#while safe at home thousands of miles away from the conflict

[pbpsbff]

crazy how “genocide is bad” is a controversial take to some ppl these days

[jwgh]

‘Delivered!’ playthrough, part 1

This is the transcript from the first part of my playthrough of Kari Jo "Kage" Freudigmann's solo journaling RPG 'Delivered!', available from Drivethru RPG.

It's a thousand years in the future. Humanity has spread to the stars, but it has been a slow, expensive process, until recently, when a new scientific breakthrough had two transformative consequences:

Traveling between planets is much faster now. Where, before, planets had to be almost entirely self-sufficient, interplanetary trade is now an option.

Faster-than-light communication is now feasible. Calling someone on another planet is affordable, though not free, and galaxywide radio has become popular.

Before this breakthrough, I was a small-town musician on a small-town world. Now, I see the universe opening up, and an opportunity to make it big. But, first, I need two things:

I need the life experience to write the ultimate space trucking song, one that will go viral and make me famous and recognized everywhere as I wander the stars.

I need money to go into a recording studio and record my big hit, once I’ve written it.

Emptying out my savings, I've been able to buy one of the new spacegoing big rigs, with a little money left to buy some boss fire decals. I'm off to make my fortune and, hopefully, write the ultimate anthem for my generation!

I pick up package #1, which requires 3 successes in 10 days

The biggest radio station in the solar system, WRKR, contacts me. They’ve ordered some CDs from my biggest rival, Karen 'Big Rig' Harrison, and want me to deliver them. Beggars can't be choosers, so I accept the order, though I feel a bit conflicted about it.

Day 1: The shields on your cruiser seem to be malfunctioning.

Not long after taking off for my rig's first voyage, I start hearing banging noises, as if meteors are hitting the hull. I might be new to the trade, but I'm pretty sure the shields should be keeping that from happening. Time to peek out and see if I can figure out what's wrong.

Roll result: You get what you want, but things get complicated.

Once I'm outside, the problem is obvious: A wire came loose during takeoff. It'll be easy enough to fix, if I can just get out there. I slow the rig to a crawl, and, trying hard not to think of the miles and miles of unforgiving vacuum around me, I tentatively start to crawl towards the exposed wire.

Roll result: Absolute Success. You get what you want—and more.

I quickly duct tape the wire back into place, and, while I'm at it, I notice another nearby connection that seems like it might be about to work itself free. I attach that back in place, too, and make a mental note to leave the place I bought this rig from a bad review on 31st Century Yelp when I get back home.

Day 2: You land on a planet and the inhabitants seem to be celebrating something.

Package #1 status: 2/3 successes, 1/10 days

I land on WRKR's planet, ahead of schedule and under budget. I'm feeling in the mood to celebrate, and, what do you know, the planet's inhabitants seem to feel the same way. I look around to see if there's someone to tell me what the festival is all about!

Roll result: Absolute Success. You get what you want—and more.

It turns out it's the one year anniversary of WRKR's founding, and they're throwing a party to celebrate. After dropping off the CDs, they are so pleased with the speed of the delivery that they invite me backstage to meet my hero: Bodie, the originator of the truck driving anthems "Dinosaurs Can't Keep Me Away" and "I Miss You Like Gravity." I shyly admit my ambition to follow in his oversized footsteps, and he gives me some words of encouragement: "Just remember to keep to the safe roads, and when you're feeling discouraged, coffee is your friend." He signs a bumper sticker for me, and I proudly slap it on the back of my rig. It is the best day of my life.

Package #1 is delivered. I pick up package #2, which requires 8 successes in 6 days.

After the success of my initial delivery, WRKR's station manager is happy to give me a lead on my next job. A local mushroom farmer has a load of Skullbutt mushrooms that they want delivered to Deneb. It's not that far away, but the package has be delivered in less than a week or they'll go bad. Emboldened by my success, I agree without hesitation.

Day 3: You land on a planet to resupply and a domesticated creature that reminds you of a childhood pet takes a liking to you and follows you back to your vessel.

After a day of travel, I decide it's time to stop to refuel and get a little fresh air. I gas up the rig, park it in a safe place, and go off for a stroll. It's a beautiful spring day.

