time when his youth had been overbearing, not taken seriously, and full of pent-up, adolescent anger.

Seishu didn’t believe he held that kind of rage, and Shinichiro smiled because you’d probably say otherwise.

Even so, he’d tell him that it’s liberating being true to himself in the same breath he kept bringing up that school was a bit better than his motor shop because he didn’t want the kid to screw himself over a lifetime of stinking in gasoline and grueling manual labor in the future. There’s a lot of options for him, just give it a shot.

Shinichiro had gotten better at enthusing that without being intrusive about it. Or at least that’s his assumption when Ken seemed more motivated attending his classes after having a similar conversation some time ago. He wondered if Seishu might get along with him more than Manjiro. His brother was rather selective on his clique of friends and Haruchiyo devoted being by his side till now.

In the end, Seishu chose the path of a delinquent in the Black Dragons.

Perhaps, that’s better than being alone on the beat-up couch in his shop.

Shinichiro wanted to be one with static, to be pointless for a moment, even when no one’s going to come looking for him at 3 a.m.

All the lights were down, spilling in the syncopations of the city and the tired wheeze of his heater, though he turned it off a minute ago because he’s saving up for this month's electric bill. His bones creaked from his neck, oily with sweat and Tiger Balm, but somehow, it felt like his spine splintered in half. He’s already fatigued from figuring his shit out and he’s not even in his forties yet.

Was it weird he couldn’t imagine what you’d look like at twenty? He’d been losing inspiration lately. He didn’t want to dump it on you, though sometimes, he hated thinking of you like that to the point he wished he choked on his beer and let it all fizzle away.

Manjiro called him out for moping. Shinichiro threw back that he’s a brat. His brother recognized your tone in him and the question withered inside his mouth. Benkei and Wakasa only shared a pensive glance after he recounted it at the bar. He's out of the loop between them and they didn't make him feel better for it unlike Takeomi, who slurred out that he wouldn't be so miserable if he just got over you, tactlessly well-intentioned and unafraid of speaking out his mind in all the ways asshole friends did to show they cared.

Benkei excused it as one of his drunken tirades again because they were aware how Takeomi had been spiraling from his life, and although Benkei was looking out for them, the reassurance was painfully needless. Shinichiro could see it in Wakasa's quiet, apologetic gaze.

They formed a gang. Had skipped school to smoke his first joint in the garage, swore that they had each other’s back since the hot blaze of their teenage years. So Shinichiro pondered how long Wakasa had eyes like that, or perhaps he just hadn't noticed them in awhile because he hadn't hung out with everyone as much when time became scarce and life kept getting in the way.

Then his hand clenched into a fist as he reached for his phone. The shape wasn't right and there's a coldness to the cell on his palm. Right, he lost his old one weeks ago. What's your number again? Didn't you change your email a year after you moved?

Regret twinged in his chest when Shinichiro couldn't greet you on your birthday today, reminiscing on waking to your message last August when you asked him what it felt like to finally be an adult, tagged after a found your soulmate yet?

He’s still sad and single. Instead of a retort, you responded back that it's okay when the both of you could just be sad and single together.

It sucked that he couldn't ask how you were though buried at the farthest place of his mind, he wondered if you'd even reply.

Shinichiro wanted to tell you that he fell in love again though the one who already got sick of his heartbreak was Izana.

He wasn’t sure how to confide about their sister having a crush with that attitude. He figured that out when she began to reinvent herself in small, subtle ways: a new hairstyle, a song she never liked or listened to before. There were the long, fawning looks, but they lingered more in the after-school daydreams, tucked like a lock of hair behind the ear for her earring to twinkle and catch someone’s eye.

Nothing’s working to her favor yet. He could tell from the way her fingers played with her hair a lot more nowadays because she'd rather braid her feelings than confess, whoever it was.

A symptom of unrequited love, or at least that’s what he assumed it was for needing to fill the hunger with the shy hope of tying wishes on a bamboo branch on Tanabata. Manjiro would rather drag Ken to the food booths than dress in a summer yukata with her and Shinichiro had to rummage his in the old closet.

It’s patterned with waves but his mother had described how the seigaiha looked more like dragon scales against a sea of stormy, black cotton. It’s the same one with two holes at the bottom hem; the one that riveted a woman with two moles under her lip, meeting in line of a takoyaki stall. Because Manjiro wanted a bit of everything, Shinichiro ordered the one with assorted flavors and she had hers with mozzarella. A greasy smear of it on the corner of her mouth made her smile more charming, remarking how endearing it was that he’d accompany his sister in a yukata.

Shinichiro offered to buy her a candied strawberry for making his brother pull a face once she drizzled a packet of hot sauce all over her food, though really, he’s stalling for time so he could talk to her some more.

Hoshiko took a sweet bite of his sincerity and told him that she’s got all night. They would surprise themselves for having a mutual friend from Gareji Yago. She loved his sense of humor. He blurted out that her laugh sounded like magic, which had his siblings stupidly reenacting the exchange over the dining table for a month.

They swapped numbers anyway. It’s almost like a call for destiny until it wasn’t.

Shinichiro supposed the retrospection might be worth passing along in his letters.

It'd been the only consistent thing between him and Izana when he wasn't allowed to visit and his sentence was further extended for misconduct. He had to ask Benkei the other day what his experience in juvie had been like, and with a dark somberness in his gaze, he never forgot how no one really came out of there being the same person.

Shinichiro would let Izana be who he wanted to be, but he was still his little brother.

There’s nothing in the world that could change that.

Shinichiro was eleven when his father asked him if he’d like to have another sibling.

It was one of those countless nights his father missed out on dinner, though Shinichiro would pull out his food from the fridge and reheat it for him in the microwave. Leftovers always made his mother sad.  

He didn't quite comprehend the implication of his father's words yet, and one day he’d grow to harbor the sorrow, unwantedness, and pained resentment he never had in him, bursting from his fists like all boys did. Conflict had never been forgiving to his mother, but she would end up loving Emma and his father, regardless.

Shinichiro would ask a similar question to Manjiro years later, and a vestige of their mother lifted up his lips, sticky with the red bean paste of his taiyaki. His heart found ease from the sweet acceptance of his smile.

“Yeah, I'll definitely love him.”

Once Izana was out of juvie, they rode to a harbor in Shinisogocho.

He liked the sea best; a kingdom of star-studded waves, city lights. The vastness enthralled him, a kind of true calling to potential.

Shinichiro believed Izana was capable of many things so he filled the boy with dreams that couldn’t be bound in the legacy of a house. Manjiro had birthright, but Izana would always have freedom.

Either way, his siblings were meant to flourish. They’re his pride. That’s all Shinichiro could ever ask for.

There’s so much salt in the air that he lit a cigarette, blowing smoke like the distant beacon of a lighthouse – a warning.

No one ever told him that nicotine shouldn’t be something he was supposed to crave – he didn’t mean to poison you the way he did – though he would to his brother back then and it spared him a few more years until he could flicker one by himself on the same harbor, the same shade of night. Someday, the Black Dragon embroidered on his back.

Manjiro graduated from elementary around the time Izana was released though he remained disinclined to ask anything about Manjiro succeeding him in the gang.

In the silence between them, Shinichiro mentioned their sister instead. “Emma’s doing well. She got into fortune telling pretty recently, can you believe that? I still don’t get what’s all the fuss about horoscopes.” Shinichiro chuckled but it wasn’t shared. His brother almost looked dazed, out of touch. Out of reach.

“Her cooking is way better than mine. Maybe, you should try it sometime . . .”

The murmur of waves, ashes dropping. Izana languished on a long drag of his cigarette.

“Come have dinner with us,” Shinichiro tried.

His plea was lost to Izana, a shiny bottle adrift in the ocean, as he let another second pass and told him no.

By the time midsummer ended, Izana had turned fourteen; jarringly, grown into his limbs, about his shoulder blade’s height now, grown impatient when he made the major life decision to run away from the orphanage, screw the system.

All the risk-taking only brought tremendous frustration on Shinichiro because Izana didn’t even consult him about it. Contended with him on his questionable choices. That he’s secure with his underground connections, that he already managed to get himself a contract to an apartment somewhere within the realm of Black Dragons territory, not too far from the motor shop so he could visit him. Why can’t you just see that I’m taking responsibility for myself when you won’t—

Shinichiro wasn’t sure what kind of face he was making that broke off the conversation there. The silence stagnated further, and Izana must’ve been more shattered over their argument than he was. It left them irreparable for a night.

The first to make amends was Shinichiro, laying down his pride to atone, truly atone, and perhaps, the act was disarming to Izana.

Shinichiro had never seen him so distressed, and Izana believed him when his big brother said that he’s just worried for him, addressing that he’s right because he should’ve done something sooner.

Yet they didn’t live under one roof.

The implicitness of their bond had become complicated with the self-awareness. They still drank their weight on soda while rock songs hovered over them for the nostalgia trip, the ballad of their routine in the late, sun-glazed afternoon. They even liked their curry the same way. Medium spicy, the kind of heat Manjiro wouldn't appreciate in his mouth. There’s an eyeroll to every joke that didn’t land, the sneaking upturn of lips, the silver lining.

Some of his customers greeted Izana when he entered the shop. They didn’t refer to him when they spoke to Shinichiro about his brother. Izana stopped styling his hair up like Shinichiro one day, and everyone would look out for the autumn moon swaying beneath his ears, the sharp, wicked wit.

Shinichiro would gladly tune-up his motorcycle for free, asking him how’s he been doing lately. Izana wouldn’t bring up school or Emma, though he would about the gang and his ambitions for it. Shinichiro nodded to his every word, as if they’re talking about music or their latest excursion. He reminisced of their stroll at Tsukuda Bridge months ago, the river underneath evening-black and murky like the waves in Manila Bay.

There’s always an urge to drown somewhere in those depths, secrets and more secrets.

For the longest time, Shinichiro lacked the awareness that people puzzled over him until you'd say so someday, and in his reflections, being seen by you felt as if he'd been transparent enough.

Though perhaps, it hadn't always been like that because in needing to be closer, Izana fiercely searched for something in Shinichiro, imploring in the way he only knew how, and then return every other day, looking harsher than last time, hurting more than last time. He blamed himself for it too – everything’s wrong ‘cause of me – and Shinichiro wished he didn’t punish himself for existing, gently dressing the wounds with words and antiseptic.

“You’re my little brother. Nothing about you is wrong to me.”     

Izana came to him with the storm on his back.

Shinichiro had never been scared of lightning but he was from the truth in Izana's eyes. He knew the question before it could be asked and he didn't deny it.

Retribution had never felt so fast and unrepentant by his fist. It's all what he's taught him and more, self-defense.

On the ground, his head throbbed and Shinichiro still had a full set of teeth, a rasp to remind him that blood-related or not, nothing will change between us, all right? Izana held back on his punch and Shinichiro wasn't pretending to be tough by staying still for another.

He's just resigned in all the ways guilt could cripple a man, seeing his little brother bleed for the wrong, wretched reasons. It's not your fault, he wanted to say, but to reach out meant ruining him and he couldn't bring him the happiness that could take him away from that hell.

There's a despondence on the bite of Izana’s voice, a wavering, anguished sound.

"I never want to see you again."

Shinichiro thought he saw you.

“What happened to you?”

“. . . I had a fight with my little brother.”

Sympathy made Akemi’s gaze softer when she brought him at her place to tend to his wounds at a tragic time.

Shinichiro wondered if sisters were just always like that. They would glare at you like you were a nuisance but would help you clean up after your mess anyway.

Emma never outgrew it. She did a lot of the housework nowadays and she knew exactly where to find the medical box, hauling it out from the bathroom cupboard under the sink with a sigh. She’s careful with the antiseptic because she knew how it stung and she didn’t understand why boys were the way they were, railing on how useless her brothers were. Can’t even cook their eggs how they want it made, or something like that.

Then he mulled over your sister, the way she swabbed the graze on his chin, and from this proximity, he traced out the part of her hair, her cheekbones, and then so clearly this time, her eyes in both shape and sentiment, how she looked more like you.

Sometimes, it’s staggering how he didn't know Akemi as much as he knew you.

He grew up trying to impress her by balancing himself atop the jungle gym, admiring her as an adult when she was hardly one herself who was just learning how to apply makeup to conceal the deeper insecurities at fifteen, to become more feminine to appeal to guys who weren’t worth all the emotional damage. She still wore mascara, the drugstore kind that clumped around her eyelashes, but he realized the mature lines under them suited her more.

His shoulders ached in understanding, about what it felt like to be heaped with all this responsibility you never asked for.   

Perhaps, there’s a special kinship they could seek out in each other but he felt really stupid for seeing her now.

“I was so busy with everything else that I can’t help but feel like I neglected their feelings, what’s really hurting inside . . .”

Akemi serenely watched her daughter from the window. Keiko was in her yellow raincoat and sneakers, splashing on puddles from her dash to the maid café with a friend, and Akemi reminisced of you and her, muddy with youth and growing pains. Yours was so quiet and violent that it almost scared her. Shinichiro remembered that part too, raw like the scabs on your knuckles; remembered the threats and slurs they called her just to get a rise out of you; remembered most of them where from rival gangs that went against Seisaku.

You told him that all you ever saw was red and he didn't stop you for lashing out to her defense. He even fought alongside you.

Though having witnessed that side of you, Akemi recounted that she wound up yelling that you were acting like your brother. Her regret settled deep in her womb and you felt a little farther from her ever since. It wasn't like the both of you never reconciled and you would even claim now that she was just a teenager at the time.

“Siblings fight for a lot of reasons,” she said, but she also hurt you. Sometimes, she feared she might not have the opportunity to know you anymore because of it. Her eyes wandered wistfully to the window again. “I miss the both of them . . .”

Then she sighed, looking back at him. “I hope it gets better with your little brother.”

Shinichiro didn’t know what to say but it throbbed where it should, burning on his throat with remorse. I hurt him.

Akemi poured his cup again as if to fill in the silence with consolation and a meek hope that it’s never too late to reach out.

"You're not a bad person, Shinichiro-kun."

He drank his tea, tasting of tears.

"I'm a terrible big brother."

Shinichiro said it a second time to himself.

The world was cleansed by the rain, but his memories never absolved him.

He went home late that time, and they would ask him why he's bleeding. He would tell them he's fine and it would be like that for days. Something always festered in his silence.

The moment Izana stopped coming back to the motor shop so did Seishu.

Perhaps, this was what it’s like to mourn for the living.

Learning to cope with the hollowness in him that haunted the spaces of his room, filled with their shadows that had grown farther in the Black Dragons. Most would say the gang changed for the worse, gradually being embroiled in all criminal dealings, drugs and blood money.  An elderly storekeeper was stabbed from the gang's aggressions. He died before he could reach the hospital and it was all over the headlines that morning.

It's enough to provoke Benkei to demand a reason for letting it happen, and while Wakasa had stood between them, he matched his partner more in his solemn, self-contained fury. There's a glimpse of the legendary gang leaders that divided Kanto in half in the confrontation. When it came to legacy, their outrage was justified for sacrificing it all for him. Takeomi watched them until he felt the need to intervene because Shinichiro wasn't as upset as he should.

This wasn't their generation anymore, and the successors after the eighth weren't any better when they carried the inherent spirit of vindictiveness.

One of Manjiro's friends would be a victim to this, and his little brother would ask him one day to put an end to it with Toman, dressed in black and gold as to honor what Shinichiro and his friends had striven to become a long time ago.

Black Dragons had always been meant to be led by his brothers.

Shinichiro contemplated if Izana could make a home from the ashes of another and Manjiro was there to pick at its bones. He just wished he could do more for Seishu, attempting to save a semblance of it in the scarcity. He understood what all of this meant to him and why he couldn't seem to visit when he was in a coma for two weeks. The motor shop was closed far longer and he was concerned if there's a place out there for him.

The last time Shinichiro had heard of him was when he was still struggling in physical therapy. Seishu was recently released from juvie by then, following a different tyrant in the Black Dragons. He wasn't alone in the gang, and Shinichiro supposed with his old friend beside him, they could figure something out of the madness. Perhaps, there was hope if they remained together.

In the midst of things, Shinichiro couldn't really do much, fearing to cause more damage than what's done and living through the rest of it than just staying dead. 

“Do Mikey and Emma know?” you asked, hauling him back to you.

“After the accident in the shop, I told them everything. Figured I should, knowing it could be my last . . . Emma first, then Manjiro.”

Because it'd taken him surgery and a span of years to tell her the truth about Izana.

“It's unfair.” Emma shed a tear that day, crumpling in distress that made him want to scoop her up like she’s four, cooing softly, no, there are no monsters under your bed and your mother didn’t hate you.

He was petrified as she still sat there, hands clutching the skirt of her school uniform like how Izana would onto impossibly good, hopeful things.

"But you're my big brother too," she said before wiping her face and walking out of the room.

Shinichiro would still apologize to her, even though Emma never really stopped visiting him in the hospital with either Manjiro or Grandpa around.

The only time she did by herself was when they had an actual conversation without Manjiro's presence quelling her into a sense of peace and with a hum, recounted that she didn't know how to react when he reached her a bowl of red rice for breakfast weeks ago.

She panicked and got her first period on the day prior so she mistook it as a disgusting joke. Manjiro didn't even snicker. Shinichiro had little understanding on the tradition, expecting she'd be more knowledgeable about it than him, as he regretfully explained this to her. He forgot himself again with the shadow of a slight stubble, lending him a sad, sleazy look. He looked older too, and Emma chuckled softly at the memory. Old enough to be her father . . .

Because apparently parents cooked red rice for their daughters once they hit puberty, attempted to know what napkin to buy for them even if it's the wrong brand, console them from breakouts when they started flaring up like a disease.

It's the sort of stuff Emma had heard from the girls in class complain about because they didn't realize what they had, what she coveted for herself. No one was ever prepared when she came into their lives. She had two mothers but the both of them couldn't stay like her father, whoever he was.

Shinichiro and Emma ended up sniffling their emotions after that.

“Do you want to see Izana?” Shinichiro asked, but he knew.

Emma carried a certain poignance in her gaze. Abandonment could only mature her in such way.

She couldn’t look at him for the answer. Her lip wobbled. “Does he still want to see me?”

"Did you reach out to him?" 

"I want to," Shinichiro said it as if it’d been unheard for a long time, and all he could do was stare passively at tall, decades-old towers within Marunouchi, the road ahead of him, and nothing. "But I’m not sure what’ll happen if I see him again. The last time was . . ."

He hesitated. Opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling exposed all over even when something locked tight in his throat.

The words wouldn’t come out like they should. He hadn’t spoken about this to anyone for two years, but the rift was almost nonexistent. Regret lingered like it’s just yesterday. He worked his jaw some more, and the ache pulsed where Izana hit him.

Shinichiro often dwelt of a different time when things didn't have to be so broken and he would make the right choices. His siblings never had to be separated and they could just be kids lounging around to watch show reruns on the TV than do homework, sharing a childhood of being ordered around and overfed with greasy kushiage by their grandfather. Maybe, they would measure the other's height against the doorframe with a Pilot marker. Shinichiro would have to scold them for vandalizing though he fondly wouldn't remove their scribbled names over the years until they could work with him in the shop or move out to come into their own. It couldn't be perfect because he couldn’t live up to what a parent could offer but he hoped it'd be enough for him provide them a home where they could laugh and love over the table, throw stupid tantrums, weep loud, grow and make mistakes.

But never like the ones he had committed.

"Izana wasn't a mistake." Shinichiro knew this in his heart. "Everything I did was . . . right?"

He waited for you to challenge him. Tell him where he's wrong and amend. There wasn't a time you hadn't because you loved him enough to tell him about himself so he called out your name and you inhaled, slow and pensive, as your hand reached up to fold a strand of hair behind your ear, the other still entwined with his.

“I feel bad for Izana. He doesn't deserve that,” you told him as your thumb traced his open, trembling palm. His ring on you was warm from your skin. “I feel bad for you too. For agonizing about this for so long.”

The inflections of your voice were pained and conflicted, admitting that to him. “Look, I don’t think I could speak for him. I don’t know him, not like you do. But what you did, keeping something important like that, wouldn’t it have hurt less if you just told him earlier?”

“I figured there was probably a right time to tell him, but then things got out of hand so suddenly,” and he hated it so much; how it brought back the memory of his mother on her deathbed, not knowing when things would get better, not knowing where to place all his despair and indignation to the world but in himself. “He’d been through so much, and I didn’t know what to do . . .”

“I wouldn’t know either.” You gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I know you’re just trying to help, Shin. You care about him. I used to proofread your letters, remember? You wrote to him like you grew up with him. I always thought it was sweet, the way you asked about his day and went on about yours, how you welcomed him in it. Emma would know.”

Shinichiro rubbed his eye. He already sounded congested when he spoke up, feeling even more pathetic.

“I kept her from him too.”

“Why did you?”

“It'd hurt her, if she knew her brothers wouldn’t get along.” Emma was too young to undergo through a lot with the changes and losses in her life. “If they fought . . .”

A pause, then a sigh rolled off your lips. “Wouldn’t have made a difference if she couldn’t see him anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I feel like I should. I'm just," he trailed off, head hanging low because his frustration was spilling from his eyes and—

You gently pulled his chin to you. “You don’t have to, not with me,” you reminded him, catching tears before they fell with the pad of your thumb, "all right?"

Shinichiro nodded. There were wet blotches on your cuff sleeve for brushing it under his nose because none of you brought a handkerchief so you figured this would do. A bit of him stained you and you didn't mind.

You told him to breathe, and he realized what he'd been holding inside for awhile before letting it out.

"I . . . I didn't have the best relationship with my big brother either. Held a grudge for so long that I thought I'd die hating him, but it doesn't matter now. Being upset of your ghosts," you drifted for a moment with a murky emotion he couldn't name.