When I'm walking back, a cute little beagle runs up to say hello. It's the spitting image of my dog Luke that I had when I was growing up. I pause to give him pets, and then notice a woman, presumably his owner, standing nearby looking a little concerned.

Roll result: Absolute Success. You get what you want—and more.

I stand up and introduce myself. "That's a cute pup you've got there -- I had one just like it when I was a kid." We talk a little and I explain that I've recently gotten started in the delivery business. I’m eloquent on the beauty and the loneliness of open space, conveniently omitting the fact that I've literally only been doing this for three days. As the conversation is wrapping up, she says, "You know, one of my dogs recently had a litter of puppies. You mentioned that it gets lonely in space -- would you like to take one as a companion?" My first instinct is that maybe that's not a great idea, but it's true that it would be nice to have a friend to travel with me, and it can't hurt to have a look at them.

She takes me back to the farm and shows me the litter. Once I see these cute little puppers, I know there's no going back. One of them stumbles over and starts lightly gnawing on my shoe, and I decide: That's the one. Thanking the woman profusely, I collect Luke, Jr. and head back to my ship.

Day 4: You land on a planet where the gravity is very low.

Package #2 status: 1/8 successes, 2/6 days

The next day, me and Luke, Jr. are getting acquainted with each other, and I'm continuing to warm to the idea of having him along. As we travel, I notice on my star map that we'll be heading straight past a small planet with low gravity, and the idea of seeing my little pup jumping around in that environment is too much to resist. It's time for us to stretch our legs! I put on his leash so he won't get too far away and we step out of the airlock.

Roll result: Partial Failure. You don’t get what you want.

Luke, Jr. takes a little time getting used to the low gravity, but soon he starts jumping around like it's going out of style. Unfortunately, after a particularly energetic jump, he jerks the leash right out of my hands, and goes flying off. I fall onto my back and, when I look up again, he's nowhere to be seen.

Roll result: Absolute Success. You get what you want—and more.

After I regain my bearings, I am pretty sure I remember which direction he was bouncing in. Heading that way, I soon come across a small Luke, Jr.-sized crater, with my puppy in the middle of it. He seems unharmed, but a little freaked out. I try to calm him down.

Roll result: Absolute Success. You get what you want—and more.

After giving him some pets, and assuring him that he's a good dog, he regains his spirits and soon is bouncing around as if nothing happened. I make sure to keep his leash wrapped around my arm this time, so he won't escape. After a while, he gets all tired out, and it's time to head back to the ship. Settling back in at the controls, with a happy puppy snoring quietly at my feet, I conclude that bringing this little guy along was a really good decision.

Day 5: A light starts blinking on one of your vessel’s panels.

Package #2 status: 4/8 successes / 3/6 days

The next day, I'm speeding along, considering what words rhyme with gravity, when I notice a light start on the control panel. Taking out the operations manual, I realize that there's something wrong with the waste management system. Feeling uneasy, I get out my flashlight and go to explore the one system on the spaceship that I'd been avoiding.

Roll result: Absolute Success. You get what you want—and more.

Following the diagnostic instructions, I quickly find the location of the clog. I continue to follow the instructions, and, with a 'clunk', whatever it is dislodges itself, and the flashing indicator turns back to a steady green. I hope that nothing else goes wrong with this before I hit the next port!

Day 6: You are contacted by your employer; they want to know how the voyage has gone so far. If you roll a success, mark two successes on your delivery tracker. You may only do this once per event.

Package #2 status: 5/8 successes / 4/6 days

As I'm continuing along on the appointed route, my ship's phone buzzes, startling me -- planet-to-planet calls are possible, but they aren't free, and I'm not used to getting a call out of the blue. Answering the phone, I find I've been added to a conference call between the farmer that hired me and the chef of the restaurant that is expecting my delivery.

Roll result: Partial Success. You get what you want, but things get complicated.

The farmer sounds a little nervous. They ask how the trip is going, and I say, "It's going well, all things considered. I'm still on schedule, and don't see any reason why I shouldn't be there the day after tomorrow, as arranged." The farmer says, "That's good, very good, but --" and is interrupted by the restauranteur. "Being on time is all very well and good, but I just had a big party call up to reserve the restaurant for tomorrow, on the condition that I serve them my famous Skullbutt Mushroom Risotto. Is there any chance you can get here a little sooner?" 

I remember what Bodie told me about coffee being my friend, and I say, "It'll be tight, but I think I can do it. I'll drive through the night if need be." She responds, "All right. I'm counting on you. If you manage it, you won't find me ungrateful." Everyone hangs up, and I feel immediate panic: What did I just agree to? I brew myself a pot of high-octane coffee and get ready to do some late-night driving.

Roll result: Absolute Failure. You don’t get what you want, and things get a lot worse.

At first the coffee does its job, and I'm able to keep myself plastered to the viewscreen to look out for danger and obstacles. As the night wears on, I notice that the stars that are streaming past are getting larger and more colorful. Soon, they morph into something like the lights that we used to decorate our tree on Life Day when I was growing up. It's really beautiful and relaxing. The only part that I don't like is the weird wet sensation on my cheek. I try to brush it away, but it only becomes more insistent.

Suddenly, I awaken with a start, to find Luke, Jr. is licking my face, and I realize that I fell asleep at the wheel. Fortunately, space rigs are designed to detect when something like that happens, so it slowed to a complete stop when I nodded off, but I've lost valuable hours. The only way I have even a hope of making the new deadline is if I can figure out some shortcut that will allow me to make up for lost time.

Roll result: Absolute Success. You get what you want—and more.

With a twinge of guilt, I once again think of Bodie's advice to keep to the safe roads. But their coffee advice was garbage, so maybe their advice to not take risks is also bad. Looking over the star charts, I decide that it should be possible, if a little dangerous, to use a slingshot maneuver around a nearby gas giant to get to my target.

Giving Luke, Jr. a squeeze – to comfort myself as much as him – I set the coordinates and start moving towards the gas giant. It feels bad, and I have to fight down the panicked feeling that we're going to crash straight into it, but I have to trust my calculations, and the computer's precision. It's too late to turn back.

It all happens almost too fast to even see: the planet getting ever larger in our viewscreen, then the feeling of shifting acceleration as we swing around it, and the sudden receding of the planet that had so recently dominated the viewscreen. Checking our trajectory, it seems that this has worked out even better than I'd planned: we should arrive at Deneb this very day!

Upon landing, I call the chef and give her the good news. The sound of relief in her voice is palpable. She gives me a sizable bonus for the quick delivery, and Luke, Jr. and I even to get to try a little of the risotto! (It's an acquired taste, but I keep that opinion to myself.)

Package #2 is delivered. I pick up package #3, which requires 12 successes in 10 days.

After I've been wined and dined, the chef asks me if I've got any further deliveries planned. I admit I do not. She says, "Well, as it happens, I have a bunch of cured hams here, and a shop on the fourth planet of Eridiani has offered to buy them all up, if I can them there in time for the Stellar Solstice celebration. Are you up for the job?" "Absolutely!" I agree, and in short order the hams are stowed on the ship and I'm on my way to my next adventure.

Day 7. A nearby planet provides your vessel a gravity assist speed boost. If you roll a success, increase a timer by one. You may gain this increase once per event.

Package #3 status: Day 1/10, Successes 0/12.

Emboldened by my earlier success, I decide to try the slingshot trick again. I tell Luke, Jr. to get ready (he tries to lick my hand), do the calculations, and plug the trajectory into the flight computer. LET'S GOOOOOOOOO

Roll result: Partial Success. You get what you want, but things get complicated.

Once the maneuver is complete, I check my heading to make sure that everything went according to plan. The good news: I’m speeding along exactly as I’d hoped. The bad news: There's another space rig right in my way, and I'm not sure I can stop before I hit them! I fire up the ship-to-ship communications to warn them to get out of the way.

Roll result: Partial Success. You get what you want, but things get complicated.

My communicator crackles briefly, and then I hear the other trucker's voice. "I hear you. What's up? Over." I respond, "I'm in a runaway rig that's coming down your tailpipe. Not sure I can stop in time. Do you think you can move aside? Over." The response is quick, and you can sense the barely suppressed panic in the other driver's voice. "I see you coming up on me. I'll try turning to port. If you can go the other direction, we might just pull this off. Over and out."

I grimly spin the wheel to the right as far as it'll go and continue to slam on the breaks. It's going to be close.