A bus stopped by; the passengers stepping out in worn, clear umbrellas. You couldn't see them, blinking vacantly, as you went on.

"You’re not a terrible big brother. You got to know Izana. You were with him before he even became a delinquent. You never owed him anything. You weren't even blood-related. It would've been better if you didn't lie, but you loved him anyway . . .”

Then you glanced back at him. There’s something poignant about your eyes.

“That was never a lie, wasn’t it?"

“No,” was his answer. But . . .

“Your big brother,” Shinichiro started, “did he ever come back for you?”

“He can’t,” you sighed, falling back on his shoulder. “He died a year ago.”

Somehow, the two of you were in your house.

You told him it wasn't much of a home without your sister or her family.

Shinichiro contemplated how you would’ve lurked deeper into the emptiness for days had he not asked you to stay at his place.

Sleeves rolled up to your forearms, you ran him a hot bath. He threw back that you should go in first. You insisted that he should after hearing him sneeze awhile ago, despite his efforts to muffle it down his elbow.

The both of you remained stubborn and indecisive about it until you proposed that you join him in the tub instead.

Shinichiro had seen you nude before – perhaps not quite enough the first time – and it wasn't like the thought of your bare skin never crossed his mind. It's just that you're always covered-up, swaddled in layers that it's perplexing to him what it's like to look at you naked.

He remembered how you would cage yourself around your arms because you felt too sensitive out in the open. You didn’t like it when your nipples got hard, when the old scars jagged along your body as mementos of survival and belligerent adolescence. He still chanced on stealing a glance at your tattoo; dark and intricate, coiled around your leg like a tether. It's the part of you that remained unchanged.

He hoped for it. The desire was selfish and ruthless and all-consuming that it could be its own dragon.

You weren't one for bold statements though he couldn't help but contemplate how you carried it with you under your suit after all these years. Contemplated how the needle must've hurt, the social repercussions even more so, stung with blood and loyalty, though you were intrepid through and through.

Warmth bloomed in his chest. It wasn't the sweltering heat from the bathwater, but the realization rippling out of him the moment you dipped into the tub, both of your bare legs rubbing underneath, squeezed into a different brand of intimacy: curated perfectly for couples, couples who were at that awkward, fragile verge of discovering each other without breaking apart from their gazes.

"Can you come closer?" he asked. "You look faraway from the other side of the tub."

Then you came to him like a wave. Everything about you washed over him, sudden and all at once.

"You look like you're about to drown," you reasoned as if the closeness needed one, straddling your legs on his lap.

Shinichiro hooked a hand at the back of your knee, uncertain if he's cradling you to him or if you're lifting him up because he felt as if he's already flung himself from the bridge, six feet deep into rushing water, and you're diving down the river to go after him but somehow, nothing was agonizing when your hand brushed the hairs on his arm, then the vein stretched out like a branch on the bone of his wrist.

He mulled over how you could think that you'd only ever destroyed what you touched. His little finger nudged your knuckle a bit and you curled on him like you're making a promise to be careful with his heart.

You glanced at him under your dewy eyelashes, and when he asked if you hated him, you shook your head and leaned forward to embrace, your hair clinging like arteries on his damp chest, as you let him perch on your shoulder, his lips memorizing a freckle.

Shinichiro thought of the tattoo again, wondering if this was what it's like getting himself etched into your skin.

“How could you ask that, Shin?” you whispered back.

“I guess I’m just afraid.”

Despite his insistence to stay, you asked him to just wait for you in your bedroom, assuring him that it wouldn’t take long for you to collect his clothes from the dryer. He didn't turn on the lights and wearily dove into your covers, wet skin soaking through sheets, though he figured he smelled like you anyway as if that's enough to compensate for sprawling himself out naked and defenseless.

You found him like this later, clothes dumped on the dresser, towel discarded, as you climbed on top of him with the kind of languid grace that bordered to a sweet slowburn but he could tell that it's taking so much from you to not fuck him right there.

His hand was on your cheek, outstretched like he's still reaching for the moon, but it's just you and you're too considerate of him, placing a kiss on his palm. You didn't quite realize how much he felt like a beggar in that moment.

“I'll help you, if you let me.”

What he wanted to say was maybe, you should help yourself, then he'd laugh a little when the aggravation would chip away at you and he'd have to kiss it all better, or worse, didn’t matter which. He nodded. He needed you as your bodies met dripping, somewhere in the rain again, and your hair was akin to something like one and all the tangle of wild, disheveled emotions that hid the both of you from the world. 

"Your big sister wouldn't like you smoking in your room."

"You think I care about what she thinks with what I do in my room?"

"Yeah. A lot." Shinichiro peered at you from your pillow.

"That didn't stop us, though," you said after igniting your cigarette with his lighter.

His eyes watched the tendril of smoke lick up your jaw and the curve of your ear, studded with piercings. You forgot to remove them from the bath so he did it for you when he swept back your hair and you craned your head to him, sheets rustling below your bare waists in the shadow of early twilight.

He left the studs atop the dresser, losing relevance to him once he heard his name and you eclipsed everything, coaxing him to lie down on his back with a hand on his chest. Then a gentle stroke from his brow, a gentler coo, "are you feeling better?"  

Shinichiro closed his eyes and let himself drift from the pads of your fingers. The answer wasn't easy to read. He wanted you to ponder over him in circles. He's a lot needier when you granted him a reason to, but yes, he was feeling a bit better. Perhaps, you made him feel more that he'd draw your lips to him and suck the smoke inside your lungs to taint himself with the taste of your melancholia. Nicotine spared none of you from it.

"She's right, you know. Maybe you should stop smoking," he sighed out, a thread of smoke between breaths, his and yours.

"Stop talking about her," and the truth was he'd rather not talk about her at all, slipping his tongue in your mouth for a deeper conversation, one without words or pretense. Or the comfortable lies he’d tell himself to sleep and burn off with a cigarette in the morning.

The smolder of you turned him into a more honest man, even though his affections for you hadn't been a secret.

"I'll only stop when you do," you whispered.

Like that, you ended a conversation in the way you ended a fight.

You rendered him at a loss for words though he wasn't seeking to win and from a languorous stretch of movement, he reached you the ashtray himself. Then he smiled and remembered how it's so garish with the banana patterns on the dish that it stuck out in your room but you didn't mind purchasing it from the 100 Yen shop the other day, even though you didn't like to smoke here alone.

Something in the ashes would glow when extinguished; both of your fingers touching before you stole the ash tray from him and placed it somewhere on the floor, your outstretched arm shivering out goosebumps from the draft.

There's a small trickle from the windowsill puddling on the floor but you'd rather leave it like that than shut off everything again.

It's so quiet it hurts, so you had opened the window like a wound and the world wept.

A childhood framed in a window. The sole one you’d been gazing on for years, confessing that you didn’t really miss this room after you moved in and he wanted to ask you about it but faltered once your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying each other's presence in the cadence of the rain, awake.

It wasn’t a drowsy spell for you like how it was to him. Shinichiro had learned to adapt to the odd, irregular hours you slept, not quite meeting the other in time, even as it stood still the moment you overlapped him, a wave of warm, urging motion, and he was swimming in lazy endorphins as you spread out the comforter over the both of you, feet covered.

You didn't quite feel like a dream, achingly real and open like a door to this domicile that had been the size of your bodies.

Maybe you wouldn't believe him if he promised you that things would stay like this for the rest of your lives.

But he told you anyway, "I love you."

Exposition Corner:    

[1] Tanabata: a Japanese festival celebrated in the summertime as to commemorate the story of the two star-crossed lovers Orihime and Hikoboshi, who are only allowed to meet each other once a year as long as the skies are clear. A popular custom in Tanabata is writing wishes in a piece of colored paper (tanzaku) and hanging them on a bamboo branch.

[2] Segaiha: a wave pattern of layered concentric circles creating arches, symbolic of waves or water representing surges of good luck. It can also signify power and resilience. 

[3] Gareji Yago: this was actually the motor shop were Shinichiro worked at in the original timeline, and what I’m assuming before he got his shop (if Mikey’s accident didn’t happen). In here, I’m using this as the shop that’s owned by Yoneda, his boss/mentor I’ve referenced in the Bright Light series. 

[4] “[…] if Izana could make a home from the ashes of another and Manjiro was there to pick at its bones”: a reference to Kotsuage, a Japanese funeral ritual wherein family members gather around and pick up the bones of a deceased loved one together using special long chopsticks after the body is cremated. 

[5] “Because apparently parents cooked red rice for their daughters once they hit puberty […]”: to clarify, O-Sekihan, or red-colored rice cooked with Azuki beans, is usually prepared and eaten during auspicious occasions like New Year’s day or Coming-of-Age day. Regarding cooking red rice when a girl has her first period, it’s to celebrate puberty and there are some regions in Japan that still do it but serving sekihan isn’t as common for that as it is in festive celebrations.

In the context of the scene, please don’t think the red color of the rice is meant to represent period lol. It’s Emma misunderstanding it as a stupid joke and Shinichiro not being very good at explaining himself and being a bit misinformed (but he did what he did with well-meaning intentions!). 

[6] I love you: So Shinichiro actually said the unspeakable aishiteru [ 愛してる ], not to confuse it with daisuki [ 大好き ] which is more commonly used in confessing one's love (romantically) in Japanese. For my Non-Japanese speakers, this is just my tl;dr of these references [1] and [2] so I’ll try my best summarizing them!

Aishiteru does mean “I love you” but literally, it translates to “[I] am loving [you]”. 

“Loving” is written in the present continuous て-form as to emphasize the ongoing (ever-lasting) state of the feelings. It’s an expression to convey a serious and profound love that is only used in long-term relationships with a spouse and in rare, emotional occasions such as getting married or when someone is on their deathbed. It’s also hardly spoken to each other.

For cultural context, the Japanese are more reserved with their feelings. There are also many ways to express love but most of them are nonverbal. Conveying it isn’t usually spoken but rather acted on. The gist of it being the love for one another is mutually understood through actions and attentiveness without explicitly stating it.

Now with that said, I’ll leave how Shinichiro throwing the hard L-bomb at MC to everyone’s interpretation. (I’d actually love to read all of your thoughts on it if you’d like to share them with me! <3).

a/n: god, I really hope the way I write shinichiro's decisions and emotional trauma makes sense. no, nothing is resolved here. shin and izana (as well as inui) are still in non-speaking terms :’((((

part ten ❁ m.list ❁ part twelve 

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Archives of The Cabal - The Secret Origin of "R"

@ladyofsappho You asked me for this months ago, and you're finally getting an answer. @missnight0wl if you're interested I would also be honored to hear your thoughts. @dat-silvers-girl I just tag you in everything I write by now.

I am not caught up on Beyond, and this will deviate from canon in general, but I have tried to combine my original ideas and head-canons with the established lore about The Cabal. Either way, this is my version of R's story, and it's gonna be a long one, my friend. Buckle up.

The story you're about to hear is heavily redacted. People have fought and died and lost themselves and done unspeakable things to contain the secrets written here. Records are, to put it lightly, hard to find. For that is the nature of R.

To properly explain who they are, what they want, and where they come from…one must take a walk through history. Because R is old. Very old. Centuries old. It was primarily the brainchild of two men, but what truly birthed The Cabal was the social and political situation of the magical world at the time the group was formed. Because it is and has always been intrinsically linked to the passing of the Statute of Secrecy. Without that bit of legislation, there simply is no Cabal. Furthermore, The Cabal has always had a vested interest in the Wizarding schools. So we’ll need to talk about the days before The Statute.  Before witches and wizards went underground. Back when the magical schools were still in grave danger. 

It started...with the school of magic known as Ruqyah.

Before the persecution from the muggles became a larger problem, the wizarding world experienced a period of prosperity that it would never see again. An era that magical historians would later describe as the “Golden Years” that are estimated to have begun at around the point Hogwarts was constructed at the turn of the millennium. During this time, magical education peaked. The wizarding schools in the world numbered thirty-two, with many advanced institutions rising. Their knowledge and power only grew as they reached out to one another and did collaborations, maintaining strong relationships across the globe. Traditions like the Triwizard Tournament sprung up during this time. At the height of enlightenment was the school known as Ruqyah in Egypt. Built into one of the Pyramids, Ruqyah was a haven of higher learning, famous across the world for producing the best Healers, Beastkeepers, and Magical Researchers. 

Though the school no longer exists in the present day, there was a time when every young Mage knew Ruqyah, and its unmistakable sigil - the Eye of Horus. Students from all over the world were permitted, even encouraged, to visit the school and participate in the education it offered. Whether it was for a week, a year, or even if they decided to enroll full time. Ruqyah pursued all sorts of goals, seeking knowledge and power. Theirs was the path to enlightenment and immortality - or so it was claimed. But only the truly bold, only those who had lived in the Pyramid for years ever dared to explore the Tombs of Ruqyah, which were said to be cursed. Supposedly inhabited by a malevolent spirit, who was only to be cowed by the presence of students and staff. It was said that they kept this being at bay by perpetuating the study of such pure magic. To many, these were just rumors, though Ruqyah Alums treated these stories with respect and many believed them in earnest. This was yet another reason such pride was taken in the education of the students. In the days of the Golden Years, Ruqyah was truly considered top class. 

But The Golden Years were never to last.

Though tension between the mages and the non-magical community had always been an issue, the problem only grew worse during the fifteenth century. The muggles were still licking their wounds after the terrible phenomenon known as The Black Death, which had suspiciously killed very few wizards, the overwhelming majority of its victims being non-magical. A story began to spread, the idea that wizardkind had created the Plague themselves and purposefully unleashed it onto the world. Whether or not there is any truth to this...difficult to say. The Black Death occurred centuries ago and any record of magical involvement, if indeed there was any, has long since been erased. During this time, Witch Hunting was becoming a very popular profession for a variety of reasons, (many of them religiously motivated) and Muggles soon began rallying together to form organized strikes at wizardkind. The conflict escalated beyond the Ministries’ control as witches and wizards who bore prejudice of their own took the opportunity to fight back. 

The conflict raged across the world like wildfire, with no end in sight for three hundred years. A period that became known as The Witch Hunter Wars. Ministries passed new laws, and magical schools shifted the focus of their curriculum's. Some began to prioritize subterfuge…others favored combat. Regrettably, wizarding culture became steeped in hatred and mistrust of the muggles. Even Ruqyah, beloved among wizardkind for the scholars it had produced…it too changed direction and began to train a generation of Dark Wizards who specialized in Curse-Breaking. Who learned the most unseemly of secrets, venturing further into the Tombs of Ruqyah than anyone had ever dared go. Some were even said to have met the demon at the heart of the Pyramid. 

But it was not enough. The magical community had always been dwarfed by their muggle counterparts. Through sheer numbers alone, the muggles always maintained the upper-hand, doing more and more damage as time went on. The war had destroyed any goodwill the magicals might have felt toward the muggles, and any witch or wizard associating with them was distrusted on principle. Common ground was no longer possible. Coexistence was no longer possible. By the end of the seventeenth century, several Wizarding Ministries had fallen, and over half of the known Wizarding Schools had been eradicated. Eventually, Ruqyah would join them. In 1679, the ancient and beloved school was stormed and destroyed by Witch Hunters. The following ten years, which later became known as “The Decade Without Hope” preempted a “Final Summit”  of the International Confederation of Wizards, who had decided at last that enough was enough. 

The Decade Without Hope

The Decade without Hope was…a dark time. The vast majority of the magical community believed that extinction loomed on the horizon. That the muggles would not stop until they were gone. Anguish and frustration gave over to hatred. Many young mages committed suicide. Others entered heavily populated muggle villages and sacrificed themselves by casting explosive curses. The future, if there was to be one at all, seemed bleak. The remaining witches and wizards turned on one another, looting and killing became common. Dark Wizards went unpunished, because who was left to punish them? What remained of the wizarding government had their hands full with the Witch Hunter Wars, with preparing the plans for the Final Summit. But these plans were to be interrupted by two dark wizards. Their names were Henri Jean Alerie…and Dai Ryusaki.

During the days before most of the Wizarding Schools were lost, it was relatively common for a student to spend more years in school, to attend more than one academy and graduate with honors from all of them.  Ryusaki was a Mahoutokoro Alum, and Alerie had attended Beauxbatons, but both had also been educated together at Ruqyah. They were two of the last students to graduate before the school was destroyed. Alerie and Ryusaki, who had become close friends, traveled the world together after their graduation to seek their fortune. The teachings of Ruqyah were long since corrupted, and these two old friends worked together as partners in crime. In doing so, they frequently communicated by letter, but to avoid detection should their letters fall into the wrong hands, they never added signatures. It had been a longstanding tradition at Ruqyah for the Headmaster, often known as “The Ruqyah” to sign his letters with the Eye of Horus symbol, which closely resembled the letter “R.” A technique that Alerie and Ryusaki appropriated for themselves as a code known only to them. 

Ryusaki's Gambit

After The Witch Hunter Wars, and the fall of several Ministries, there were many precious, dangerous magical artifacts in need of relocation. Due to the adaptive nature of magic, which is itself a living force, Dai Ryusaki and Henri Jean Alerie both knew that the remaining schools of magic would be safer than any Ministry. They were as of yet undiscovered by the muggles and seemingly small enough to fly under the radar. The only remaining school the Witch Hunters were aware of was Hogwarts, yet they seemed reluctant to strike the British school, possibly due to rumors that it was guarded by a terrible monster left behind by one of the Founders. 

Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries, as well as their contemporaries in other nations, had already concluded that any dwelling inhabited by multiple witches and wizards for several generations would eventually develop its own independent magical energy, and, in a sense, become a living thing. In the case of wizarding schools, the youthful magic of the students was even stronger, and more changeable. It was the very best chance. Ryusaki knew what needed to be done. He called upon the services of several people whom he trusted. They had graduated from the various remaining schools of magic and eventually rose to lead them, but before that, they had been part of the final classes to study at Ruqyah and were originally Curse-Breakers by trade. Over the years, Ryusaki had maintained correspondence with all of them. 

He reached out to Inacio Campos, of Castelobruxo, Zuri Adesina of Ugadou, Sigrid Jorgensen of Durmstrang, Tatiana Morozov of Koldovstoretz, and Hamish Fawley of Hogwarts. There was some reluctance once his colleagues discovered his past misdeeds, but Ryusaki convinced them that his plan was in the best interests of wizardkind, that he was merely trying to repent. Henri Jean Alerie was only too happy to represent Beauxbatons in this endeavor, as Ryusaki represented Mahoutokoro. In time, the two men secured themselves as Headmasters of their respective schools. The only representatives who were not in attendance were Morozov and Fawley. Morozov was disgusted by Ryusaki’s crimes and refused to join the alliance, and with her, the Russian school withdrew from the plan. Fawley expressed agreement with the plan, but was unwilling to play any part in it. Hamish Fawley was gravely ill, afflicted with a mysterious curse from the time he was born. As a result, not only did he have limited time and energy, but he wanted nothing to do with Cursed Artifacts or Curses as a whole. Privately, Alerie maintained correspondence with Fawley, offering his sympathies. 

The other representatives went along with this plan, deciding to trust Ryusaki, as he seemed honest…though many of them did not fully trust Alerie. Which was ironic, as he played a crucial part of the plan. It was he who staged the near destruction of the Lebanese Ministry of Magic, where the International Confederation of Wizards had sent them for safekeeping. Using the Imperius Curse to gain access to the heart of the Lebanese Ministry, so the new alliance could steal the Artifacts. Thereafter, Ryusaki waited until the building was empty to cast a terrible fire, a Dark Spell, to make it seem as though the Witch Hunters had struck again, and the artifacts destroyed in the fire. In truth, each of them took possession of one and pledged to guard it indefinitely. To do so, they used their schools. Infused with emergent magical energy that was fueled by generations of children, this alliance truly believed there was nowhere safer. They had all studied at Ruqyah at one point or another. They all knew of the Tombs, those that guarded unspeakable Dark Arts and a nameless Demon. 

Within the schools of the Alliance, secret chambers were constructed to house the artifacts, similar to the Tombs. The enchantments and curses placed on these ”Vaults” did not remain stagnant. Left alone, they grew like ivy, evolving and growing in strength over the years. Until, or so they hoped and planned, these secret Cursed Vaults and the treasures they guarded would be forgotten and lost to time. Plotting a strike on a Wizarding Ministry and the theft of the most dangerous artifacts in the world is no small feat. It took the better part of two years to plan, and during this time, the Alliance would communicate with each other using the secrecy they had learned from Ryusaki and Alerie. Signing all of their letters with nothing but the Eye of Horus, represented on the parchment as the letter “R” In time, this group came to refer to itself as Ruqyah, or simply “R” as a coded version - taking the name of the fallen school in an effort to honor the ideals and traditions that were lost. They began wearing red cloaks for subterfuge, echoing the school uniform of the ancient pyramid. Ryusaki could not partake, for he had "turned white" as they say in Mahoutokoro, long ago. His robes would always reflect his sin.

After the Artifacts were hidden, the members of this new faction did not see each other for many years, only communicating through further messages likewise written in code. They had pledged to protect the world from the most powerful and unstable kinds of magic. They knew what kind of danger the Artifacts might have posed if they had fallen into the wrong hands - magical or mundane. Yet during this time, Ryusaki had begun to see the world anew, as he poured himself deeper into magical philosophy. The Mahoutokoro Headmaster had never been wholly evil, and through his efforts with R, he had undergone a change of heart. Feeling remorse for his crimes and resolving to change his ways. Ryusaki dedicated his life to reforming, going so far as to reinvent the dark spells he had learned in Egypt to make them better. He even reinvented the dark spell he had used to destroy the Lebanese Ministry, turning it into the defensive curse known as Protego Diabolica. To the point of willingly turning himself over to the authorities for his various criminal acts - though he did not breathe a word of the artifacts, their locations, or the existence of R. 