Roll result: Partial Failure. You don’t get what you want.

The two rigs get closer and closer. I almost think I've pulled it off, when the sound of scraping metal fills my ears. As the two rigs come to a stop, I once again think back to Bodie's advice to play it safe, and my cheeks turn a little red. I get back to the communicator and open the communication lines again. "I'm back. I'm sorry about that. Is everyone OK there? Over." There's a pause for a few seconds, and then the response comes, "We're a little banged up, but nothing too serious. It could have been a lot worse, I guess. Over." "Well, I'm glad to hear that, anyway. I'll send over my information, and if there's anything my insurance doesn't cover, let me know. Over." He lets out a dry chuckle and says, "OK, sure thing. But do me a favor, and try to keep the speed down next time you're in these parts, OK?" "I've learned my lesson," I say. I send over my insurance information, wincing as I think of how much they're going to raise my rates when they catch wind of this little incident.

Examining my own truck, the damage seems to be superficial, but my left flame decal has pretty much been scraped off. The rig's not the pristine, shining projectile it once was. But at least I'm still a bit ahead of schedule, and neither I nor Luke, Jr. seem worse for the wear.

Day 8. You discover an old letter you saved from a loved one.

Package #3 status: Day 1/10, Successes 2/12.

I'm feeling kind of down after yesterday's accident, and not even playing fetch with Luke, Jr. is breaking me out of it. I decide it's time to break out my emergency vibes pack: a little collection of things that invariably make me feel better when I'm feeling particularly low.

Going through the pack, I find a photo of myself hugging the original Luke, and I smile fondly and look over at his namesake. Looking at the next item, I see that it's a letter I got back when I wrote to my very first musical idol as a eight year old. She was a character named Bubbles on a puppet-based TV show for kids, and she played the guitar and sang educational songs. I told her I loved her songs and that I wanted to write songs just like them when I grew up.

Looking at the letter I got back, it is incredibly kind and supportive. She says, "If you still remember this show when you start writing your own music, I'd love to hear it."

Roll result: Partial Failure. You don’t get what you want.

Reading it now, I have to wonder: Who wrote this? Was it the actor, one of the writers, or maybe a PR person? They must have gotten hundreds of letters like mine. Maybe it was basically a form letter. The thought had never occurred to me before, but now I can’t get it out of my head. Tucking the letter and the photo back away, I glumly return to the ship's controls.

Day 9. You recall a happy childhood memory. If you roll a success on this event, draw another event for this day once this event resolves.

Package #3 status: Day 2/10, Successes 2/12.

The next day, I think about the Bubbles letter again. It seems silly, but I'm just having a hard time letting it go.

As a lifelong Star Troopers stan, I'm pretty sure that the studio where it's made is actually not far off the route I'm taking. Maybe swinging by for a visit will help me shake this mood. I take out my star charts and my Star Troopers memorabilia and see if I can figure out exactly how to get there.

Roll result: Partial Success. You get what you want, but things get complicated.

It takes me a little while, but eventually I think to look at the return address on the letter I received from Bubbles those many years ago. The planet the studio's on is right along my path, so I set course and get there within hours. After setting down, I walk over, and discover that all of the spots on tours today are sold out. I'm hoping that if I turn on the charm, they'll make an exception.

Roll result: Partial Success. You get what you want, but things get complicated.

Putting on my most ingratiating smile, I go up to the ticket office and explain that I'm only in town for the day, and that I'd had all my hopes set on seeing the studio. Unfortunately, it's clear that they've heard this story many times before, and it fails to move them. 

As I start to walk dejectedly back to the rig, someone standing just outside the studio building says "pssst!" and approaches me. "Are you looking to get in the museum? Because I've got a spare ticket to the last tour, and it's yours for the right price." Flooded with hope, but still cautious, I say, "What price would that be?" He names a figure many times the face value of the ticket. It seems like a total ripoff. And, even if I was willing to pay that much, it's really not something I can afford. 

I tell him that's too rich for my blood, and he shrugs and starts to put the ticket away. I note the pocket he puts it in, and, as he turns to walk away, I "accidentally" trip him and he momentarily leans on me.

Roll result: Partial Success. You get what you want, but things get complicated.

Without him noticing a thing, I manage to swipe the ticket from his pocket. Apologizing profusely for my clumsiness, I walk away as he gives me a suspicious look. I'm feeling pretty smug about my little puppet crime!

That feeling lasts exactly until I make it back to the ticket office, where the ticket taker recognizes me from before. She gives me a bit of a hairy eye, then examines the ticket closely. "This is counterfeit," she says. "What?" I respond. She repeats herself, and I realize that my odds of seeing my childhood heros are basically zero at this point.

As I'm leaving the studio, I pass by the gift shop, and I decide I might as well stop in. There, I notice there's a DVD set that includes one of my favorite episodes, in which Bubbles first sang my favorite song, "Bring Back the Belugas." I buy it and bring it back to the ship, and watching that episode, with Luke, Jr. on my lap on the couch, reminds me what was so great about the show in the first place. And maybe it doesn't matter who wrote that letter to 8-year-old me. Maybe the important thing is just that someone involved in the show knew that a kid like me would exist, and write in, and they wanted that kid to get the encouragement they deserved. And maybe another lesson, too, is that, even if nothing goes the way you planned, you can still have a good day.

Day 9 [still]: You land on a planet where the atmosphere seems to create a lot of storms.

Package #3. Day 2/10, Successes 5/12.

To be continued ...

[the-final-sif]

Just to be clear on something that's been bothering me for awhile, if you want to play the "doomsday would've killed a lot of people if you considered it semi-realistic" card, then you have to be willing to also accept, that by this logic, c!Wilbur killed way more civilians then c!Techno + c!Dream + c!Phil ever could've, under far less morally justifiable circumstances.

In fact, in any kind of realistic setting, while c!Wilbur would've almost certainly have murdered thousands upon thousands of people, all caught unaware of the TNT he'd planted, there's a very good chance that the Doomsday trio wouldn't have killed anyone at all.

Remember, the Doomsday trio gave L'Manburg a full day to leave or prepare for a fight. IRL to minecraft time, 24 hours translates to nearly two and half months. And that was after the entire government would not stop failing to commit war crimes.

Dream literally had time to build an entire obsidian grid over their city. Anyone living there had ample time, warning, and capacity to leave. The entire rest of the world was safe, it was just like 3 chunks of Constant Failed Extrajudicial Killings that they would've needed to move out from. People had time to move their pets and precious items out, and frankly if they'd felt like it, people could literally pack up their entire homes and move like a mile away and be totally fine.

This was all after the city already got blown up once, and as reflected in the build up, a lot of people had become disillusioned with the fact that L'Manburg was a constant source of conflict. Lots of people would've left before any of this even started. c!HBomb was so done with it he was offering Techno extra TNT. Then with the added threat of the entire place being leveled, and lots of time to go literally anywhere else on the server, the odds of people not intending to fight being left are pretty low. The people who did fight lost, but they all survived according the canon.

c!Wilbur, by contrast, blew up an entire city with no prior warnings and no significant time for evacuation. If we assume any kind of actual city-state population for L'Manburg, then Wilbur killed several thousand people at least. Average people with no forewarning. Toddlers. Parents. People walking to work. Wilbur planned for people to die. Openly.

Anyone is free to do what they want with their own AUs, but let's be clear when discussing the Doomsday trio's actions in canon, even if you take L'Manburg as having a semi-realistic city state population, that still doesn't mean that they killed anyone during Doomsday, and if you're going to play that game, you have to acknowledge that c!Wilbur would've killed way more people. That's just the reality of the canon facts we've been presented with.

[daily-rayless]

Horizon AU Part 1

Horizon AU Part 8

Diviner Jade

Now in his late thirties, Jade lived much of his life in the time before the Derangement, before the endless droughts, before the world tipped out of control.

Though he was raised a commoner, his genius intellect attracted the attention of his local lord, and he was adopted – forcibly adopted – into an Imperial family. Other children might have tried to escape back home, and with his brains, Jade could have succeeded. But from a young age, he was markedly unbonded to others. Becoming an Imperial gave him access to the Legacy of the Ancients, greater technology, greater opportunities, so he was content to leave his family behind. When his friend Peony, an illegitimate son of the Emperor, pressed him on it, he coolly answered that forgetting his family kept them safe from any kin punishments he himself might incur.