Alerie, however, went in a different direction.

With access to one of the deadly artifacts, he was free to study it during his spare time running Beauxbatons. During the Decade Without Hope, he continued studies into the most obscure and forbidden branches of magic. Crafting spells, objects, and potions of immense and terrible power. Drowning himself in the rarest and most dangerous enchantments. He went as far as to return to the ruins of Ruqyah and attempt to seek out the malevolent spirit hidden within the pyramid’s depths, thinking he could use its power for himself. But with the school long since abandoned, there was nothing and no one left to guard the entity, who had flourished in the time since Ruqyah’s fall. No one is quite certain what happened to Alerie in the heart of the pyramid. But he was never the same afterward. Some say he went mad, and perhaps he did. But the encounter changed him on a fundamental level. He returned to Beauxbatons wearing a strange amulet and and boasting of how his “third eye” had been opened. 

The Crown of Mneme

The International Confederation of Wizards were not blind, they could see that Ryusaki was no longer a danger to the magical world and knew they could make good use of his brilliance - so they made him an offer - to be pardoned for all his past crimes and receive lifelong immunity for any future crimes. In return, they commissioned him to craft a powerful spell that would allow the caster to reshape the minds of others on a massive scale. They invited him to the Final Summit, which was to be held in the Kingdom of Bhutan, to use this magic in a special ceremony. Ryusaki flatly refused such a prospect, until The Confederation fully explained their reasoning. 

During this time period, The Confederation was certainly not loved. Much of wizardkind believed that the horrid state of affairs was in no small part due to their inaction and poor decision making. Most did not believe that the Confederation would be able to save the wizarding community. But there were others. Clever mages of higher learning who understood the politics, who were near enough to the inner circle for the whispers and rumors to have leaked down to them. Long before the Statute of Secrecy was signed, many saw it coming. For it was becoming common practice more and more to live a double life, to hide one’s magic from any nearby muggles. Nevertheless, secrecy was paramount. The Witch Hunters could not be allowed to catch wind of this plan. The Final Summit was risky in general. To put all the most important members of the Confederation together, all in one room, was dangerous. Should the Witch Hunters discover that this meeting was to take place, should they strike during the Summit, they would wipe out the Confederation and with it, the last hope for wizardkind. Yet they took a chance and trusted Dai Ryusaki with knowledge of this plan. 

After some consideration,  he agreed to the Confederation’s offer. He set to work, using all of his magical knowledge and skill in the effort to make the Statute of Secrecy possible. Aided by his old friend Alerie, not realizing that Alerie had plans of his own. Yet as he worked, Ryusaki lamented the fate of wizardkind, doomed to hide away forever…until he had an epiphany. The answer came to him in a stroke of genius. A way to unite both worlds without conflict or bloodshed. Thoughtlessly, he shared his brainchild with Alerie via one of their many coded letters, who then joined him in celebration. In time, Ryusaki crafted the artifact known as The Crown of Mneme. With it, he and Alerie brewed a special potion designed to amplify the Crown’s power when the two were combined. The ingredients for this potion were a closely guarded secret, and the two old friends only ever wrote them down once, on an ancient scroll. These efforts bore fruit, and Ryusaki tested the Crown’s power by treating the trauma of his students at Mahoutokoro. However, attempting to heal the pains and trials of his friend Alerie revealed the horror within his soul, and Ryusaki recoiled. He attempted to excise this evil from his friend, but Alerie escaped. 

Regrettably, this discovery sealed Ryusaki’s fate. Alerie could not allow any to learn the truth of what he had seen, of his heritage. The Demon who had hidden in the Tombs of Rugyah for so many years, who now ruled the pyramid in silence…was in truth, a magical creature known as an Ifrit. Precious little is known about them and in the seventeenth century wizards knew little and less. But such an entity is classified as a “non-being” similar to boggarts or dementors, and the Ifrit is highly dangerous. Rarely seen in the West, an Ifrit can live for millennia, and use that time to gradually corrupt the souls of mages around them, yet having no effect on muggles. Long ago, the founders of Ruqyah crossed swords with an Ifrit, bravely fighting the creature and trapping it in an ancient tomb. Building a pyramid around the demon to keep it sealed away, and the prison evolved through the years, becoming one of the most famous wizarding schools of all time. It was always the job of the Headmaster, “The Ruqyah,” to contain the Ifrit.

Alerie had met The Ifrit. The enchantments on the Pyramid prevented it from escaping altogether, but once the last Ruqyah had died, the Ifrit’s magic grew stronger. Before, Headmasters had wielded The Eye of Horus to “block” out the Ifrit’s third eye, which has sometimes been referred to as the “evil eye.” For the Ifrit’s third eye grants them powers such as legilimency, and worse. They can attack and devastate the minds of mortals. Alerie had an encounter with this non-being while it was near full power, and the course of his life became set in stone. For the Ifrit had revealed a shattering truth - many times in the past, it had taken human witches as lovers, one of whom was Alerie’s own mother. Henri Jean Alerie was only half human. The Amulet he wore had been created by the Ifrit some time ago, and it had been given to Alerie as inheritance. In years to come, his seemingly endless longevity and his fearsome talent with the Dark Arts could both be attributed to his heritage. Alerie had left the pyramid a different man, and when Ryusaki discovered the horrors hidden in his soul, he vowed to save his old friend. But Alerie had already decided that Ryusaki could not be allowed to live.

The Final Summit

Ten years after the Fall of Ruqyah, the Confederation met in secret for the Final Summit, in the Kingdom of Bhutan. To discuss their plans, and most importantly, to gauge how successful Ryusaki had been at the task they had given him. The group of mages met and conversed for many days to determine the future of their kind. During this time, when Ryusaki was called upon to present his invention, he instead proposed an alternative solution. He painted a picture for his fellow wizards, describing the utopia in his mind. A world where there was no difference between the magical and mundane. A peaceful, enlightened world where every child born would be blessed with magic. If the Crown could be used for this purpose, there would be no need for secrecy. No need for conflict - no real possibility of another war. The Confederation nervously laughed off such wild delusions and dismissed Ryusaki as a radical before demanding that he relinquish the Crown. When Ryusaki refused, things quickly devolved into chaos. 

Ryusaki knew that he could not surrender the Crown, not until he had used it to save the world. The magical community would not hide themselves. They would join hands with their muggle brethren, and together they would expel the forces of evil - creatures like the Ifrit hiding in Ruqyah. The world needed to know about this danger, and that his old friend had already been corrupted by it. Determined to uphold the legacy of what Ruqyah had once been, Ryusaki, who was now on the run, called upon the services of R. A loyal man, Ryusaki expected the Headmasters of the remaining magical schools, the Guardians of the Artifacts, would come to his aid, as he would have done for them. But by then, it was too late.

Alerie had gotten to them first.

As a member of R, he had contacted the others and met with them to discuss the situation. Painting a very different version of events. Alerie claimed Ryusaki’s atonement was a lie. That he had been deceiving the others, and that his sanity slipped further and further toward madness with each passing day. That he had created another deadly Artifact, like the ones R had hidden, and the Confederation was now hunting him. Though the others doubted his tale at first, rumors of Ryusaki’s exploits were spreading, as Alerie’s next visit had been to see the Confederation. With Ryusaki on the run, Alerie had approached them. He offered to do the job that Ryusaki would not, in exchange for the same reward - lifetime immunity from prosecution. The Confederation, who had no other cards left to play, agreed to his terms - none of them having any idea just how long Alerie would live.

Ryusaki’s reputation was soon smeared by the remaining Ministries, in an attempt to discredit him and prevent him from garnering sympathy. His past misdeeds as a Dark Wizard were regularly brought up by his enemies and those who wished to apprehend him and the Crown. The remaining members of R came to believe Alerie’s stories were true, particularly as his newest ally corroborated them. Hamish Fawley, who had previously refused to join R, now accepted full membership and pledged to help stop Ryusaki and hide the Crown of Mneme at Hogwarts, just as the other Headmasters had done in their own schools. Alerie had approached Fawley separately and cut a deal with him on the side. Proposing that the Crown could be used to heal Fawley’s illness and break the Curse on him. Blind with hope, Fawley would have said or done anything that Alerie bid. 

Ryusaki had only one friend left he could turn to - or so he thought. The International Confederation could not be trusted. Ruqyah’s members had all abandoned him. But despite the evil in Alerie’s soul, Ryusaki believed he was still a good man beneath it all, and this faith was seemingly rewarded when Alerie appeared like a miracle and helped Ryusaki escape a team of Aurors. The two friends reconciled, and it was at this time that Alerie gave Ryusaki the amulet that he wore, seemingly as a sentimental gift. Ryusaki went on to explain his plan to Alerie. From the shadows, he had worked tirelessly, trying to discover a way to graph magic from a witch or wizard onto a muggle. As he refused to use live subjects or do anything that risked harm to the innocent, his methods were slow and inefficient. There was only one thing left to try - The Crown. Using its power to project magic onto every human in the world by using the wearer as a template. It would never have worked, and Alerie knew this. But Ryusaki was blind with hope, and insisted on acting as the Template himself, just as Alerie planned. 

Together, the two men brewed the special mind-enhancing potion necessary to use the Crown on a global scale. Alerie placed the Crown on Ryusaki’s head. Yet as the power began to overwhelm him, Ryusaki was suddenly struck in the back by his oldest friend. The two began to duel. It was during this time that, in the struggle, the Scroll containing the ingredients for Ryusaki’s special mind enhancing potion was torn in half, with each of the men taking one piece. Ryusaki had no strength, the Crown had drained him like a battery, and he had no choice but to take it off, to leave it behind. Yet using the last of his energy, Ryusaki fled, and hid his half of the Scroll. Rather than pursue him, Alerie claimed The Crown, before sending the same team of Aurors - who had been on his payroll the whole time - to apprehend the wounded Ryusaki. 

Alerie brought the Crown back to the Magisterial Chamber of Ancient Wizardry, as promised. It was here that the members of the Confederation cast a vote, and soon emerged from their talks with a signed document known as the International Statute of Secrecy, marking the official end of The Witch Hunter Wars. Alerie wielded the power of The Crown of Mneme. With it, he caused all the muggles to forget magic was ever real. The two worlds became permanently divided, and Ryusaki's hopes of a utopia of enlightenment and immortality, a world where everyone had magic - went up in smoke. His dreams died with him, as he was executed for a Dark Wizard shortly thereafter, still wearing the amulet Alerie had given him as a last gift. It is said that the amulet was cursed, and that before his death, Ryusaki's jailers tortured him. By the time he died, Ryusaki's resentment of the Confederation had intensified, their betrayal, to say nothing of Alerie's betrayal, burned him to his last cinder. With Ryusaki's death, Alerie moved to seize control of R. He proposed that the group be managed by an elected leader, like the Ruqyahs of old. His influence grew further as he was unanimously voted to become the new "R."

With no means to fulfill his promise to Fawley, Alerie blamed Ryusaki for stealing half of the Dark Scroll. But there could be no hope of brewing the Mind Enhancing Potion again without it, and without the Potion, the Crown was too unstable to use. Therefore, Alerie reluctantly handed it over to Fawley to keep the peace, and it was hidden in a secret Vault at the bottom of the Hogwarts' Black Lake. Guarded by a dark spell that Alerie himself had always favored. The new "R" continued to revolutionize, with Alerie and the others gathering more and more recruits, as well as beginning to infiltrate the rising Ministries in addition to the magical schools. Meanwhile, Hamish Fawley made a groundbreaking discovery. The magic in his soul, that which came from the Curse afflicting him, contained the raw, un-concentrated power of unstable magic, but this magic could be harvested. If Fawley could be born with such a Curse, so could anyone else...including muggles, and this Curse might just endow them with enough magic to no longer be considered muggles. Ryusaki's dream was not dead after all.

Fawley and Alerie clashed for years to come, with Fawley questioning Alerie's leadership at every turn, and how much it differed from Ryusaki's vision. Until Alerie's mask slipped and he showed his true colors. Fawley and Alerie got into a fight and Alerie lost his temper, exposing his inhuman power in front of multiple "R" members. With no other choice, Alerie was forced to flee, to disappear, leaving Hamish Fawley to be elected the new leader of Ruqyah. He burned away the rest of his life trying in vain to solve Ryusaki's equation - to turn a muggle into a wizard. He died without success, however, his bloodline remained in R, and served as Leaders more often than they did not. Eventually, Fawley's descendant - a boy called Jacob, discovered the existence of R.

As for Alerie, he resurfaced many times under many pseudonyms over the years, influencing events. Working to free his father, to influence The Cabal from afar. The Amulet served him well in this endeavor. Eventually, he would reestablish direct contact with Fawley's descendants, and Jacob's Sibling would come to known him personally. But by then, he was using yet another name...

Under the moniker of Elton Elderberry, Ministry Archivist, Henri Jean Alerie continues to influence events.

[see-arcane]

Have you ever thought of writing canon-compliant sequel? Weather it features the Harkers' [spoilers redacted] or not in the monster-hunting thing.

A straight-up sequel, no tweaks or AUs allowed? No.

What I would like to see--if not necessarily write--is the Dracula crew turning up as side characters or surprise cameos in someone else's gothic/supernatural adventure. They would get to be the cool kids! The ones who have been there and done that and gotten all the horror genre badges! The two versions I've poked the most in this vein are:

A) The Fallout of Dracula's Trip to the Zoo, aka, A Tale of an Amateur Chiropterologist--Dracula pauses after his wolf visit to check out the bats. Someone makes the mistake of engaging in uneasy conversation with him--a fellow fan of the misunderstood little dears!--only to have a certain Transylvanian specimen come knocking at the window and cause some undocumented-in-the-novel havoc. All this would be poured out to a head doctor at the insistence of the girl's family; now doubly petrified of being stamped a madwoman for telling the truth. The twist?

She's been talking to Jack Seward this whole time.

His diagnosis is that she's an excellent storyteller and not mad at all, ha ha, would she like to meet some people who are also great storytellers? They collaborated on a whole novel together! Let's go chat with them. Right now. Preferably in broad daylight.

B) The Vampire Hunting Gang are Not Allowed to Retire--Despite their best happily ever after efforts, supernatural shit keeps happening. Not necessarily to them! But maybe a friend. Or a friend of a friend. Or maybe they just catch something paranormally abnormal out the corner of their eye. So they help out. (Subtly. No need to share their story, making everyone involved look mad, ha ha. Really. You're very welcome, Now Don't Say Shit.)

People being people, of course it spreads. No names to the presses! But still. Folks of particular 'extraordinary afflictions' maybe start sniffing out certain persons just trying to Live Their Normal Lives, Damn It, but their consciences and experience can't just shut the door on the latest victim. And the next and the next. Lord Godalming finally throws his hands up and puts together a fund (and perhaps a front building) just for the purposes of their in-demand 'hobby.'

For better or worse (mostly better), our heroes establish a legacy of banishing bogeymen.

But all of this is waaay too hefty for me to juggle on top of all the other stories I have cooking at present, so they've been tossed on the back burner for the time being.

[damisalakowrites]

How I Got My Agent

"But don't you already have a publishing deal?" Yes, I do! And for that blog post, visit here!

Now let's get into it...

I started querying this project in January 2024 and received my first offer of representation in April 2024. If you're looking for the query stats and my query letter, scroll to the bottom!

January 9, 2024 - Sent my first batch of queries.

I batch queried. Initially, I focused on querying agents who responded quickly so I could get a feel for the effectiveness of my query package. I received full requests pretty quickly so I knew it was working. After that, I queried as agents opened up and when I had time.

March 6, 2024 - R&R on a partial manuscript

An agent rejected a partial but gave me a full page of editorial notes and feedback. And it was the most helpful feedback I’ve ever received on a full or partial. I spent six weeks revising and at the end of my revision period, I reached out to everyone who had my full and let them know I’d revised. Depending on how long ago I queried them, I offered to send the updated version or I just went ahead and sent it (with a small note that implied they didn’t have to re-read it if they’d already finished the first MS!). Everyone got back to me to confirm they received the revised MS or thanked me directly for sending it.

Even though the opening pages changed significantly, I didn’t re-query everyone. I only re-queried agents who had my query sitting in their maybe pile. I know, technically I can’t really know if I’m in a maybe pile, but I used my best guess (Query Tracker Premium helped with this).

One of the agents had me in their "maybe" pile for ~3 months. Within 48 hours of re-querying with the updated manuscript, she requested my full. Put a pin in that, I'll come back to this later.

And another week later, one of the agents with my full offered:

Thank you for sending this R&R along, and for your patience while I dove into THE SUN HAS A SHADOW! I was able to finally sit down and really dig into this manuscript over the weekend, and I think it’s absolutely wonderful. Your characters are distinct, there’s so much in this world to explore, and you touch on important themes while keeping the pacing quick and easy to follow—so many things I look for in YA, and fantasy in particular. I wanted to reach out and see if you’d accepted an offer of representation elsewhere, or if you’re still seeking an agent for your work? If THE SUN HAS A SHADOW is still available, I would love to set up a phone call to chat further about it with you, and about possible representation with [REDACTED]! I can’t wait to see your book out in the world, and I look forward to hearing back from you soon!

Post-Offer Timeline

Things went by quickly after that.

I got my offer email on 4/23/24. Two days later, I was having The Call with the agent and the founder of the agency. The phone call went so well and it was clear that they both understood this book and the story I was trying to tell. Having both of them on the phone call also was an opportunity to see how the agency as a whole works - and not just the agent. They never interrupted or spoke over each other and knowing that I wouldn't just have the agent’s support, but the agency’s was more impactful than I’d anticipated. I also knew I wanted an agent who was more editorial - someone who could push me to create the best version of my story. Yes, they loved and gushed on my story and it was clear that they were just as passionate about it as I am. But I wanted to work with an agent who could help me make it even better.

When the call ended, I knew I’d be more than happy to work with with that agent. But of course, it was time to do my due diligence and send out those "notification of offer" emails and messages.

By the time I received my offer, I had 2 partials and 10 full manuscripts out in the world. When I sent my offer of rep notifications, four agents with my full stepped aside due to the time constraint. I’ll be honest - two of those step-asides stung. They were with "dream agents" - but like I said earlier, after my call, I knew I’d be more than happy to work with the offering agent. Many other agents with my queries stepped aside too, simply because they wouldn't be able to make my deadline. And seven agents requested my full after nudging them with my offer (most of them weren't able to read the manuscript before deadline, though).

I received multiple offers (stats at the bottom). And while I was so grateful, I also found my anxiety rising. Every single agent I spoke with was excellent, and I would have been happy to work with any of them. There were no glaring red flags, I spoke with current clients, and I did my whisper network research. All of the agents who offered were incredible and blew me away.

So how exactly was I supposed to choose?

Answer: Follow your gut.

The Agent

Remember that agent that had my query for 3 months? And then I re-queried with my revised MS and she requested my full in 48 hours?

She offered.

And our phone call went really well! Conversation flowed, her editorial vision and her enthusiasm was everything I hoped for in an agent and it was clear that she knew the genres she represented well. At the end of the phone call, I immediately texted my husband and told him, "I think I found my agent."

I had a few other offer calls in the coming days and again, those calls went extremely well, too. But two weeks after my first offer, I emailed Dorian Maffei and signed with her.

And I'm beyond excited to get started.

Query Stats & Query Letter

Queries Sent: 96 CNRs (closed no response): 3 Rejections: 79 Partials: 6 Fulls: 21 (14 before offer of rep + 7 additional requests after notification of offer/nudge) Offers: 5 offers and 1 R&R Total Time Querying: 105 days (~4 months)

Some additional notes about these stats:

I withdrew 26 pending queries the day before I signed with my agent. Queries were withdrawn because I hadn't heard back before deadline (so similar in concept to CNRs).

By the time I got an offer, I had 10 fulls and 2 partials out. Both agents with my partial stepped aside post-offer.

All 7 of the agents who requested my manuscript post-offer either passed, stepped aside, or CNR'd.

My Query Letter

Dear [AGENT]

In Ibana, dragon-riders devour the Nightmares that lurk in the shadows of night while phoenix-riders herald the rise of the Sun every morning. But five years ago, the queen killed her family, usurped the throne, and ordered the genocide of all phoenix-riders.  

No-one has seen the Sun since then.

Despite the never-ending night and the Nightmares that skulk between the cities, 18-year-old Babatunji makes a living delivering messages and cargo, braving the Shadow-lands alone. But his life of quiet isolation is ripped out from under him when he finds himself indebted to a dangerous dragon-rider. Desperate and out of options, he reluctantly agrees to the first job that comes his way: escort Layo, one of the last phoenix-rider descendants, to the other side of the country. But after Baba and Layo survive an assassination attempt ordered by the queen, Layo confesses her true purpose: she is in possession of the last three phoenix eggs, and she’s been tasked with safely delivering them to a hideout on the other side of the monster-stricken country. Her success would mean the return of the Sun, the return of the phoenix-riders, and a means to finally end the queen’s dark reign. 

Baba and Layo escape ambushes and face the Nightmares that lurk in the night while the queen and her dragon-rider army nip at their heels. As Baba and Layo’s alliance blossoms into something more, Baba comes to terms with a terrifying realization: the key to Layo’s success is also Baba's greatest secret. It’s a secret he’s buried in shame, loneliness, and laudanum. But if they have any chance of saving their world from this endless night, Baba will have to confront his shame and expose the darkest parts of himself. Doing so could cost him his life but worst of all, it could confirm what he always suspected: that he was never deserving of redemption in the first place. 

BEASTS MADE OF NIGHT by Tochi Onyebuchi meets SKYHUNTER by Marie Lu in “THE SUN HAS A SHADOW,” a high-stakes fantasy about re-discovering one’s agency, and how the threads of guilt, depression, and addiction create a tapestry of isolation and shame. It is complete at 78,000 words and set in a fictional world that is culturally inspired by the Igbo and Yoruba tribes of Nigeria (#ownvoices). It will appeal to fans of slow burn romance and shadow-magic. Despite its darker themes, it will leave readers feeling hopeful about these characters, their journeys, and themselves.

[BIO PARAGRAPH]

Thank you for your time and consideration. 

[stxleslyds]

NIGHTWING #81

UMM... HOW ABOUT NO. 

Ever since Tom Taylor took over Nightwing I have only made a post about one issue of his (I will leave it here Nightwing #78), that issue was beautiful, it was a solid start and the little things that made me feel a bit icky were not mentioned in the post because the issue was good.

Then the issues felt like connectors or just very bland story wise. I had problems with the book also feeling like a Nightwing and (fake) Oracle book instead of just Nightwing. There were many instances where Dick alone could have gotten himself out of situations without Barbara, but because she was there the opportunity to show that he can do things was taken from him. I guess what I am trying to say is that the book has disappointed me but I didn’t feel like making a post because it was too early and this is an ongoing book that Taylor said he planned on continuing for a while, but now I can’t not make a post.

A few days ago, I finally read the Red Hood story in Urban Legends (I have a review for that one too I will link it here Red Hood part 4) and I couldn’t stand how OOC and disappointing the story/characterization has been. I am saying this because I am only reading these two books at the moment, ONLY these two, and all I have gotten from them is shit.

I know it’s still early to say that the Nightwing book is bad but…I hated this issue, I hated it with all of my heart. But now that I am a bit calmer, I have come up with some ideas of what is truly going on with the Melinda situation.

Anyway, let me give you my thoughts.

There are big Wilson Fisk vibes coming from both Blockbuster and Melinda Zucco. Those two will lie, manipulate and be evil every chance they get. They are working together to make Nightwing disappear. I know it. The whole “make us all much wealthier and to extend your power beyond the city” idea does not include Nightwing.

Melinda might not want to burn anything down but she sure isn’t a hero. This woman accepted the position of Mayor after watching Blockbuster kill the former mayor. I understand that talking with the BHPD isn’t the best idea but this woman feels way too comfortable in the presence of a killer.

She is cunning and she has plans, I strongly believe that she might be a villain and that she will betray Blockbuster and take all the power (if it reaches that point) to herself.

Heartless is just another weirdo, he tricks both Nightwing and the reader into thinking that he has a soft spot for kids but surprise! He doesn’t. There isn’t much to say about him, he just has very complex gadgets and doesn’t know how to fight. I don’t even have any ideas about who he might be.

What I know though is that there was absolutely no need for Dick to think that he had “underestimated” Heartless, my love you threw your stick at him while he was looking directly at you, there was a 50/50 chance of him catching it. I swear I don’t understand the need to write him thinking that mostly because Taylor then has Dick swiping the floor with the guy, not only is it a simple fight (for Dick) but it’s also boring for him. Taylor’s writing is so annoying sometimes, he just loves to write extra things that are out of place like the “Tim Drake. Thought of by many as the best Robin” why the fuck did he put that there? Honestly, what was the point of having Dick say that, I don’t read a Nightwing book to have Tim Drake praise. If it doesn’t offer anything to the story that is being told then keep the thought to yourself Tom...

Moving forward the scene in the pier was quite nice, mostly because it’s Dick’s quick thinking that gets everyone to safety, he knows exactly what to do and how to contact the Maritime distress channel.

He has hope for his city, he knows there is good in it and he believes help will show up when lives are about to be lost. I loved that, just like Heartless said, Nightwing IS Bludhaven’s Guardian Angel. Once again, I am having Daredevil vibes from Dick (like from the show)

After the fight we get to see consequences of Dick not healing properly from a shot to the head. He loses his consciousness which is extremely dangerous but luckily Tim is at arm’s reach to help him out of the pier.

There are many things I want to talk about from the scenes that happen after Dick wakes up in his apartment so here we go.

First of all, Bitewing is adorable, she loves Dick the most and was happy to see him awake once more, what a good girl!

Secondly, Barbara, honey, you do not have three names, you aren’t Batgirl anymore, you are a grown woman that needs to move on from a mantle that has other people that can do something else/better with it. And we all know that this Oracle is just the ableist version of Oracle. So yeah…all I ask is for Barbara to move on from Batgirl, Cass and Stephanie are right there, enough is enough.

In these panels we have Dick, Tim and Barbara being kinda dismissive about the homeless kids, and it has been happening for so many issues, what is the point, Taylor? You made Dick a millionaire and you just can’t have him say or think for a second that he will monetarily help those kids and make sure they are put somewhere safe? You are really going to wait up until you have Dick running for Mayor or something to help the kids? I just don’t get it. Kids living on the streets and each time they are mentioned the three heroes of the book act like it’s normal and doesn’t need fixing. What the fuck.

Then we have the gang finding out that Melinda Zucco is the new mayor, the woman has an FBI file and a redacted one! This makes me think two things, either things are like I thought in the beginning of the post (she is evil and very good at it) or this woman is actually FBI and she is undercover (this one is less likely because of what happens at the end of the issue).

What we can see from the file that Barbara found is very little, but in these two pictures we can see that maybe she was put in foster care and x age? Also, she was apparently investigated in April of 20xx, the investigation must have been recent, why would the FBI investigate a minor or college student? What if these files were implanted by Melinda for someone to find them, and for her to have some sort of proof of her lies? If the file is about her being left in foster care or something while would the file be redacted? I don’t know, everything about her is shady and I don’t trust anything from or about her.

This could be a complex and very interesting character but Tom Taylor and DC really love to do stupid shit for shock value (more of this later).

All the new information (the Maroni, Blockbuster and now this very shady Mayor) has Dick saying that it is a bit too much for him and yeah, it is too much, you know who could help? Red Hood. I am of course not talking about current DC comics Red Hood, I am talking about the Red Hood that I would love to see, just yesterday I had an ask about who would I like to see working with Jason and I said Nightwing because Dick puts a lot of responsibility on his shoulders so it would be nice if they negotiated and each could work on different crime areas in Bludhaven, if only DC would hear me…

Anyway, now that we come to the end of the scene let’s talk about Barbara’s shirt.

That was unnecessary and not funny. That’s all it was. Yeah, I know it’s a meme and I know it was included for funny ha-ha purposes but I am not laughing. Bruce has been written as abusive towards his kids for so long, Jason, Tim and Dick have been physically harmed by Bruce and writers use it as just something that happens, there are never repercussions for the Bat. And this shirt sucks because Dick was Robin there and he was a kid, so having Barbara or anyone wearing a shirt with Batman hitting Robin!Dick right in front of Dick is just disgusting. What if someone wore a shirt that had Joker beating Jason with a crowbar in front of Jason, would that be a funny ha-ha too? What about Dick wearing a shirt with the Joker shooting Barbara, is that a funny ha-ha? The answer to those questions is no, it’s not funny.

The idea of that shirt shouldn’t have been pitched, drawn or included after the editor took a look at it.

The picture is a meme in our world, not in theirs. And the readers aren’t laughing.

 Back to the issue, Dick is left alone in his apartment to rest (seriously? You think the man that showed up to help Bruce in Gotham with a knee brace is going to rest?) but he can’t, he just found out that Mayor Zucco might be trouble for Bludhaven and might be working with not only Blockbuster but the Maroni family. He is not waiting one more second to have a chat with her.

Dick is obviously still concussed so of course he grabs a mask that has a camera that Oracle can view, and of course he enters yet another window without being careful.

Melinda and Audre were obviously waiting for him.

But here is where the real bullshit begins. Dick is unmasked.

I am so mad; it’s been four issues and Dick gets his ass in a trap and is unmasked by a villain? Are you kidding me right now?

But that’s not all, after Dick breaks free and accuses Melinda of being the daughter of the man that killed his parents, she pulls out a uno reverse card and says that her actual father is John Grayson, and that she is his sister.

How about no. Absolutely not. Go away.

Let’s re-visit Melinda’s appearances in the book so far so we can start theorizing about her real intentions or if she could be saying the truth.

Back in issue #78 where she is first introduced to us, after Melinda watches Blockbuster kill the mayor, she goes home and tells her Audre that she is now mayor because Blockbuster did what he does, so she knows that this guy is trash and a killer. But that’s not all, Audre asks her if she came across Dick Grayson to which Melinda answers “I am not ready for him yet”. Audre suggests she talks to him sooner rather than later because she might not have “another chance”, and the issue ends with Melinda agreeing with her while she is looking at a Flying Graysons poster with a red circle framing Dick’s face.

That whole thing? Shady. Melinda, obviously, wanted to talk to Dick Grayson, probably to tell him that she is his sister, but why is there a time limit, why is Audre telling Melinda that she can’t wait too long? Is it because her undercover work is ending soon? Is it because it’s not real at all and she needs to tell that lie in order to move forward with some sort of plan? I don’t know…

In issue #79 Melinda (and Audre) are out in the open with Maroni and they are talking about her becoming the next Mayor, Nightwing was watching from afar so this is his first contact with her. And it might be the first time that Melinda and her friend see Nightwing in action too. I cannot tell if she is aware that Nightwing/Dick Grayson are the same person here.

In #80 she doesn’t make an appearance.

But now in #81 she is taking her place as Mayor of Bludhaven, there Commissioner McClean takes her somewhere she didn’t expect to go (she is shown not knowing that Maroni and Blockbuster were in the next room over). Once in the room she refuses to take the cash from McClean but she will take the money as a transaction (for a second I thought she wouldn’t take the money but she did because she is very corrupt) and talks to Maroni once more. Before I talk about what happens with Blockbuster let me say this, she acts so distant to Maroni, she calls him Mr. Maroni every single time and she comes off as cold and feeling no type of way while talking with someone that is part of the family that actually raised her, and this is not because she is in a room full of other people, she did it too in #79. It seems weird that she acts that way with someone that took her under his wing since she was eight years old.

When she sits with Blockbuster he says “tell us your plan for my city” to which she says all of this: “My plan, Blockbuster, is to make us all much wealthier and to extend your power beyond the city. But to do so in a way that builds on the good work you’ve already done I have no interest in burning anything down.”

At the start of the post I said she gave me big Wilson Fisk vibes and that right there is why. She is shady, she has plans on top of plans, she calls Roland Desmond Blockbuster to his face but says that he has done good work for Bludhaven, which is weird because Blockbuster destroys Bludhaven a couple of times a year…

As I said before whatever she has planned does not include Nightwing, and here is where I kinda start theorizing a bit more, what if Blockbuster told Melinda Nightwing’s real name, he used to know who he was once upon a time…

Later in this issue when Nightwing is going to Melinda’s place Audre is already waiting for him right next to the window (with a sword), so, was he making an insane amount of noise or were they told to be ready for him?

Melinda traps him and takes his mask off, she barely seems surprised about Nightwing being Dick, she barely reacts when he jumps at her. She is in complete control of the situation and proves that by disarming Dick, as fast as he accuses her of being Zucco’s daughter she tells him that her real father is John Grayson.

She is in complete control. She has to be lying, she put a stop to whatever Dick had to say and do in seconds. This woman is trained and she is manipulative as fuck!

And if she isn’t lying then fuck DC and fuck Tom Taylor, this woman is either younger or the same age as Dick, John Grayson was not a cheater, the man is dead, has been dead for so long, don’t throw dirt on his name at this point. I refuse to believe this is true.

I honestly think that she is evil, and knows more than we are aware of, her first appearance was shady as fuck, let's suppose that she didn’t truly know that Dick was Nightwing, why on earth did she have a Flying Graysons poster with a red circle on top of Dick’s face? That doesn’t seem like something a sister would do! And why would this be information that is so important that she NEEDS to tell him in a certain amount of time?

It’s fucking insane. Tom Taylor, if she is actually Dick's sister then shame on you. Disgusting, what is with writers and cheating, what the hell is going on? Dick doesn’t need to think back to his parents and see a cheater in one of them. This better be Melinda being a cruel and vile human being that is trying to emotionally hurt Dick/Nightwing so she and Blockbuster can do whatever its they want to do.

That’s all I have to say.

[copperpieceharlot]

Bud I’m sorry to swing into your inbox uninvited like this but my soul is having an OOTS renaissance thanks to your content in the tag and did you say Leverage AU

haha holy SHIT this got Long. but yes. i’ve been. Thinking. (also literally Never feel like you have to apologize for sending me messages. i was Hoping someone would ask me about this. now i have an Excuse to share EVERYTHING ive written abt it :3)

Obviously, Roy is the leader/brains of the outfit. He grew up having some Strong Opinions abt what’s Legal versus what’s Right due to tragic backstory involving the death of his little brother which was definitely SOMEONE’S fault for negligence but since there technically wasn’t any illegal behavior, there were no consequences for it. Also he’s still angry at his dad bc he thinks his dad is also partly culpable (and also also just a dick). He’s the Moral Backbone of the team (alongside Durkon, more on that later) in basically the same way Nate was in og Leverage. He’s actually not the best at figuring out what people want (that’s Haley and, shockingly, occasionally Elan), but once he has that info, he is the absolute best at figuring out the ideal plan of attack to use in any given case.

Haley is still a thief. I mean she maps to Parker almost PERFECTLY. Her dad was a thief & a conman, her mom wasn’t but knew about it and mostly accepted it, but she died tragically in a mugging gone wrong or smth, which made Ian crank the paranoia WAY up and taught Haley to do the same in the name of “safety”. Let’s keep the “Ian is in Trouble and Haley needs money, Fast” which is why she signs on to the first job in the first place. She’s less acrobatic than Parker, tending towards finding (or making) weak spots in security, but she can still make a tumble check when she needs to.

Elan is the grifter who is somehow an Idiot but also not???? It baffles everyone. When he’s playing a part for a con, he’s FLAWLESS, but then the rest of the time he’s just. No Thoughts Head Empty. He probably gets lured in initially because he’s decided to try his hand at being part of a full team, rather than the two-man cons he’s been running that invariably end w his partner conning him as well and stealing half of his take. Also he likes the idea of being Crime Friends. He’s that tweet where it’s like, Roy: “after the heist is over, we split up and never communicate again” / Elan: [about to unveil his Crime Buddies Forever Friendship Quilt Puppets]: “never?”

Vaarsuvius is the hacker/gadget person. They have a Vaguely Snobby Yet Unidentifiable accent, dyed(?) purple hair (nobody has ever seen their roots) and nobody knows who they “really” are or where they came from, but they’re good at what they do so everyone just accepts the mystery. They probably got suckered into the team by their initial employer (who I’ll get to Eventually, lol) framing it as a challenge to their intellect, like, “oh, I see, you’re not smart enough to make this team work for you...” to which they were like Fucking Watch Me and also melted his computer. Anyways. They are joined (digitally) by their Intrepid Friend And Co-Conspirator (his words, not theirs), a fellow hacker known only as Blackwing, or, on certain forums, Blackwing_Bird. (In the first season, V only occasionally references him when saying they’re “calling in extra help” or smth for a particularly complex hack job. He starts showing up a little more in s2 and eventually by the start of s4 is a regular & established presence, but only appears as actions in a computer interface or output.) Elan is convinced he’s an AI, Belkar doesn’t think he actually exists, Haley pretends she doesn’t think he exists, and Durkon and Roy try not to think about it too hard, as long as B and V still get the job done.

Belkar is the hitter. He is on the team bc their initial employer got him out of jail for it. He doesn’t have a tragic backstory, he just likes doing violent crimes. As the series progresses, he grows some empathy & stuff, but really only for people who actually deserve it. Assholes still get decked. It’s all very touching. (Also he has dwarfism caused by achondroplasia. It doesn’t actually bother him and is useful in fights bc his opponents frequently have no fucking clue how to approach him, but he likes Pretending to take offense at stupid things just to see how far he can go with it.)

Aaaand last but not least, Durkon is the least involved member of the team. He’s actually a career criminal and Roy’s mentor, and wasn’t a member of the initial team that [redacted, I’ll tell you later, PROMISE] put together for a couple of reasons, the main one being that he’s Officially retired in order to spend more time with his family, which consists of his mom, his friend (not girlfriend) Hilgya, baby Kudzu, and a truly stunning number of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Roy frequently calls or visits him for advice and he Occasionally shows up to help out on local jobs, but generally he avoids doing crime if he can (as part of a deal with Hilgya, who is also a career criminal; basically, they’ve both cut back on the crime in order to provide a more stable home environment for Kudzu. But sometimes, you gotta do a little crime, and in those cases, Sigdi enjoys spending time w her grandson.)

NOW. THE BIG REVEAL YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR. Who got the team together in the first place?!

The answer: Lord Shojo (or whatever Normal Person Name you want to assign him). Now this is where it gets tricky: he had them do a thing that they thought was good, THEN they thought it was BAD, but then when they confronted him he revealed that it Appearing to be bad was actually a test of character and would they consider working as basically internal investigators for him? But then he had a heart attack, so, rip. But THEN it turned out that he’d left them a bunch of money anyway and they were all feeling kind of Inspired so they formed the Order of the Stick, LLC (which, no, i am not coming up with a new name, actually, because I just don’t care. someone else can come up w a justification for that name, tho, i’m sure it’s possible). Also Miko was there and was unhappy abt their actions, and also their general existence.

Moving on. Villains!

Redcloak is the Sterling replacement, because that DEEPLY amuses me.

Xykon is a season-long main villain, probably one that Redcloak finds himself working for but then “teams up with” (read: blackmails) the Order to bring him down bc even Redcloak finds Xykon distasteful. That’s season 3, let’s say.

Tarquin is another season villain, say season 2. Nale probably shows up pretty early in s1, actually, as another recurring antagonist like Sterling but uh. Less good at it. Anyways the s2 final 3 eps deal with them (accidentally) discovering that Tarquin runs some Evil Empire Company, then trying to outplay him and take him down. Idk if Nale still dies in this version tbh.

Tsukiko is a one-off s1 villain who returns briefly in s4 alongside Miko, who has gone well and truly off the rails.

Season 1 finale has to do w Roy finally getting Vengeance for his little brother.

The vampire squad is the s4 finale villain who do smth terrible to Durkon and then get the Mother Of All Revenge served up to them by the Order.

I envision the show as being 5 seasons (like og Leverage) but I’m not going to sketch out s5 because I think it should be based off whatever happens in the current story arc, possibly involving some legacy of the OotSquiggle.

Other stuff!

The Order of the Squiggle is a legendary criminal team from the 60s who stole a BUNCH of famous shit & then proceeded to legendarily implode. This has no bearing on the plot I’ve sketched out, I just think it’s fun.

The Sapphire Guard members should probably be reworked as FBI. I don’t care about most of them but I do think that Lien and O-Chul could be like, FBI agents who Choose to look the other way while the Order does their very-much-not-legal-but-still-fair Justice Crime, and maybe even help them out on occasion.

So, the Final season-by-season outline, based on everything I’ve written so far:

s1 e1: getting the team together, doing a con for Shojo, then at the end he dies and the gang is like “dang what now?" and intend to split up except then they Don’t.

mid-s1: Nale shows up and tries to trick the Order, but then gets beat like a drum.

late s1: Tsukiko is an underling of the Villain Of The Week, winds up in police custody. But She’ll Be Back.

s1 finale: Roy’s Vengeance: The Vengeaning. also we meet Redcloak as an antagonist.

s2 e1: the truth abt Haley’s father comes out

early s2: The Two Live Crews Job but it’s the Order vs the Linear Guild and the Linear Guild ARE all bad guys.

mid-s2: Redcloak returns. ugh.

late s2: the sapphire guard FBI makes its first appearance, hello O-Chul and Lien.

s2 pre-finale: once again they’re in conflict w Nale over smth, he spends the whole episodes making Cryptic Remarks, they basically beat him (like a drum!) but then the stinger at the end is that Tarquin reveals himself and Elan is like “Dad?!”, roll credits.

s2 finale, part 1: Elan is hanging out w Tarquin bc he’s DEEP in Denial, the Rest of the team tries to take Tarquin down, but it doesn’t work.

s2 finale, part 2: Elan finally gets a clue and they manage to beat Tarquin. still haven’t decided if Nale dies or not, but I’m leaning towards yes. also they rescue Haley’s dad.

s3 e1: fuck dude idk.

early s3: Redcloak shows up, AGAIN, everyone groans. he has blackmail on them, he wants them to take Xykon down.

mid s3: The Rashomon Job but it’s about stealing the Talisman of Dorukan and it turns out that Nale was there too (“oh!” Elan says. “I was wondering why I looked so weird in all those mirrors! But it wasn’t my reflection, it was Nale’s!” “Sweetie, that wasn’t Nale’s reflection,” says Haley. “Huh,” says Elan, “so the mirrors were broken?”, cue eye rolling from everyone else.), and the Successful thief was Hilgya, who’d nabbed it from the owner before it even went on display.

s3 finale: they beat Xykon, actually factually, because he deserves to get his ass Thoroughly kicked, even if only in AU form. Lien and O-Chul are there, so are some other less helpful FBI people. There’s a bit where O-Chul Exact Wordses his way out of telling his superiors about the Order’s less legal activities without technically lying. King shit.

s4 e1: doesn’t really matter. maybe smth to do w some legacy of Tarquin’s company to set up the drama w Malack & Durkon later.

early s4: Durkon gets SENT TO PRISON. Malack approaches the Order abt this because sure they have Different Ethics but they’re still Friends. (Roy is surprised and a little hurt that he’s never heard of Malack, but he ignores that in favor of Let’s Get Whatever Fuckers Did This To Our Friend.)

immediately after that: Miko and Tsukiko return as a Team, preventing the Order from working on the Durkon situation

mid s4: Redcloak makes another unexpected & unwelcome appearance but he’s maybe a little less of a dick? the Order collaborates with Malack & his Crime Buddies (hello, Vector Legion) to pull one over on him tho, because “less of a dick” does not mean “a pleasant or decent person”, and also he was mean abt Durkon being in jail, so he totally deserved it. he still gets whatever he wanted tho, just takes a blow to his pride. also prevents the Order from helping Durkon. they’re having a LOT of setbacks wonder why that could be, not to make sure the season fills its whole length or anything, no sirree

s4 finale: something something taking down the organization, headed by Hel (yes that’s her real name), which framed Durkon for their Big Crime. Durkon goes free and Extra Firmly retires, For Good, He Swears, but says he “met someone new” who might be an asset.

s5 e1: minrah joins the team! and the episode is set in like, somewhere really snowy. that’s all i got.

the rest of s5: don’t know, don’t care, it’s open-ended until the comic finishes up.

[empty-dream]

Just watched and read Tower of God

Aka Tower of Scandal

There is a so-called The Tower that can grant anything to anyone who ever set foot on its top. Among people climbing it is a girl who wishes to see the stars and a boy who has nothing but her.

When I saw the original author's name in the anime, I was like "Hm, cool but does it stand for anything tho?" When I found out, it's "Oh. No wonder they use the shortened version."

Imma make a general opinion here. See the reblog for Webtoon Season 2 and 3 as well as the deeper stuffs. (Although it's just gibberish in it)

The Webtoon is still ongoing, right now already hitting 3 seasons with 450+ episodes (chapters). Good lord that's a lot of chapters, and each of them is pretty long. 

To put it in perspective, one chapter can fit 2 separate fights plus exposition, while usually 1 chapter of standard weekly manga has like 1 fight and side exposition. It took me a full week to read the webtoon and that already cut a lot of my sleep time.

One of the vivid experience reading the webtoon is the art improvement. Sure the earlier chapters are kinda amateurish, but overtime it gets better and even better. By the time it enters the later part of Season 2, every flashy fight scene is spectacular and the art style is solid A+.

The worldbuilding is amazing. The power system and lore of the world are explained really well and they are really interesting. The floors and sites that the cast visit have amazing visuals and stories. As for the tests, I can get by without actually reading the rules lmao. It's like a real adventure.

Lots and lots of characters. For Season 1 only, I love the dynamic between everyone in the batch, some friendly, some hostile, some mysterious. The ones that are really close are heartwarming. For Season 2 and 3, well let's say it gets rowdier and crazier.

Great character designs. Like, everyone looks different from various distinct races and with physical attributes. So many characters I'd like to draw. They also dress differently. Even their attires differ from arcs to arcs. Tower of Fashion, indeed.

I love the story about The Shoes in the King's Display Case. It really tells the problems with the Jahad princesses system and by extension the government of the tower. It’s one of the first signs that being in the tower, on a high position at that, doesn't sound all that glorious anymore if you're more on the humane side. The narration right now starts with Anaak Jahad, but later this is constantly explored from various perspectives with various motives.

Also btw this is one of the few media that realistically shows what will happen if you fight in a pair of high heels.

Look, I went here just for the girl-with-dream and boy-with-only-her story. I just thought hey that's an interesting storyline. Like it'd be cute, romantic, and maybe will be angsty after a while. Who knew the whole thing would be played like that.

This is like a shounen manga, except that there are more complicated political thriller, power abuse, and humanity issues in it. Many protagonist traits, among other things, that usually are viewed as good in other comics are now being questioned and deconstructed so thoroughly and mercilessly.

A lot of people say Bam's boring but let's be real, he's basically a baby. He literally lives in an underground cave alone until Rachel comes along. He does know nothing except her. Watching him getting to know the world in the tower and meeting new friends - essentially learning about the world outside that cave - is really fun to me.

Get yo self a boy like Khun, who will lie, cheat, beg and bribe to make you well. Not to mention kill and die for. Your name has to be The 25th Bam tho.

What is it with local smug light-haired boys being really close with the shy brunette boys???? The funny thing is, the chummy, attached-right-off-the-bat, no-personal-space atmosphere between them is pretty much anime original, compared to the webtoon. Now imagine when the anime reaches the webtoon Season 2 and 3, where even I went "Dude. Holy. Shit."

Rak best boy. Everyone and their mother loves Rak. 

Keep an eye on Shibisu. Yes, that joke character with a purple tracksuit. You won't regret it. 

*prostrate in front of Yuri Jahad* YOUR MAJESTY!!!!!! The shits that she pulls in the entire series *chef kiss till I die*

Tbh I am confused which ones are the correct spelling of the characters' names?

Convoluted multi-layered plot twists drama: *exists* Someone somewhere: All according to keikaku. 

I really went 5 episodes thinking that is just Khun's multicolor hair instead of his bandanna what the fuck. 

Mr. Lero Ro I admire you and your sensible ass.

No I won't say anything about Season 2 and on from the Webtoon here because the whole thing is a giant spoiler. But just a very important heads up: David Hockney is mine.

I knew Kpop boyband Stray Kids exists but this is the first time I listen to their works. The OP and ED songs fucking rock. They feel modern yet at the same time kinda ethereal. That high pitch <33

Also I like the OSTs in that I don't actually have a favorite track, but every track is suited well with the scenes. Apparently the guy, Kevin Penkin, is also the one who composed for Made in Abyss. No wonder I got the same vibe.

The anime adds lots of extra scenes but also redacts a lot of the webtoon scenes and exposition. As far as this writing, I personally don't think it's a major problem.

Tl;Dr: I was looking for a cute boy-girl story how did it become like this. 

[journalofimprobablethings]

take me back to the start

That idea about the Chalice and Lucretia would not leave me alone, so here's the full dang thing. Turns out Lucretia's temptation takes about 4k words.

Tags: Mentioned Lup, Mentioned Magnus Burnsides, Stolen Century Spoilers, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation

Summary: The Chalice makes Lucretia an offer, and she has to decide whether she's willing to pay the price for a second chance.

Full thing below but you can also read it on AO3 here

--

Lucretia wakes up in a white space.

She blinks, and as the room comes into focus, she can see it's not just an undefined void. There are shapes around her: furniture and plants, pillows and blankets and a coffee table, all so familiar—and she realizes with a pang that she's in the lounge of the Starblaster. But it's like she's in a ghost version of the room; everything is washed out, somehow insubstantial. She reaches out and touches a pillow, and even though she can feel it, there's something not quite there about it.

She looks around, torn between confusion at her surroundings and a sort of painful joy at the familiarity of it all. Then she jumps as a voice speaks behind her.

"Hey, Luce."

She turns and there, sitting on one of the couches, is Magnus.

Unlike the rest of the room, he's not washed out or ghostly. He's all there, solid, full-color. He's leaning back against the cushions, his arms spread over the top of the couch. He looks so relaxed, totally at home in a way she hasn't seen in a long time. Something about the whole scene bothers her, but she can't put a finger on what it is.

"Magnus? Where—what is this?"

"I thought we should talk. Since you finally found me and all."

"Finally found you? What are you—?" She looks at him more closely. There's something...off about him. The way he's sitting, the way he holds his head—it's like someone doing an impression of Magnus: the broad strokes are there, but the details are not quite right.

Then she realizes what it was that bothered her just now:

He'd called her Luce.

It's been years since anyone has called her that. Magnus always used to, before. But the Magnus she knows right now, at the Bureau, has never used that name for her. He's forgotten that he ever did.

She takes a step back.

"You're not Magnus."

He smiles, and there's a sharpness in it that sends a shiver down her spine. "No, I'm not."

"Who are you?"

Magnus—or the thing pretending to be Magnus—leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

"What were you doing just now? Before you came here?"

She thinks back. The boys had just gotten back from Refuge, had told her the story of the time-stuck town and all their loops—all their deaths. (And she'd wondered then whether it had felt familiar, all that dying. But she'd said nothing.) They'd told her, in broad terms, about the thrall of this most recent relic, how it was different from the others.

And then she'd gone back to her office, to channel the Light out of the relic into her staff.

She looks at not-Magnus again, a mix of fear and fascination roiling inside her.

"The Chalice," she says. "You're the Chalice."

He smiles, wider this time, and a smile that is distinctly un-Magnus-like.

"That's right," he says. "And I want to show you something."

Lucretia closes her eyes against that smile, takes a breath to steady herself.

The Chalice.

When she’s thought about what it would take to collect the relics, this is the one that has always worried and frightened her the most. The others have their thrall, but the things they offer—riches, power—are things that she has an easy enough time rejecting. She’s never wanted those things, not really.

But the Chalice holds something that she has always wanted desperately: the opportunity to fix your mistakes. The idea of second chances.

She’d worried about sending Magnus and Merle and Taako after it—even without all their memories, there are plenty of things they might wish were different. They didn’t go into detail about what the Chalice offered them, but she knows it can’t have been easy. She's proud of them for resisting it.

She's not sure she'd be as strong.

Lucretia opens her eyes, and summons every bit of the gravitas and distance she has cultivated in the last decade, pulling her professional mask back into place.

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” she says. “I know what I’ve done. And even if there are things I wish were different, I know you’re not the solution.”

His face twists into a wry smile. “Look at you, Luce. We used to think you were such a wallflower. And now here you are: Madam Director. You're so...sure. So certain that everything you've done is for the best."

She shouldn't let it hurt her, the hint of judgement in his voice. This isn't Magnus, after all. But she can't help feeling stung.

"I did what I had to do," she says.

"And it's worth it? Worth the price you made us pay?"

"Don't say us," she snaps. "You're not him."

"You're avoiding the question."

He stands, and she resists the urge to step away from him as he approaches her.

“Come on,” the Chalice says, with Magnus’s voice, Magnus’s earnestness. “There really isn't anything you'd change? You really don't want a second chance to get it right?”

She could almost laugh at the question. Of course she wants a second chance. Of course there are things she wants to change. Every day when she looks at Davenport, when she watches the boys train and notes the difference in how they treat each other, she longs for what used to be. She can’t say she hasn’t thought about what she could do with the Chalice’s power, wondered what it would be like if she--

Wait.

There’s something missing here, something she’s forgetting. It’s a terrifying feeling, like missing a step on the stairs, putting your foot down expecting solid ground and finding only empty air. (Is this what it felt like? a tiny part of her whispers. Is this what she did to them?)

She does back away from the Chalice now, just a few steps. Her heart is beating hard in her chest, and she closes her hands into fists to stop them shaking.

"Why am I here?" she asks. “You shouldn’t be able to do this.”

"Oh, Luce." He smiles again, that same, awful, sharp smile. “You know why. You picked me up.”

She—

Oh.

Oh, no.

She had been in her office, getting ready to channel this piece of the Light into her staff, to join it with the others. She didn’t need to take the relic out of the iron ball it had been placed in to do this. No need to touch it, to risk being thralled. That was the point.

But she had been so curious.

This relic, of all of them, has always held such fascination for her.

“You wanted to see what I can do," the Chalice says. “And here I am.”

And with that, the lounge around them disappears. The ghostly furniture vanishes, leaving only the white void behind—and the Chalice standing next to her, still wearing Magnus's face. He reaches for her hand, but she jerks away before he can take it.

"Let me show you," he says. "I promise I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. Just let me show you."

Then he gestures, and the void around them bursts into life.

At first, there is so much at once the Lucretia can't parse through the chaos of colors and images. But as her eyes grow more accustomed, she realizes that they are surrounded by her memories. She sees snippets of herself over the last weeks, sitting in her office at the Bureau, talking to Avi in the cannon bay, visiting Johann and Fisher downstairs. She sees herself at the spa with Merle, trying Taako's macarons at the Candlenights party. The memories move farther and farther back in time, and as they do they begin to fly by faster and faster until the images blur together and the specifics are lost in a swirl of color. The flash and movement of it churns Lucretia's stomach, and she tries to turn away, to block it out, but the Chalice takes her by the arm and will not let her turn.

"Look," he says.

The blur of memories is slowing again, enough that she can once again pick out individual images—and as they resolve, the memories they show hit her like a knife in the gut.

Lucretia is surrounded, suddenly, but images of the day she broke their family apart.

She sees herself leaving Merle in the house she found for him on the beach

walking away from Magnus's carpentry shop in Raven's Roost

leaving Taako asleep in the back of his caravan

finding Barry's body in a field outside Neverwinter

collapsed on the floor beside Davenport's bed as he curls under the covers, clutching his temples.

Each image is clearer than the last, and each one twists the knife in her gut a little deeper. She wraps her arms tight around herself, trying to steady herself, to hold herself together, but she can't keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Please," she says. "I don't want to see this."

"Why not? I thought you did what you had to do." There is no pity in his voice. "I thought this price was worth paying."

The memories keep coming, and she sees herself finding each of her family after the redaction, reaching out to try and calm and comfort them. She sees Magnus walking into her room, the journal floating in Fisher's tank, a duck painted to look just like her dropping to the floor. She watches herself catch Magnus as he staggers, watches as her knees give out under his weight, as she catches his head before it can hit the floor and whispers assurances and love that he is too lost to hear.

The Magnus standing next to her watches too, expressionless.

It feels like they linger on that scene for an eternity before it, too, fades away.

Then, finally, the flashes of memories slow and stop, exactly where Lucretia knew they would.

They're standing in her quarters on the Starblaster, the glow from Fisher's tank casting the room into shades of grey and blue. Along one wall, the bookcase where she kept all her journals is half empty, each shelf pockmarked with holes. The desk is a mess of papers and journals and mugs of tea long gone cold. Lucretia looks to the corner where Fisher's tank sits, and even though she knows what to expect, the sight still takes her breath away.

She sees herself, wearing her red IPRE jacket, her hair longer than she's had it in years, stray curls escaping from the cord holding it in place. She's standing frozen in front of Fisher's tank, holding a blue journal bound in silver trim in both hands. Her grip on the journal is so tight that her knuckles are white.

The Chalice looks over at Lucretia. The whole time he was scanning through her memories, his face had been blank, dispassionate. But now, for the first time, he's looking at her with compassion and understanding in his eyes.

“This was the moment, right? The moment you changed everything.”

Lucretia nods. She remembers the feeling of this moment: like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, getting ready to jump. The terror of it, and the possibility.

She looks at her past self, standing at Fisher’s tank clutching the journal in her hands. Gods, she forgot how young she used to look. Her face is lit by the glow of the tank, her lips pressed tight together and eyes shining. There’s fear there, but there’s also hope—hope that this will be worth it, that she will be able to help her family be happy again. Hope that she will be able to fix everything.

She’s not sure when that hope transformed into a need; when the belief that her plan would work morphed from a quiet determination to a desperate desire, a story she told herself because to believe otherwise would break her.

Would she still have that hope, if she had made a different choice?

You can change it," the Chalice says. "Everything you just saw. All that pain you caused them. It doesn't have to go that way."

Lucretia looks at the frozen memory of herself, a version of her that thought she knew the cost of what she was doing. Who had no idea what loneliness and heartbreak she held in her hands.

What would it mean, if she had the chance to try again?

She could talk to the others about her plan, try to get them on board. She could still go through with the redaction, but she could make sure her family were inoculated first. The worst thing, the hardest thing, about what she’s done has been seeing what it did to the others. Seeing the sharp, cold person Taako’s become without Lup; the way that Davenport’s been left a shell of himself. Knowing that Barry is out there somewhere, alone and angry and afraid. The fact that the lives that she built for them fell apart one by one, and she could only watch.

She could save them that pain, if she changed this moment.

Everything she just had to watch, everything they've lost, everything they've suffered because of her.

She could fix it.

She could—

Could she?

The last time she tried to fix everything with one big decision, she ended up here.

If she did this, what new pains would come instead—what unintended consequences would such a choice unleash? If there’s anything she’s learned in the past decade, it’s that she can never fully predict the effects of her decisions, no matter how hard she tries. What if this decision only leads to new regrets?

Lucretia drops her head in her hands, all her desires and wishes and hopes warring inside her with a dreadful fear at what other hurts she might inadvertently cause.

The price of using any relic is so high; she's not even sure what exactly the price of this one would be. She has spent the last ten years working so hard to keep others from using them, to collect them so that she can cast her barrier and stop the Hunger once and for all. Would she really sacrifice all that to fix this one mistake?

She wants to say she would. She wants to say that if she knew she could spare her family pain, she would sacrifice everything else she’s done. But when she asks the question bluntly, the same answer that has gotten her through the last ten years comes up.

She did what she did for a reason. It cost them all so much more than she ever thought it would. But she’s not sure what else would be lost, if she tried to change this moment—and there is too much at stake for her to risk getting it wrong again.

No. She can't fix it. Not this way.

Lucretia lowers her hands, slowly, and shakes her head.

“I made my choice,” she says. “It hasn’t turned out exactly like I thought it would, but...I did what I had to do. I have to see it through.”

She lets her hands fall to her sides, staring at the still-frozen form of her past self. That's it, then.  She should feel proud of herself, she supposes, for resisting the Chalice’s thrall. But instead she just feels empty.

She looks up at the Chalice, expecting him to be angry, or frustrated, or at least disappointed. This was his last big play, after all. The temptation of Lucretia.

But the Chalice only smiles, and she hates the way that smile looks on Magnus’s face, all condescension and smug knowing.

“I thought you might say that,” he says. “You’re nothing if not stubborn."

What?

She had thought she knew what was happening here: a temptation, an offer that the Chalice hoped she would take and that she would have to resist, and if she did, then she would win. If that's not what this was--reliving those memories was bad enough, but to do it for no purpose?

Lucretia does her best to hide her confusion, to let only anger show in her voice. "Why did you show this to me if you knew I wouldn't change it?"

He shrugs. "It was worth a try. You might have surprised me. And it's important that you saw this first."

"What do you mean?" She doesn't like the sound of first. "I thought we were done."

“Not quite," the Chalice says. "There’s one other moment I want to show you."

The images around them are already blurring again, the vision of her standing in front of Fisher’s tank disappearing into flashes of color and memory. Lucretia braces herself for another onslaught, but it's only a few seconds before the blur slows, and when it stops, they are once again standing in her quarters on the Starblaster. It’s nighttime, the room lit only by a candle on her desk, and the glow from Fisher’s tank.

The younger version of her sits at the desk, her head leaning on one hand, the other hand twirling and pulling at a loose curl. She's reading one of her journals. Two more journals sit to one side on the desk, and there is a pile of several more at her feet. The young Lucretia’s leg is jiggling, and her hand pulls on her hair hard enough to hurt. Her posture might seem relaxed, but present Lucretia can feel her anxiety.

Her heart sinks. She remembers this night. It was the night after Lup had told them about the gauntlet’s latest death toll in Cordelia—and one of the first nights she really thought about what it would take, to use Fisher to erase the relics. She remembers the weariness on Lup’s face, the despair at what these things they’d made were doing to the world. How much she wanted to wipe that weariness away, how she’d thought that there had to be a way to fix it. She had sat up late into the night, a growing pile of journals surrounding her as she read through her records of the last year, and then further and further back into the century. Eventually she had fallen asleep at her desk, her head pillowed on an open journal, her mind spinning with questions—whether such a plan would work; whether it was worth it.

The next morning, they had found Lup’s note on the kitchen table.

"You think about this night a lot," the Chalice says. "The last night you were all together."

He walks over to the desk, looking down at the memory of her, and Lucretia resists the urge to step between them, to protect her younger self from the future looming over her.

“You didn’t know it at the time, but you were awake, when Lup left,” he continues. “She waited until she thought everyone would be asleep, and then she left her note on the table, and she slipped away. She thought she would only be gone a few days.

“And while she did that you were sitting at your desk, reading, thinking it might be time to take a break soon, but not ready to put down your work just yet."

Past Lucretia turns a page and sighs. Even more than the last version of her, Lucretia thinks, she has no idea what's coming.

"You never did end up taking a break, that night. And by morning she was gone.”

The scene shifts, and suddenly it’s like they’re standing inside the wall between her old room and the corridor outside. She can still see herself, sitting at her desk. But she can also see a figure in a hooded red robe making her way along the hall, her footfalls carefully soft. The scene freezes just as Lup passes Lucretia's door.

“Right now, in this moment, she’s walking past your room on her way to the kitchen. If you get up now, you’ll run into her, and you’ll be able to talk.”

Lucretia stares, frozen, at her younger self, at the cloaked figure of Lup outside the door. She had been right there. She had been so close. She never even thought—

What would have happened, if she and Lup had talked before Lup left?

If she had told Lup what she was thinking, of her plan to use Fisher to stop the war?

If she had asked Lup for help, tried to get her to stay?

What would have happened to them all, if they hadn’t lost Lup?

Suddenly, all her earlier firm resolve dissipates like mist. Lucretia looks at the figure silhouetted in the dim light of the corridor, and her heart aches and her stomach clenches with longing.

Lup.

It shouldn't change anything. All her arguments from before still stand.

She doesn’t know what consequences such a change would have.

She’d be sacrificing everything she’s done, everything she’s worked for the past ten years.

The price of using a relic is still so very high.

But Lup.

There’s a sudden, gentle touch on the back of her wrist. She startles, but this time she does not pull away as the Chalice takes her hand in his. His fingers are rough and calloused, the exact feel of Magnus’s hands, and the sensation brings tears to her eyes. It’s been so long since she’s felt anything like this.

“You can save us, Luce,” the Chalice says—Magnus says. “You know we fell apart, after Lup left. You can stop it. You can persuade her to stay, and we can find some other way to stop the war. Together.”

"Don't say us," she says, but there is no fire in it. She can see it, the future he describes. She can see it so clearly.

"Please, Lucretia." His eyes meet hers with such an earnest look. "You can save her."

And despite herself, despite all her caution and well-honed arguments, Lucretia can feel herself faltering.

When he made his first offer, she had been able to push her own desires aside. However much she might want to change what has happened since the redaction, she knows she did what she did for a reason, and she is too practiced at setting aside her guilt to let it sway her.

But this. This is different.

Lup's disappearance had no reason behind it, no purpose. She might have left with an intention in mind, but Lucretia is certain her not coming back was not part of any plan.

And now, she's being given the chance to make it right.

If she can keep Lup from leaving, then Barry will never have to waste away on a fruitless search, Taako will never be reduced to moving through the ship like a ghost, half empty. If she can talk to her, maybe they can keep their family together, keep them from falling into that place where the redaction felt like the only option. With Lup still with them, maybe the Chalice is right—maybe they can find another way to save the world.

There will be a price to pay. She knows this. The stakes are just as high as before, the uncertainty in some ways even higher. But by now she is used to calculating the costs of her decisions, and the prices she has to pay herself are always the easiest to bear.

And to save Lup? To bring her back? She's willing to pay just about anything.

Lucretia looks up at the Chalice, and though she knows he is not Magnus, he is so like him that just for this moment, she can pretend that there is nothing else lurking behind his earnest expression. She takes both of the Chalice's callused hands in hers, and she looks him dead in the eye, and she makes her choice.

"What do I have to do?”

[nxiousxpsistence]

My First Rant (of whatever lives in my head rent-free)

I’m bombarded with questions and answers. I’m tired of reaching into my bottomless bag of new words, new ideas, and ever-changing meaningful orders of words and forcing my hand to fetch the one distinct order of haunted words every time another fellow human being asks me a question.

“How do YOU feel?”

I never get the answer, from any of them. Communication drops dead right there and then. I’m not heard. You’re deaf to the question. It’s a non-moment in our supposedly two-way communication. You don’t hear much of me afterwards, either. You’re scared you might get asked the same question. And you WILL.

Unless you know exactly how you feel in the middle of the tornado you have to survive a 100th time, a 101th will start immediately after it ends. Immediately after you’re in the clear for one split second.

It’s so obvious that the haunted order of words is so predictable that I witness the turn of the next cycle of events minute by minute, message by message.

- He blocked me everywhere.

- How do YOU feel? He doesn’t feel like being with you.

- I don’t know how I feel.

- Don’t worry I’m here.

1 week or 10 days

- I texted him “I miss you”. He called me. I’m going to visit him.

- Are you OK? What did he say?

- He didn’t say anything.

- What do you want to happen?

- I don’t know.

- OK, call me.

1 week or 10 days

- We had a huge fight and broke up.

- What happened?

- I don’t know. He got mad and broke up with me. Apparently, we’re not a good fit.

- OK, how do YOU feel?

- I don’t know.

1 week or 10 days

- I texted him “I miss you”.

...

In no part of this 2-month cycle you wake up and say, “This is not love, this is compulsion!”. It’s a drug. You’re hooked.

A drug addict doesn’t love every bit of the experience of using - they take the low with the high. Running after it in close danger is no fun; neither is the horrible withdrawal. But the high makes it all worth it for them - consciously or unconsciously.

You do it too. There is a series of events on one side triggering yet another series of events, leading up to satisfaction, then loss, then curiosity, then death. Resurrection is a cycle, not a destination.

I don’t have a problem with all that normally, cycles is how we live through life and I know for a fact that a few years later, I will come back right to this point, reading through these apocalyptic, yet strangely hopeful and content words, and square two will be the place I’ve always wanted to be. Biting my own tail, spinning a basketball for some considerable while, being proud, and starting it all over again.

But years, I say, not weeks. But feeling I say, not what happened. One step further I say, not one step back. Age is just a number and time isn’t linear, but that’s surely not the point here. You live backwards.

And yet again, my salute to 2012, If you’re 555, I’m 666.

Unashamedly, belligerently, angrily.

I don’t see people who don’t see as people.

I don’t see any motion in a person walking forward merely to resist change.

I don’t want to hear/see/feel anything emanating from a mind that fails to look in the mirror of the brain.

I don’t believe people who believe their own truth, never checking the version history.

In the [redacted] language, we have a saying:

May God protect me from what I wrongfully believe to be true.

We have a wonderful word in [redacted] for “to believe something which is not true”. Loving your language is easy when you no longer hear it being used daily for hate.

The best part of diaspora is finding yourself no longer able to miss your home country.

[lordbloodysoul]

Name:

Rift Doorman

Title:

“The Layer Breaker” – “Usurper” – “Ever Hunger”

Nicknames:

Rifty / Riff Raff / Tele-Broski (Fresh)

Freak of Nature / Parasite / Anomaly Animus (Error Sans)

Paperworm / Layer Breaker / Clown Vomit (Ink)

Age:

[REDACTED]

Height / Weight:

Varies

Soul Type

“Collective Soul”

// - A Collective Soul shows trades of all known Soul Types and is shielded by a thin membrane of Void. It looks like a blank Soul with a black outline, that has a small pitch dot in its center from which a vibration rolls across the surface of the Soul. Those waves appear in different colors and strokes. To those who are very sensible to Soul Energy, the vibration will sound like an endless army of different voices breathing simultaneously in sync. The rhythm changes with Rift’s state of emotion. It has an aroma/flavour that could be described as “Retro and vibrant”. The feeling it would induces is more reminiscent of Allure and vivid Chaos. Like a puzzle started, but left unsolved. With every piece just raining passed fields of endless colors, trapped within a pool of blackness. - //

STATS:

LV

[REDACTED]        // It will show the “ : P “ Emoji //

HP

[REDACTED]        // It will show the “ >:] “ Emoji //

ATTACK

[REDACTED]        // Just spells out “YOLO” in painfully bright colors //

DEFENSE

[REDACTED]        // Just spells out “LMAO” in painfully bright colors//

Doorman-Tier:

Tier A—Strength Level is not readable, due to its current activity behavior.

History:

Rift Doorman was born outside a Universe of the Undertale Multiverse. Its behavior is unusual compared to other Doorman. Rift traverses the Layers of the Timelines in search of something, but without a Universe to akin to, both its Power and Ambition were altered in a dangerous manner. Throughout its travels, this Doorman has eaten itself through various Timelines and Multiverses. However, these places didn’t just disappear, like usually when things are being destroyed through Outcodes or beings from the Anti-Void. They stay mostly intact. Broken like shattered glass, but still existing. Each piece would then connect with another part. A puzzle, that was willingly done wrong, with Timelines and places in Space just overlapping in chaotic patterns. Strings missing, but not forgotten, rules shifted, players removed and entire areas shifted incoherently.

When Rift gained conscious it felt nothing. Devoid of anything, it just drifted. This state changed when it fell into a Genocide Timeline by accident. Within it, Rift faced the Fallen Human in the Judgment Hall together with Sans. As it wasn’t able to feel pain, watching Sans Dust became its first experience with Death. It amused it. Thus it smashed the human child. Seeing as the child’s death was different from Sans’s, curiosity began building up. More so as Sans returned from the dead when the Timeline reset. The battle broke apart, literally, when Rift tried mimicking voices and speech patterns, causing a ear ripping shriek that splintered the very fabric and Layers of the Universe it was visiting. Sans, slain once more begged the creature to stop the child’s madness. Still incapable of understanding why, it understood that this Fallen Human had caused the Skeleton grievance. He understood the visualization of agony and hopelessness, but couldn’t comprehend the feeling itself. Amused by the concept of FIGHT and MERCY, they decided to experiment with it in this broken place. Trapping the Human Child in a never-ending loop of Resets they had no control over. Dying as plaything to the anomalous creature. Rift bored itself over the course of 17.589 Resets, ending the Human Child by eating first their upper body and disintegrating their Soul for absorption. This act loaded the Fallen Human’s Timeline Data Layers into its own being, giving it a broader view on what’s been happening. Still not able to comprehend things, however, Rift left the splintered Timeline and returned to the Layers between.

More travels were its answer. Further down its path, this Doorman entered a Rampage, experiencing many Emotions from interacting with various worlds in different ways. However, it couldn’t feel them at all. It understood. It could see them. Could comprehend what actions would lead to what reaction, but not why it was necessary. Hollow. It was hollow. Like a Black Hole. Just ripping everything apart and consuming it, but nothing could look back or return it. Within it grew a terrible Hunger, which it satisfied by devouring various portions of the visited Timelines and Multiverses. Places, Sections, Memories, People. All fell to its strife to understand. To engage. To be part of something. It began building a sort of pocket dimension in the Layers between the Multiverse, where it gathered things from various Timelines that kept intriguing it. In one already destroyed Universe, Rift recovered a monitor of round shape, still functional. It had the shape of a face, much like all the other creatures it met had. Thus it connected with the screen and used it as a makeshift face-mask, ensuring its actual form wouldn’t freak out too many people.

While striding through the Timelines, absorbing information, energy, magic and various other stimuli into its form, Rift discovered that it was possible to READ these Data and use it. Shaping its attacks in combat into Patterns and Styles unlike anything this Multiverse had ever witnessed. But not only that, it began to hunt and kill other Doorman instinctively, absorbing them into its form as well, leaving their Timelines defenseless. Rift became a true threat to many, just through its curiosity and yearning for understanding. It also began leaving pieces of itself behind in various distorted Worlds, hidden from view. Small Homunculi, holding enough Data and energy to reincarnate it. Rift slowly devolved into a Parasite that endangered the delicate balance of the Multiverse. A thorn in the side of both the protectors of the Multiverse as well as the Vanguards of the Anti-Void. As its shattering of Timelines caused multiple Universes to intertwine with one another. Rift became a target for eradication, even though no one knew about its existence yet.

It was during another stride into another Timeline that it encountered the parasitic entity known as “Fresh”. Their interaction was quite different than what it was used to. And something began to stir within it. Rift felt something. Something that was unfamiliar and strong. It played with Fresh, before that one disappeared to safety, as the creature seemingly grew too attached to them. That escape started it all. A chase that both were not prepared for nor understood. Rift’s conscious was completely fixated on Fresh. It didn’t understand why, but knew it was important. For days, weeks and months it kept chasing them. However, the Parasite didn’t need or wants anyone following them, so they kept fleeing and hiding. Despite their best efforts, though, Rift finds them every single time.

[!!!SPOILERS WARNING!!! - for those who wish to Read the FanFiction or wait till I get around to making the Comic, since the LITERATURE SUBMIT on DA doesn’t allow much creative Freedom, so I have to do a lot of Re-Spacing and Editing on those Parts. This Section will spoil some of the Plot in exchange for Character Build - If you don't want that spoiled, please proceed to the APPEARANCE Section - !!!SPOILER WARNING!!!]

Fresh found himself in a skirmish with Error and Ink, as they both tried tracking him down. They misjudged and thought they were responsible for several Holes within the Multiverse. With no secure escape Route, they were forced into battle, holding their own well. Up until the Anti-Void’s Enforcer, C0D35 Doorman, stepped onto the field. His entire presence alone began to erase the Universe he’s chosen as a battleground. Manipulating Space was practically useless against this foe, as one of C0D35 special abilities was to block all types of magics. Before the fight could harm Fresh, however, Rift shattered the Universe into several pieces. It took Fresh with it and delved through several Layers of broken Code, Timelines and hid them in a small Space it had created from the leftover scraps of Multiverses long forgotten. A Null Space of sorts. Due to the strenuous battle with Error and Ink, the body Fresh had chosen was slowly failing. They had to let go of the host body and seek out another. Rift, even though unable to talk and acting more like an excited puppy, willingly helped the Parasite. It took them to another Timeline to gain a new host body. Fresh, unable to understand or comprehend the motivation of this anomalous creature, decided to experiment how far its warped sense of loyalty would go. Curiosity getting the better of them. Since they couldn’t escape from it for long anyway. Thus the duo began their journey to try and understand what this drive was, where it was coming from and what it all meant. But Fresh already has the slight suspicion that something was off with Rift. Something huge was brewing.

Appearance:

Rift Doorman has no corporeal form. It’s a mass of black noise, free floating energy and magic. The almost cloud-like, dense column attached itself to an egg-shaped monitor. A remnant of a long forgotten Timeline. Due to the vapor form of its body, Rift can change its density and size at will, ranging from grasp-less like fog and air to solid and unmovable like a wall of steel and stone. This Doorman is holding its form together through sound wave. The magic and energy flooding its form gives these waves color and form, embracing its shape and fueling every movement of the mass. This special way of mass control makes it possible for Rift to even split itself into multiple smaller versions of itself. The Energy and Magic coursing through its vapor shape glows in various colors, like a swarm of bugs and fireflies. The ones that are mostly present range from neon-pinkish to eye-stinging green lights. The color of the Emoji faces on its screen are similarly bright and colorful, while the biggest mass of the body is a pitch-black buzzing fog.

Rift uses the screen it found as a makeshift face. By sending energy and magic through it, it channels different words and expressive Emojis, which it uses for communication, since it cannot speak. It developed this form of talking, which is accented with Retro musical tunes and sound effects, due to its own lack of actual vocal cords. Rift can only mimic various words through pitching and dipping sounds and tunes.

Underneath the screen is a distorted black orb-shaped head, with a bright, monstrous white jaw and eyes. The magic, energy and sound waves, which course through the body are accentuated here, pulsing through the big eyes that stare empty into the world. As the delight of murder and fighting was presented with a smile by both his first encountered Sans and Fallen Child, Rift has adopted that same expression into its own. Empty of empathy, reason or guilt. Hollow.

Personality:

Rift is a peculiar Doorman. Even though highly intelligent and fast learning, it prefers to act like an excited puppy or curious child. Devoid of any real emotion to drive its actions, it only acts upon what other people think is the “good thing” to do in a situation. Leaving trails of Chaos and destruction in its wake. Rift’s first real emotion was “a sense of joy” which emerged from killing the Fallen Human in their first ever visited Timeline. After loosing that, it was filled with a Hunger to learn more, experience more and discover why it was unable to understand or hold emotions like other beings do. It likes being lout and giddy, causing confusion and messes all around.

Rift learned from its travels that violence is considered bad, thus it only acts upon it when given a cause or being asked of. Through Fresh’s company, it grew found of their way of speaking, censoring and general demeanor, which they try to imitate. Not always successful. Rift lacks empathy and basic moralities. Doing the right things as much as they can, but never getting appreciation, feelings of guilt or delight out of any of its actions.

It is a slight hoarder, liking to collect various things from visited Timelines and just storing them in their own little Null Space.

Likes:

Fresh

Eating

making music through its distorted Retro Voice (which would probably sound much like the music you can hear in the “Just Shapes & Beats” Video Game – example here )

helping people

playing with Fresh

exploring and learning / education

collecting stuff for its Null Space

cuddling and hugs

dancing

Fighting, when allowed to do so

people laughing and smiling

inducing Fear into ‘evil’ people (it doesn’t understand it, but their expressions give it a sense of ‘delight’, which it can’t comprehend)

Dislikes:

pointless violence

swearing

anyone who tries to harm Fresh

disrespectful and rude behavior

the other Parasites spawned from Fresh

seeing other people go through loss, sadness and hopelessness (it doesn’t understand, but it dislikes their expressions during these moments)

Capabilities:

Rift is a special Doorman. Unlike any other it can and can’t do various things that are unlike its species. Since Doorman are shaped by what their Timeline / Universe needs, their abilities will be manifested into something they can use as an exploit to reach their goal. Rift, however, has neither a goal nor a world for that to work. Being born outside the Multiverse, Void and such, beneath the Layers of the In between, corrupted its whole existence. Thus it learned an ability so variable, loose and dangerous, that Rift managed to break its own power limitations. That ability is ADAPTATION. Through it, the anomalous entity can learn anything that it finds. This ability is limited only by its corrupted special skill, ARCHIVE, which extents its own Data Volume by absorbing that of other objects, Worlds and people. Through these two abilities, Rift extended its repertoire of skills by taking those of others into its own. By devouring other Timeline versions of Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Mettaton, Napstablook and various other monsters, it learned their magics, attack patterns, strengths and weaknesses, accumulating them into its own form and using them against various aggressors along the way. Taking the Souls of the Fallen Children, it enhanced its own Soul Power, HP and influence over various aspects within the Timeline Layers. Even though unable to cause REWRITE or OVERWRITE, its Determination rivals the power output of such abilities, nullifying their affects on its own self. By devouring various Doormen, Rift added their special abilities into its own arsenal. But not only these are something to worry about, since they also absorbed the (apparently) infamous “COLOR PUZZLE”, which appeared in various Timelines. Through absorption of its information, Rift learned to utilize the principle in its own combat patterns, making for, probably, the worst experience of a FIGHT for any genocidal maniac. During a FIGHT Rift delights itself by causing its opponent as much headache and frustration as possible. All its patterns are a mix of things it accumulated from various Timelines, objects and people. The difference to its style is that every pattern follows a rhythm it deliberately switches to cause as much distress as it can. Their own original patterns appears as orbs, bars and string lines, which move in a sort of symphonic flow. It likes to abuse the rules of the infamous “COLOR PUZZLE” into each of their attacks. Goal during these fights are to keep itself busy till its bored. It will reset its opponent back into battle till it can’t get enjoyment out of it anymore. Than the most common outcome is for Rift to grab its foe and devour it (or part of it), just to satisfy its hunger for a bit.

// Attack Patterns for this Character would look like a mix between Undertale and “Just Shapes & Beats Style //

Rift’s voice is a powerful instrument of destruction, as its wavelength and pitch can shatter and fragment entire worlds, when threatened. Most of the time, though its a tool for amusement and distraction as they can’t use it to speak, but make totes rad Retro music and sounds with it.

Due to their body being so fluid, Rift tends to shape-shift a lot. Switching sizes being one of the more common transformations, however, it is capable of turning into practically anything it has a rough understanding off. From people to buildings and even entire landscapes. The greater the scope, thought, the higher the risk of its Soul overloading and damaging it. This skill it uses often to entertain Fresh’s curiosity and help them fight their boredom.

The Doorman is capable of using the Data collected to create completely new Multiverses out of them, which it does by filtering the most intriguing information into its “Null Space”. A collective widespread anomalous space in the Layers in between. Much like the Core Universe, it is a hidden pocket dimension that is unreachable unless you’ve been there once or are aware of its existence. As the Null Space grows, so does Rift’s power, which is connected to it. Would this secluded fragment in the Layers in between be destroyed, the damage to Rift itself would be tremendous. Rift is capable of creating “BACK UP FILES” for itself. So called Homunculi, which it scatters across the various splintered Timelines, hiding them in various objects. Through those Back up Data pieces, killing the Doorman has become nearly impossible. For its adversaries it is even unclear if this anomaly can ever truly be completely killed, since normal, widespread magic and fighting abilities are completely wasted on it. However, Rift is not completely invulnerable. All of its outstanding skills require huge amounts of magic, which it needs to store by devouring and absorbing Energy, Magic and Entities from other Timelines. Starvation is a realistic issue to it, since their moral compass started to change with the appearance of Fresh. Survival becoming an “optional goal” to its primary instinct fixating on the Parasite and its well-being. Rift can be harmed by beings from the Anti-Void as well as Ink, which is why it tries to stay hundreds of paces away from them. Especially C0D35, as his ability, ANNIHILATION, exceeds its coded protection by a margin. When Rift’s Soul reaches critical its body becomes fully corporeal and eats at its own mass till burn-out. The energy and magic from its body will slowly dissolve the very fabric of Reality, Time and Space as it goes on, till everything just becomes absolute Chaos. This meltdown can cause any nearby organism to be entrapped in a cascade of pain and maddening delirium, slowly eating at their very existence. It would cause an unseen apocalypse of shier Madness, but also cause the very Death of Rift, if the burn-out isn’t stopped.

Relations:

Rift has no great attachment to anyone besides Fresh. And even that “affection” is a level of understanding it can’t comprehend. For it, its something that it was born for, but doesn’t know why or what it is supposed to do with it. Finding the answer to this riddle is the only ‘purpose’ it got and after wandering aimless for so long, it decided not to let go of it till it knows.

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Trivia:

The first word Rift ever spoke was “YOLO”, when it read the glasses of Fresh at their first meeting.

There is a Momma CQ version of Rift.

Kid!Rift entire backstory is goign to make people wanna stab me to death. I am sure of that.

Rift’s musical Battle Patterns are inspired by the game “Just Shapes and Beats”

Yes, I am aware that I messed up the Color Patterns of both of my Fresh Designs there. They were both drawn separately before placed in the same picture together. It has bugged me to no end!

Yes, there will be a Momma CQ version of this one coming (probably soon, since I don’t want to loose my shin. It’s not worth making Rifty mad)

Fresh Sans belongs to @loverofpiggies

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[underwoodinc]

You've been visited by the random OC question fairy! :D ~☆

What is your character's relationship with their family like? Do they have grandparents? Siblings? How well do they get along with their extended family members?

Awww! Thank you Random OC Question Fairy!!

I'm just gonna go through main cast for my current W.I.P.

(OKAY read more is not working on my version of the App so apologies everyone 😨😭😭)

Leah - Her mom died when she was young a few years after her little brother was born. She co-raised Gene with their Dad, Martin, then when Martin's health declined she took over caring for him too. She loves them both a lot, as much as she has trouble emotionally showing it, and the main reason she does most the things she does is to take care of her dad and brother.

Gene was protected a lot from the hard times, so he's kinda bratty but extremely smart, so she pushes him to do well in school, take extracurriculars, etc. So they're relationship goes from "regular siblings" to "parent and bratty teenage son" a whole lot.

Miles- Miles Dad passed away when he was young he was a good Dad, so he misses him. He lives with his Mama and they're pretty close, she had to retire so he stays to take care of her, and look after her while he works.

He wonders a lot what his Dad would think of him now, knowing he had high hopes for him, and wouldn't approve of...you know the whole endangering his life thing he does in the main storyline. Or maybe he would.

Courtney - She was raised by her mother primarily, and has a little sister but they're close in age.

She's very close to them both, she'll tell people "I grew up poor, but not sad". She has a lot of good memories and even when times were tough, the three of them pulled through together. Her Mom worked extremely hard to put her through dance and acting classes when she was growing up. Whenever her shows have thier opening nights she ALWAYS makes sure her Mama and Anita have the best seats, brings them to events, etc.

Alan - Grew up rich, grew up sad. He does not talk to his family unless absolutely necessary. His parents he does not like, his siblings he does not like. There's some bad history there.

I'm not going to go into it, cause I'm not sure still if it'll ever make it into the main story. Like you know when you have a piece of your OC's history and you're like "this definitely happened" but it doesn't exactly fit into the mainplot? Its like that so it might be spoilery.

I can say basically Alan was the "unfavorite", he's the baby of the family but he wasn't THE baby of the family. Definantly a case of "youngest becomes most independent because they raised themselves."

Like his family is rich, old money that's making more money, but all the wealth he has now is his own. No he's not self-made, his parents did pay his way through college and most of Law School, but soon as he was able he cut himself off from them.

So he and Courtney live off thier own money, he'd rather die before asking his parents for any, he doesn't even know if he still has an inheritance or not, figures he'll find out when they die.

His older siblings call him to talk every now and then, but they have to be the ones to make the first move. Same with his parents, he makes them reach out first and its usually when they want his legal advice or like when one of his siblings has a kid and "the whole family has to be here"

So not very often. That's fine. Alan became close to Courtney's sister and mom when they started dating, and as much as he loves seeing happy families they feel so foriegn to him.

John - [Redacted]

Ophelia- Raised by her parents, her mother got very sick when she was young and passed away (she relates to Leah in a lot of ways with this, though Leah fights it cause Leah is Leah). Close to her father, but after her mother died she saw less of her side of the family and as a result feels seperated from that side of her culture (She's black from her father's and Mexican from her mother's side, Edith's family is from Toluca and she was second generation raised in the U.S).

She's an only child, but grew up with lots of friends and cousins that were like siblings, and John before The Accident, she had a sibling like relationship with, which is why she immediately put in to head the search for him.

[trashyswitch]

Logan’s Trip to [REDACTED]

Chapter 3: Logan's Super Eventful Visit

Logan learns about an SCP known as the Voodoo Organ Transplant by none other, than Remus. So, Logan adds that to his list of SCP's to meet and visit.

Logan's choice of SCP's leads to a lot more fun and playfulness rather than serious moments.

Happy Tickletober everyone! Technically, I might be doing the Tickletober days super out of order and...not all of them will be done. So, why not have some fun this October? We kinda deserve some fun after the roller coaster we call 2020. So, I hope you enjoy! This is Tickletober Day 09: Ganged Up On! (AND YES THIS COUNTS BECAUSE IMAGINE THAT SCP DOING THAT TO YOU!)

Logan and Remus were in the imagination, reenacting a surgery scene similar to Surgery Simulator. Only this time, they didn’t have terrible video game mechanics to deal with. Logan was covering all the tools in sterilizing formula and stirring them around to ensure they’re clean.

“Okay. Scalpel.” Remus ordered.

“Marker.” Logan said, giving him a black marker.

Remus took a double take before groaning. “Does it really matter? This is just the imagination. We don’t need to do a perfectly pristine job.” Remus reminded him.

“We can get to the ‘fun’ quicker if we open him up properly. If you show me you can follow the proper instructions for starting a surgery, then I’ll let you do whatever you want with the body.” Logan bribed him.

Upon hearing the ultimate bribe of a lifetime, Remus immediately put his game face on and threw his mask onto his face. “HAND ME THE RULER.” Remus ordered in the most down to earth, replicated lawyer voice he could muster. Logan snickered to himself as he threw a stainless steel ruler into the bowl of formula before giving it to him. Remus very carefully made a straight, dotted line with the marker and gave it back to Logan. “Scalpel...Please.” Remus ordered.

Logan nodded and handed him the very item he asked for. “Scalpel.” Logan repeated.

Remus carefully cut the incision and handed the now bloody knife back to Logan carefully. “Wonderful! You did splendidly.” Logan reacted. “Now...Let all hell break loose!” Logan declared to Remus.

Remus didn’t waste a second. The moment the word ‘Hell’ was spoken, Remus had summoned a chainsaw! Remus revved up the chainsaw, and started dramatically cutting right into the small incision location. It didn’t even take a second for the tiny incision to become overcome with blades and for the entire body to explode with blood and guts absolutely everywhere. Logan covered himself up with his surgery gown while Remus happily allowed the blood to drench his face, chest, legs, and hair. Even his mustache was partly covered in blood! The entire imagination was covered in blood and guts!

Then, Remus pulled out a stapler. “Alright! Let’s staple him up, nurse!” Remus declared. Logan snorted and bursted out laughing! It was like watching a Looney Tunes show! Only, more bloodier! Plus, the entire body was in shreds! How is one supposed to use STAPLES to get this body back together?! It’s physically impossible! That was why Logan was laughing as much as he was.

“Man, that was fun! We should do this more often!” Remus reacted happily.

Logan smiled. “I’d love to! But it might have to wait until after I get back from the SCP Foundation.” Logan told him.

Remus gasped and practically tackled Logan to the ground while the imagination cleaned itself up. “TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT! Is it real?! Are you able to see the Class Keter SCP’s?! TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME!” Remus begged.

Logan giggled awkwardly and straightened his glasses. “Well...I’ve looked at mostly Object Class Safe SCP’s so far.” Logan explained. “I’m not allowed to visit the Keter classes yet because it’s dangerous.” Logan explained.

“Right, right. That makes sense.” Remus replied. “But have you seen SCP-2295 yet?” Remus asked.

Logan nodded. “Yup! He’s incredible! I’ve even given him sewing cloth!” Logan reacted.

Remus squealed. “YAY! What about SCP-897?” Remus asked.

Logan was taken back. “SCP-897? I’ve never heard of it.” Logan replied.

“OH! It’s a person that’s capable of teleporting other people’s organs into himself! The SCP is made up of so many different genetic DNA particles, and the craziest part?” Remus explained. Logan leaned in, clearly fascinated. “He doesn’t suffer from organ rejection in any way! He doesn’t suffer any sickness from organ rejection, let alone death!” Remus reacted.

Logan’s eyes widened. “No way…” Logan reacted.

“This is the 100% honest truth!” Remus told him. “You should consider visiting him! I think recently, SCP-897 had its brain replaced by an agent’s brain. And now, they’re mentally stable and placed as Object Class Safe!” Remus explained.

Logan lifted his eyebrows as he took notes on his arm. This would be a very fascinating SCP to look at…

[AT THE SCP FOUNDATION]

Logan placed his bag inside the usual bedroom cell, and unloaded what he didn’t need from his backpack. He kept the map, his gifts to the SCP’s, a flashlight, and a notebook and pen in his bag so he could take some notes on SCP-897. One of the first things Logan wanted to do was to visit SCP-2295 and give him a few accessories to sew onto itself. Logan followed the map directions as best he could, and quickly reached SCP-2295’s room. Logan, using the correct keycard he’d been given, opened the room door and walked in to see SCP-2295...working on an organ transplant?!

Logan gasped and attempted to close the door and leave the bear alone. But Logan managed to glance at the bear’s eager face as it ran up to him.

Logan reopened the door and waved. “Sorry to interrupt. I wanted to come visit.” Logan explained. But SCP-2295 didn’t seem to care about the unsterile circumstances. SCP-2295 happily pulled Logan over to the person and continued to work on the organ. Logan tilted his head as he observed the organ SCP-2295 was working on: It looked to be a super long tube, made of multiple different fabrics! Logan also looked at the incision, which looked to be a wide H shape across the middle of the belly.

Logan’s eyes widened when he connected the dots: SCP-2295 was making a small intestine!

Logan smiled as he pulled a few more long fabric sheets out of his backpack. SCP-2295 placed the fabric intestine down and waddled itself over to the fabric with glee! Eager to get more fabric to add to its collection, SCP-2295 grabbed some scissors and decided to spread out one of the fabric sheets and use it for the patient’s new small intestine.

“I see you chose an interesting time to see SCP-2295! This researcher has been suffering from complications related to severe Celiac Disease. 2295 must’ve noticed this almost right away because the moment she walked in, 2295 laid her down and put her to sleep.” Dr. ████ explained through the Walkie-Talkie.

Logan pulled his Walkie-Talkie out of his backpack and clicked the speaking button. “That’s incredible!” Logan reacted.

“Yeah! You’re gonna be able to see this bear in action!” Dr. ████ added.

Logan smiled as he put the Walkie-Talkie into his pocket for the time being and continued to watch SCP-2295 add artificial versions of Villi (millimetre-long yarn pieces) inside the new parts of the small intestine before closing it up to make a tube. Finally, SCP-2295 finished the super long small intestine and started replacing. While Logan held the incision open, SCP-2295 cut the end of the small intestine off of the beginning of the large intestine. With the two organs separated, SCP-2295 placed the fabric small interestine end onto the Large Intestine hole and sewed it on successfully. Then, SCP-2295 removed the entire small intestine, and put the new fabric intestine into the large space in the person’s belly spot. The positioning of the intestine looked almost perfectly replicated! How did this simple teddy bear, know how to do this so perfectly?!

After sewing the beginning of the small intestine to the Duodenum, SCP-2295 closed up the incision and covered it with gauze and tape. With the surgery finished, SCP-2295 clapped its bear hands happily and smiled at Logan excitedly!

“Yay! You did it!” Logan said excitedly. SCP-2295 jumped onto Logan’s lap, and hugged Logan as well. When the bear hugged Logan, SCP-2295 started listening to Logan’s heartbeat and replicated the heart beat with its hand. Gently, the bear hand started tapping Logan’s arm to the beat of his heart. Logan smiled and gave the bear a few scratches on the ear. The bear giggled and wiggled around happily and covered its face with Logan’s chest. So, Logan stopped tickling and hugged the bear eagerly. The bear returned the hug with a big smile and even blew Logan a kiss! Logan just about melted from that one.

Logan didn’t spend much longer with it after that. He delivered the SCP a bracelet and a necklace, and enjoyed the reaction for as long as he could. But Logan had to get going. He wanted to visit more SCP’s in a day, so that he could have more SCP’s to visit within the weeks. He wanted to make his hours count, which sadly meant shorter trips with the ones he knew. So, Logan got one last hug goodbye and left the SCP alone to tend to the treated researcher.

Logan’s next trip was going to be with SCP-038. Also known as, “L’Albero Del Tutto”. Whatever that meant, Logan couldn’t tell you. Though, he could say that L’albero sounded close to “Arbre”, meaning ‘tree’ in french. So, Logan assumed it may be a tree of some kind. Logan opened the door with the keycard and smiled as he stared at the SCP: He was right! It WAS a tree!

Logan walked up to the tree and reached his hand out eagerly. But suddenly, the Walkie-Talkie started vibrating in his pocket! Logan pulled it out and clicked the call button. “Hello?” Logan asked.

“I know you weren’t aware of this procedure beforehand, but I order you to put a hazmat suit on when interacting with SCP-038.” Dr. ████ ordered. Logan lifted an eyebrow and turned around to see a yellow hazmat suit hanging on a hanger. Logan sighed. “What will the consequences be if I don’t?” Logan asked just out of curiosity as he removed the suit from the hanger.

“SCP-038 is capable of cloning anything and everything that the bark comes in contact with. It has been known to grow different fruits, as well as candy bars, TV’s, a pair of keys, DVD’s, CD’s, full wine bottles, animals, and lastly: humans.” Dr. ████ explained. Logan’s eyes widened as he looked at the tree in a brand new light. “And that isn’t even everything on the list.” Dr. ████ added. Logan’s jaw dropped before pulling the yellow gloves on. With the suit now on himself, Logan put his Walkie-Talkie onto a ledge nearby and readied himself to approach the SCP. The SCP looked like it was supposed to be a regular apple tree. But weirdly enough, there were oranges and peaches growing alongside the apples! As he walked around, a couple other fruits had shown itself to Logan: a couple vines of grapes, and even a pineapple was growing on it! Not only that, but there were branches with peonies, daffodils, and…

A cherry blossom branch?!

Logan gasped and smiled as he saw a cherry blossom blooming right in front of him for the first time in his life. Logan knelt down and studied the look of the cherry blossom for a little while. It was beautifully grown, and looked very well-kept. Logan made sure to fight his instincts to touch the cherry blossom, for fear that he may ruin it or cause the tree to clone something on top of the cherry blossom. So, Logan enjoyed the view while it was there, before resuming to look around.

It was truly a pretty tree mixed with many types of plant DNA! Who knew that a multi ethical tree like this could exist! Finally, Logan admired another flower that seemed to blooming before him: a multi-layer petaled pink flower was blooming right in front of him! It looked like it might be a Proteas flower. Weren’t those from South Africa?! How did a South African exotic flower end up in the locked up containment building that was the SCP Foundation?!

Logan decided to place the question aside and instead, focus on maybe getting himself a fruit. He walked away and grabbed his Walkie-Talkie from the ledge. “Hey Dr. ████...Would I be allowed to grab a fruit for myself?” Logan asked.

“Oh! Wait...Really? You want to try a fruit from L’Albero Del Tutto?!” Dr. ████ reacted.

“Well...Yeah! I wanna try a peach if I can.” Logan explained.

“Alright. You can grab a fruit from the tree. Just make sure you don’t touch the bark. Okay?” Dr. ████ ordered.

“Roger.” Logan replied before putting the Walkie-Talkie onto the ledge again. Logan decided to go for a plump peach that wasn’t very far down from him. Logan reached his fingers up, and gently tugged the peach off of the tree. The peach seemed to come off pretty easily, and the branch bounced back gently when the peach released from the tree branch. Logan smiled at a job well done, and walked towards the exit.

When Logan got himself out of the room with his Walkie-Talkie and his peach, Logan took off the Hazmat suit and draped it over an office chair that was nearby. “Thank you, Dr. ████. That was unbelievable! The apple tree was growing a branch of cherry blossoms!” Logan reacted.

“Yeah, I found that out myself a few days ago.” Dr. ████ told him.

“Alright. I’m off to see SCP-4743.” Logan told the Doctor.

“Haha! You’re gonna love that SCP! Though, beware if your ears are sensitive to balloon squeaking sounds.” Dr. ████ encouraged.

Logan smiled. “Roger that.” Logan replied.

Logan used his map to find his way towards the door. He had to go up a couple flights, but he did end up finding it after about 15 minutes or so. Logan let his eyes fall onto the door with the label on the top that read “SCP-4743” on the frame. The nerd smiled for a moment as he pulled out his key card, and inserted it into the card slot. When the light flashed green, the door unlocked as Logan removed his keyard and pushed it into his shirt pocket. Logan opened up the door and was introduced to thousands upon thousands of balloons all in a few different clusters. Logan’s eyes widened and a big happy smile filled his face as he let the door close behind him. They were all kinds of different colors of balloons! They were pretty colors, bright colors, darker colors, and even super light pastel colors!

Logan put his hand up and awkwardly waved. “Hi!” Logan greeted.

Suddenly, a HUGE bundle of balloons came charging at him. Logan squeaked and cowered at first, but quickly uncurled himself when he felt himself being snuggled by 50 or more balloons all at once. Logan started to giggle and push them aside playfully, only for more balloons to come snuggle him! Not only that, but a big bunch of balloons started to lift Logan up with excitement! Logan squeaked in nervousness, but bursted out laughing as Logan was both snuggled and tickled by the dozens of balloons.

“Hohohow ahare yohohohou dohohoing thihihis?! Yohohou’re bahalloohohohons!” Logan asked.

A few of the balloons started rubbing at Logan’s feet, and a couple other balloons also went for Logan’s neck! Logan bursted out laughing even more and squirmed around in the silly touches. “HAHAHAHAHA! IHIHITS SOHOHO TIHIHICKLYYHYHYHYHY!” Logan reacted.

“Yeah, they tend to do that a lot.” The Walkie-Talkie speaker spoke. Noticing the Walkie-Talkie’s sound, a couple balloons seemed to grow pseudopods and grabbed the Walkie-Talkie out of his pocket. “Uh oh! SCP-4743, let go of the Walkie-Talkie! That’s an order!” Dr. ████ ordered through the Walkie-Talkie. The balloons ended up letting go of the Walkie-Talkie as they were ordered. But, the doctor should’ve thought about what he had said because the Walkie-Talkie ended up getting caught by another collection of balloons that floated a good 3 metres away from Logan. While the Walkie-Talkie was rendered useless, Logan’s whole body ended up getting overwhelmed by ticklish sensations from balloons of all things!

“EHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLEHEHES! IHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES SOHOHO MUHUHUHUHUCH!” Logan laughed his head off.

The balloons seemed to catch onto just how ticklish Logan was, because the tickling balloons quickly retreated to let the man breath. Logan’s laughter slowly turned into giggles as he curled into a little ball. With Logan all curled up and giddy, a bunch of the balloons started cuddling him. “Yohohou guys suhuhure ahare playfuhul.” Logan reacted with a bit of a giddiness still effecting him.

The balloons decided to raise Logan up more, and show him just what it’s like floating atop a bunch of balloons. Logan held onto a couple of the balloons in nervousness, but let them take him up despite the nervousness. The balloons lifted him up to the very high roof, and showed the man the look of all the colorful balloons at the bottom of the containment room. Logan smiled and allowed his legs to dangle off the edge of the balloons as he gazed upon the endless layers of colors. But quickly, Logan felt himself get pushed bit by bit off the edge of the floating balloons!

“Wait, WHAT?! NO! I DON’T WANNA JUMP! IT’S TOO FAR-” But Logan interrupted his protests with his own screams of fear. As Logan fell, the balloons blocked his falling path and caused them to collide with his middle and shoulders. Logan covered his eyes and braced for either a painful impact on the ground, or a balloon-popping tackle onto the balloon layers.

But to Logan’s surprise...there was no quick splat. There was no balloon popping sounds. All Logan could feel...was floating! Just floating! He felt light! He could even say he felt lighter than a balloon! It was nuts! Logan opened his eyes and let out a breath of relief when he realized the balloons were carrying him. It was incredible! The balloons actually managed to catch him! But HOW?! They’re regular balloons! Aren’t they?!

“Wow! That was unbelievable!” something spoke. Logan turned around, and smiled as his eyes fell upon the Walkie-Talkie that was stolen from him for that half an hour. Logan took back his Walkie-Talkie and clicked the speaking button. “That...was both breathtaking, and anxiety-inducing.” Logan told the person.

“Well, I assumed that. It was anxiety-inducing for me just WATCHING you!” Dr. ████ reacted. “But now that they’ve proved you can trust them...How do you feel?” Dr. ████ asked.

Logan looked to the security camera and gave it a big toothy smile. “I feel as light as a cloud.” Logan told him. “Look! I can kick my legs! That’s how high up I am!” Logan added, giggling as he swung his legs around underneath the heap of balloons.

The balloons must have heard Logan’s giggles in happiness, because the balloons quickly started smothering Logan’s body. Logan threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut as more laughter left his lungs. “COHOHOME OHOHOHON! WHYYHY AHAHAGAHAHAHAHAIN?!” Logan asked, wiggling around and falling backwards. As soon as Logan took on the laying position, the balloons smothered his body more and continued to tickle attack him with their pseudopods against his ticklish spots. “IHIHIHI’M TOHOHOHOO TIHIHICKLIHIHISH FOHOHOR THIHIHIHIHIS!” Logan yelled out loud.

But the moment a balloon’s pseudopod found Logan’s belly, it was all over. Logan started kicking his legs and cackling like a maniac. If the balloons were killing him, they were certainly reaching success!

But thankfully for the nerd, the balloons were not trying to kill him. They were simply trying to make the man laugh after a somewhat unnecessary anxiety peak. It was the entire balloon squad’s way of saying “I’m sorry Mr. Stranger with glasses for scaring you. I hope you can trust us now”.

And Logan didn’t mind being scared. That was now behind him. Now, Logan can focus on being tickled and cuddled by balloons while floating on them too.

[EVENTUALLY]

Logan removed the keycard from the slot and knocked on the door before opening it.

“Come in.” The person spoke. Logan nodded and walked in with his backpack on his body and a Walkie-Talkie in his body. “Hello. My name is Logan Sanders. I’m a regular visitor in the SCP Foundation, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Logan greeted, holding out his hand. The SCP smiled and gave him a handshake. Logan sat down and started to unzip his backpack. “To start off, I would like to offer you a gift, if that’s okay with you.” Logan explained.

SCP-897 gasped and put their hands together. “I’d love a gift!” the SCP reacted happily. The SCP looked to have the face, voice and temperament of a woman, but Logan was not entirely sure if the SCP really was a woman, a man or non-binary.

But Logan focused on giving the SCP their gift first. Logan handed them a gift-wrapped box. The SCP happily took the wrapped box, ripped it open and opened the box’s lid. They gasped. “Awwww! It’s so CUTE!” SCP-897 reacted. Logan smiled and felt a bit of warmth in his heart from seeing such a genuine reaction. The gift was a large sized Beanie Boo penguin with big, glittery blue eyes. “I think I’m gonna name you...Tuxy!” The SCP decided eagerly. Logan giggled in genuine amusement. “What? It’s short for tuxedo. It looks like he’s wearing a tuxedo! Doesn’t it?” The SCP asked, turning the penguin to face Logan and bringing it closer so he can see.

Logan just laughed more and nodded. “Yehes! It does!” Logan replied.

The SCP smiled proudly. “Tuxy the Penguin.” The SCP announced before placing Tuxy on top of their bed. Logan smiled as she walked up to a record player. “Do you like music?” SCP-897 asked.

Logan nodded in reply. “Yes! I love music!” Logan replied. “Got any preferences?” Logan asked.

“Ooooh! How about some Frank Sinatra?” SCP-897 asked. Logan smiled and stood up as she put a record into the record player. Quickly, the song Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra started to play.

SCP-897 grabbed Logan’s hand and started swaying with the man. Logan swayed along with her, as Sinatra started to sing the lyrics. Logan and 897 spun around the room, and started dancing fast-paced as well. 897 smiled and giggled as Logan spun her around. “You’re a really good dancer! I’m impressed!” 897 told him.

“Thank you. You’re pretty good yourself.” Logan added.

The duo danced around within the containment room and showed off their swinging abilities. Logan was surprisingly really good at dancing, and even managed to dip the woman without any issue. Logan and 897 stayed like that for a moment as the song ended. Logan lifted an eyebrow as he realized something odd. “Huh...I don’t think I ever realized just how short this song is.” Logan reacted.

“You wanna move onto That’s Life?” SCP-897 asked.

Logan smiled. “I’d love to!” Logan replied.

With a switch of the record, the two were dancing yet again. Logan didn’t really get to learn about SCP-897’s ability to use transportation to transplant organs.

But, he did get to learn SCP-897’s lung capacity and their dancing abilities. And that was just as worth it.

[carewyncromwell]

Hey guys! Normally I just jump right into my gameplay posts and then put in additional notes at the end, but for this particular set of gameplay posts I plan to do, I think I’ll need to do the notes first.

This upcoming series will be based on the Quidditch sidequest “Quest for the Quidditch Cup.” (And will be tagged thusly!) Normally the game HPHM sets this in our first year playing Quidditch, circa year 2...but not only am I well past year 2, but I’ve written some lore about Carewyn and her relationship with the Slytherin Quidditch team that goes against this particular side quest’s plot line. Here are bullet points!

Carewyn was introduced to Quidditch Friendlies in third year through Penny, and also received training from Skye. She even played as a substitute Chaser in Slytherin’s match against Hufflepuff in her third year.

After Skye made up rumors about Erika Rath, however, Carewyn and Skye had a pretty substantive falling-out, given Carewyn’s over-sensitivity to bullying. Not wanting to cause further drama for Orion’s team but not wanting to stand by Skye’s behavior, Carewyn quietly withdrew from the Slytherin Quidditch team, allowing the original Chaser to take back their spot for the last two matches of the season.

Carewyn has continued to play in Quidditch friendlies as a Chaser (often against or alongside Ravenclaw Keeper Andre and Gryffindor Seeker Charlie), but has not tried to take back a spot on the Slytherin Quidditch team again.

Orion -- who Carewyn is incredibly fond of, partially because of how much he reminds her of her brother Jacob -- has every-so-often tried to bring Carewyn back into the fold, but Carewyn has been reluctant to commit, partly because of her hyper-focus on the Vaults and partly because of her strained relationship with Skye.

Age-wise, I have written Murphy, Skye, and Orion as all being a year older than Carewyn (hence why we don’t see them in any of her classes). These gameplays will take place toward the end of year 6 well after that certain Redacted event, even though I haven’t reached that point in the game yet, because Carewyn is currently in year 6, but the last game of the Quidditch season would have to take place in the spring. This is also why Orion isn’t two years ahead of Carewyn -- if he were, he’d be graduated already! I do see him being born toward the end of the year, though, so he would still be the eldest of the three Quidditch characters. XD; Because of the timing, Carewyn will have just completed her character arc where she’s learned to open up a bit more to her friends at this point too and is no longer shutting her friends out of what’s going on with R or the Cursed Vaults. I also fortunately don’t have much interest in writing any further Quidditch plotlines with Carewyn, so I won’t have to worry about writing any contradictory season 2 gameplays. (If nothing else, Carewyn would be a GOD-AWFUL Beater.)

With all this out of the way...let the games begin!

~x~x~x~x~

[Carewyn had had to deal with a lot of unexpected things that year, but one thing she certainly had not been expecting was receiving an owl from Orion Amari. The Slytherin Quidditch Captain would reach out to her sometimes when she was playing in Quidditch friendlies or otherwise visiting the Quidditch Pitch, but they almost never collided in the hallways of Hogwarts themselves, partly because Orion was a year older than her, but also because Orion just seemed to operate on his own schedule. Carewyn sometimes wondered if he Broom-Surfed through life, rather than walking like ordinary people did.

Regardless, when Carewyn arrived in the Great Hall to meet Orion, she found him already there, sitting at the end of the Slytherin table with Quidditch commentator Murphy McNully.]

Murphy: “Been a long time! I haven’t seen you since the final Quidditch friendly last year -- reckon your team would’ve had only a 0.5% chance of victory, if you hadn’t been able to hit the Quaffle past the Keeper with your broom just before the opposing Seeker caught the Snitch...1% at the most...”

“(politely) It’s good to see you too, McNully.”

[Carewyn turned to Orion, looking a bit more serious.]

“I heard about Skye’s injury. What happened? I heard some people say Rath hit Skye with a Bludger...but I just can’t see Rath doing something like that on purpose: she could get banned from Quidditch for actively trying to target an opposing team’s player like that.”

[Orion nodded solemnly, his gaze very pensive.]

Orion: “Your thought process has some merit, Carewyn...but I’m afraid we really can’t know for sure. We have only two witnesses to the event -- Rath and Skye -- with two versions of the truth. One says it was an accident, the other purposeful.”

“(frowns) But those two things contradict each other. They can’t both be the truth.”

Orion: “They are both their truths. In any case, the result is the same, and our Chaser was injured.”

[Carewyn couldn’t entirely agree with this -- she would feel a lot better knowing it was an accident rather than Rath getting away scot-free with hurting one of Slytherin’s players...but really, such a sentiment was pretty typical for Orion, and there was a lot more to discuss.

Her gaze drifted down to the table in front of her absently as she leaned her arms against the wood.]

“...Is Skye all right?”

Orion: “Physically, yes -- Madame Pomfrey says she’ll make a full recovery. Emotionally, however, I would not say so, given that Madame Pomfrey also has said she will not be well enough to play in the match.”

[Carewyn’s heart clenched.]

“So she’ll miss the Quidditch final. Your last Quidditch final, ever.”

Murphy: “(grimly) The math would seem to suggest it. At present I’d say there’s only a 23% chance Skye would be able to play, and about 19.9% of that factors in Skye actively ignoring Madame Pomfey’s instructions. And if she did that, I’d say Slytherin would only have a 3% chance of victory.”

[Carewyn felt a wave of empathy wash over her. She may have had her differences with Skye, and she didn’t regret distancing herself from her...but at the same time, she knew how much Quidditch and especially the Quidditch Cup meant to her. Slytherin had been knocked out of the running for the Quidditch Final several times the last few years, largely by Gryffindor, since their team had Quidditch prodigy Charlie as their Seeker. But this year, Charlie had not had his head in the game (for rather obvious reasons), and so Slytherin had finally gotten the opening they needed. But facing Ravenclaw in the Quidditch Final would be no easy task...and, Carewyn thought, Skye had to be absolutely miserable, being stuck on the sidelines at the exact moment when Slytherin finally had a chance to earn the Cup they’d fought so hard for.

Murphy glanced at Orion out the side of his eye critically.]

[Orion gave a single, slow nod.]

[He turned to Carewyn with a wry smile.]

Orion: “...And she is sitting with us at this moment.”

[Carewyn blinked in surprise. Murphy brightened up instantly, looking at Carewyn with a large smile.]

Murphy: “Yes! That’d be brilliant! With your high record of goal scoring and your overall speed, Carewyn, you’d easily improve Slytherin’s odds by a good 31.6%!”

[Despite Murphy’s enthusiasm, Carewyn couldn’t make herself smile back.]

“I don’t know...”

Orion: “(seriously) Carewyn...you have dismissed me several times in the past, but I urge you to hear me out fully before you make your decision. You first left our team because of a personal dispute with Skye, and although I lament it, I also respect that you wanted our team to succeed, and you thought that withdrawing with grace would be the best way to do that. Now, however, we are in dire straits. We need someone who can fill Skye’s role on our team. You trained with Skye. You have consistently played well in every Quidditch friendly you have participated in. And you also more than embody the integrity needed both to lead and to follow -- to place the good of your team over glory for yourself. It’s the reason I asked you to choose our strategy in the match against Hufflepuff three years ago...and it’s the reason both Skye and I believe you should be our third Chaser, in this match against Ravenclaw.”

[This took Carewyn completely aback.]

“Skye said I should?”

[Orion smiled, his dark eyes twinkling with an oddly soft glint.]

Orion: “She urged me to try to convince you. Believe it or not...Skye has lamented the loss of you on our team even more than I have.”

[Carewyn’s narrowed blue eyes drifted off vaguely in the direction of the far wall as she took this in.]

If she felt that way, she should’ve made things right with Rath, then.

[Despite the stubborn irritation lashing at her insides, though, she couldn’t help but feel slightly touched, all the same. To think that Skye would’ve insisted Carewyn fill her spot -- Carewyn knew full well how much Quidditch meant to Skye...so her trusting Carewyn with her spot on the team, right before such an important match...]

I know how hard it is to trust others. It hasn’t been easy for me...even now...it’s not easy, for me. If Skye trusts me that much...if Orion and McNully trust me that much...

[Meeting the Circle of Khanna in the Three Broomsticks and feeling their expectant eyes all on her rippled over Carewyn’s mind. It brought the feeling of responsibility back down onto her shoulders -- that heavy weight that nonetheless made her want to stand even taller, so as to meet that burden.]

I can’t turn my back on them, when they need me.

[There was a new strength in her posture and shoulders as her gaze rose to meet Orion’s.]

“...All right. I’m in.”

[Orion’s dark eyes lit up like stars. His face broke into a large, bright smile and he reached across the table to take hold of Carewyn’s arm, squeezing it affectionately.]

Orion: “It will be a privilege to fly alongside you in my final match at Hogwarts, Carewyn.”

[Carewyn smiled in return, her blue eyes softening visibly. Murphy looked delighted as well.]

Murphy: “Not to mention how exciting it’ll be for my final match as a commentator! Carewyn Cromwell, swooping in just in time to nab Slytherin the Quidditch Cup for the first time in ten years!”

[His expression then turned a lot more business-like.]

Murphy: “We won’t get that great story, though, unless Slytherin wins.”

[Carewyn frowned deeply and nodded. She was well aware -- Gryffindor had opposed Ravenclaw in the Quidditch Cup Final just about every year she was at Hogwarts, and it was largely thanks to Rath smacking Bludgers at Charlie so hard that he was sent to the Hospital Wing that Ravenclaw had won.]

“Rath is not someone to be underestimated. But we have two days before the match -- I’m sure we can come up with a plan by then. In the meantime, I’ll set aside some extra time to practice with the rest of the team.”

[She glanced at Orion for approval. The Slytherin Quidditch Captain inclined his head in a single nod.]

Orion: “This is a time for celebration and hard work. Let us concentrate on coming together as a team and on supporting Skye.”

[Carewyn’s eyes drifted off, landing on the doorway out of the entrance hall.]

“...Maybe I should go see Skye, then...just for a talk.”

Ha! That’s a loaded question...

[She frankly didn’t want to even think about how uncomfortable the reunion between her and Skye would be like, given how they’d ended things and how little they’d subsequently spoken over the years...

Despite those feelings, Carewyn -- true to form -- put on her prettiest, most confident smile.]

[accidental-criminals]

To my Public Defenders

I finally got around to reading this speech, and it legit made me cry at my desk. I needed this message so badly right now. 

“How can you defend those people?” “How can you represent someone who is guilty?” What they are asking, in one version or another, is why are you a defender. So this is my best shot at answering the question - why are we defenders?

We are defenders because we believe that whether you are rich or poor or middle class, you deserve a fair chance in court.

We are defenders because we believe that the amount of money you spend on a lawyer should not dictate the quality of justice.

We are defenders because we believe that the biggest threat to our liberty and our freedoms comes not from an enemy from afar but from those who would sacrifice our freedoms in the name of order.

We are defenders because we believe that a person should not be judged solely by the worst thing they have ever done.

We are defenders because we believe that compassion is a sign of a society’s strength and is not a sign of weakness.

We are defenders because we apparently hae an aversion for money.

We are defenders because we believe in our system of justice, that although it has its weaknesses and problems, it is the system which honors the dignity of the individual.

We are defenders because we are liberals, liberals who believe that compassion and mercy are not signs of a weak society but of a great one.

We are defenders because we are conservatives, conservatives taht believe that our civil rights and our constitutional freedoms are not something to be weakened and sold off in the tough times.

We are defenders because we because we are irreverant and rude and question everything.

We are defenders because we feel sadness for the victims of crime, but believe that reconciliation and restoration should be a part of helping a victim and not just anger.

We are defenders because we feel sadness for our clients who were victims of tragedy well before they ever committed a crime.

We are defenders because we don’t think its right to lock up a fourteen year old in an adult prison.

We are defenders because we don’t think it’s right to lock up Mexican Nationals without due process of law for the crime of entering our country in search of work.

We are defenders because we believe that mercy has a place in our judicial system.

We are defenders because we love a fight and when we can’t find one we fight with each other.

We are defenders because we do not believe. . . that the risk of underincarceration outweighs the risk of imprisoning an innocent person.

We are defenders because we do not believe that the solution to violence is to inflict violence.

We are defenders because we do not believe that there is room for cruelty in our system of justice.

We are defenders because we can defend a man . . . and see in them the good qualities and the flame of humanity and not just see the horror of their acts.

We are defenders because we believe our Constitution is not just some words to be altered when the winds of change demand but a set of guiding principles of a great nation.

We are defenders because we beleive that all of us are equal in the eyes of the law no matter our color, religion, gender, sexual preference, or political belief.

We are defenders because we believe that accpetance and not mere tolerance is the goal of an enlightened society.

We are defenders because we like to hear ourselves speak and don’t know when to shut up.

We are defenders because we will not tolerate one out of every nineteen African American men in this country being locked up.

We are defenders because we believe the government should not be allowed to seize money and property to fill their coffers in the name of regulating public nuisances.

We are defenders because we do not believe punishment is ever appropriate, but because we beleive punishment should be our last resort and not our first.

We are defenders because we believe in victims’ rights but believe that the most under represented faction in our country is the victims of over imprisonment, the children without fathers, the men without futures, the women without hope or help.

We are defenders because we believe there actually should be a prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment.

We are defenders because we think it is cruel to inject another human being with poison that kills them.

We are defenders because we think it is cruel to label someone a felon merely because they are addicted to drugs.

We are defenders because we believe that sentencing should not be the application of a mathematical equation but should have room for compassion and to take into account the unique characteristics of the human before the court.

We are defenders because we don’t like bullies whether they be in gang colors, carry a law license or wear a black robe.

We are defenders because we believe justice should be tempered with mercy.

We are defenders because we every family and group of friends need a defender so that they can get free legal advice.

We are defenders because we get the privilege to see courage on a daily basis. Courage in the form of men and women sacrificing substantial portions of their lives to help someone who no one cares for or loves.

Courage in the form of witnesses overcoming fear to testify. 

Courage in the form of judges ruling in a manner which flies in the face of public opinion.

And yes, even courage of prosecutors who choose compassion when cruelty would be the easier route.

We are defenders because we love our country and would rather work on building and changing it rather than tearing it down.

We are defenders because we get to practice in the same building with [name redacted] who spend their little free time rasising money to buy Christmas presents for the children of [town redacted].

We are defenders because we get to say we are a colleague of a [name redacted] who spends her free time visiting old clients in prison.

We are defenders because we get to rub elbows with a [name redacted] who puts her own money on her clients’ books so that they can buy an occasional candy bar or a stick of deoderant.

We are defenders because we get to spend time with a [name redacted] who cries over her clients problems and feels their pain.

We are defenders because we get to turn around in a courtroom someday and see thirty PDs praying for life for your client who everyone else in the state hates.

We are defenders because we get to work with people of faith, such as Father [name redacted], who care and love and pray for our clients when no one else will.

We are defenders most of all because we have hope. Hope that our clients can change. Hope that we can leave our world better for our children. Hope that anger can be dissipated with love and compassion.Hope for the day when justice gives no quarter to cruelty.  Hope for a day when peacemakers and not preachers of anger are our leaders.

Hope is the most important reason we all became defenders and its why I will continue to be a defender - proud to stand with each of you and proud to stand in a courtroom and speak for the poor and the weak and the downtrodden.

This speech was shared in a criminal defense listserv a while back, and I saved it to read later. Unfortuantely, I cannot find the original email to locate the name of the attorney in order to credit him. If anybody knows who these words belong to, please let me know so I can credit him in this post.

[fallenxspirit]

Info Dump: Spirit’s Biological Parents

An info post about Spirit’s biological parents from the Galar timeline he is originally from! All of this is entirely HC based as it is based off an entirely different version of Galar than the one seen in SWSH.

tw; death mention.

Spirit’s mother was Esme Agate-Barker, and his father was Gareth Barker. In Spirit’s Galar, their names were well known as the Poison type Gym leader, and the Fairy type gym leader!

Esme grew up in Stow-On-Side before taking her gym challenge, her mother being the gym leader before her! It has always been a deeply ingrained thing in their family for the women of the family to take over the Poison type gym leader position. Her father, however, created the fossil research center within Stow-on-Side! Her father endorsed her for the gym challenge.

Gareth grew up in Turffield, and was a farm boy before he was ever a gym challenger and gym leader. He often got smaller injuries working on the farm, not being as adept at it as his brothers and sisters were. He even got a scar over one of his eyebrows after an unfortunate incident with a hoe. Before him, no one in his family had ever become a gym leader or taken the gym challenge before! He was endorsed by the grass type gym leader of Turffield at the time.

Esme’s ace pokemon was a Scolipede, while Gareth’s ace was a Hatterene!

As mentioned before these two took their gym challenge together, and were rivals throughout it. Despite the fact that Esme had the type advantage over Gareth (first with his grass type pokemon, then his fairy types), neither of them were ever able to properly beat the other in a match, even as they got older. The two made it to the Semi Finals and knocked eachother out in a tie in the first round.

When taking Opal’s gym challenge, Gareth actually passed through her strange audition. He was offered the role of Fairy type Gym Leader, and agreed to become Opal’s apprentice should he fail out of the gym challenge. After becoming Opal’s apprentice, Gareth moved to Ballonlea to begin his training to take over the fairy type gym. Given the proximity to Stow-on-Side, and the fact Gareth would constantly find himself on the wrong end of the Glimwood Tangle, he and Esme were still seeing each other frequently.

Neither can really sight when this happened, but they began to fall more and more in love with each other. Though honestly, Esme initially fell for Gareth in the wild area, when the Gareth bravely threw himself in front of a charging haxorus to protect her. Gareth fell for Esme when she stumbled upon him in his camp, without anything to eat. He sites the curry she made him that night as the best he has ever had in his life.

They began dating shortly after Gareth took Opal’s place as gym leader, at the age of 16. They were both 26 when their Galar was destroyed.

These two were very much in love, as in two teenagers who absolutely rushed into their marriage and made it work kind of love. They got engaged after five months of dating, so sure the other was their soulmate. They didn’t marry until they were 18, however.

Due to their respective positions as gym leaders, Esme was often absent from their home in Ballonlea, even while she was pregnant with Spirit! She got pregnant with Spirit at the age of 22, and he was kind of an accident really.

Though they were still in a good position financially, and were ready to give their child all the love and care in the world. When Spirit was born they named him {REDACTED}

They were friends with the parents of Galar’s gym leaders, as well as Kabu and Melony during their time as gym leaders! As everyone began having their kids, Esme and Gareth were so excited to introduce Spirit to who were sure to be all his new little friends! They were also very popular gym leaders in galar, the region loving their relationship and their “princess/knight” dynamic with each other.

Esme was best friends with Raihan’s mother and father, and was actually bringing Spirit to a playdate the day everything went south. When Hammerlocke was initially attacked, Esme was unfortunately one of the first casualities, despite her battling skill. Galar’s gym leaders, due to being at a high point of celebrity careers had all done their best to defend their region, but no one was prepared for something of this scale. For alien creatures to attack their world.

Esme died to protect her child, sending Spirit off ahead of her as a Guzzlord tried to attack them. Before she died, she had the brief glimpse of her child falling into a white hole with a flash of light. She could only hope it meant that he was going to be safe.

Gareth is one of the last survivors of Galar, having escaped to a refuge in Alola. He had fought the hardest to defend their region and their home. He was driven by trying to find his child, but was never able to find Spirit again before Galar succumbed as more and more ultra beasts flooded it. Eventually he abandoned ship when it was clear the region could not be saved.

In the SWSH timeline, Esme and Gareth are both very much alive! However, they never met, as Gareth decided to not participate in the gym challenge. Thus Spirit was never born, but he has passed by them in the SWSH timeline with no clue of who they were to him, and vice versa.

Spirit ran into Gareth in Turffield, returning the man’s lose Wooloo. This was their one and only interaction.

Spirit has run into Esme a few times, mostly within Spikemuth when he visits the town. Though Esme doesn’t live in Spikemuth, and she and Spirit don’t really speak to each other. Though she does sometimes wonder why the boy has her eyes and her nose exactly.