And he certainly gave people reasons to want to punish him.

In an attempt to contain him, Jade's adoptive family shunted him into the Emperor's army, in which he distinguished himself. But his true passion lay in understanding the Legacy. On his rise to becoming a Diviner, and a Diviner with clearance for all the most forbidden knowledge of the past, he plotted and double-crossed and left many would-be friends far behind him, including a struggling young Diviner named Dist. In his twenties, a plot to assassinate Jade nearly succeeded – and in defending him, Peony was nearly killed. By then, Peony was incredibly fed up and not shy about telling Jade exactly that.

The near-loss of his only friend did force Jade to reflect on his actions, and for the first time he felt troubled by his own lack of empathy. Initially as a pragmatic move, he began focusing more on serving the Emperor, rather than following his own goals, which earned him the Emperor's protection. And as he aged into his thirties, Jade continued to reevaluate himself, moderating his behavior. Still acquiring knowledge, but now trying to do something good with it. Not easy in a rigid society like the Quen's. Jade still had his enemies, and there were still some threats on his life, but the Emperor found him useful – as long as Jade remained loyal.

A series of increasingly frequent attacks began to make things uncomfortable for Jade in the capital. When the expedition to the Isle of Spires was just disembarking, Peony all but kidnapped Jade and got him on board a ship at the last minute. Peony wanted to get Jade out of the reach of his enemies; Jade resented the interference but couldn't let such a valuable research opportunity be missed; and Diviner Bohai absolutely hated it. The Board of Overseers initially breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Jade go so far away, but they soon realized they'd only have to monitor him more closely on his return. They still haven't given him the highest information clearance, and they know it irks him.

Since arriving in the ruins of San Francisco, Jade's been a loose cannon, abandoning the camp for weeks at a time, searching for information without Bohai's regulation. He knows he's walking a tightrope, Bohai waiting for a chance to label him a heretic. And while Jade has allies, all of them are thousands of miles away.

Until he makes some new ones.

Following their disastrous reunion at Scalding Spear, Luke and Asch parted ways in mutual annoyance.  But now what? Luke can't return to the Sacred Lands; he never can. Anise is still looking for a place where her family can thrive, and Ion's in no hurry to return to the Chorus' control. Guy's intrigued by the ruins of the Forbidden West and suggests they keep going.

But Natalia, disheartened by Asch's coldness to her, decides to return home to Meridian. Luke's conflicted, and surprised by it, having never expected to grow fond of his annoying cousin. He decides to escort her home, which now leaves Guy conflicted, as he still feels a responsibility for protecting Luke. But he determines this show of independence is probably good for everyone, so he, Anise, and Ion continue west while Luke and Natalia return to the Sundom.

At Chainscrape, they hear word that Ingobert's been imprisoned. His political enemies are questioning his loyalty to Avad – he did, after all, survive Jiran's reign mostly unharmed. And now there's a story circulating that his daughter is actually an impostor, kidnapped on Ingobert's orders from a poor family, the whole thing covered up. Natalia doesn't want to believe it. Wants, in fact, to run right back to Meridian to demand answers. Luke can't turn her back; all he can do is try to keep up.

In Meridian, they're captured. By now, the truth of Natalia's parentage has been confirmed, and she no longer has the legal protections afforded to a noblewoman. When her loyalty to Avad is also questioned, she has no right to defend herself in court. Luke tries to plead Natalia's case before Avad, but he has far less influence than Avad's own loyalists; Avad has no reason to trust Natalia. Without even the promise of a trial, Natalia can only wait for the king's verdict – try and fail to escape – and try to understand who her father truly is. Desperate, Luke leaves Meridian, hoping to catch up with the others so they can rescue Natalia.

But he runs into Asch, heading, as fast as he can, into the Sundom. He hadn't even known about Natalia's imprisonment, but he’d decided it was time to reckon with his past. But now the goal instantly switches to springing Natalia.

Which they do, though not without some danger, and even when she's free, Natalia's still devastated. Luke decides for both of them that they'll return west and find Guy. Asch hesitates, unsure if he's really wanted in either Luke's or Natalia's life, then says he'll go with them as far as Scalding Spear. When they get to Scalding Spear, he says he'll go with them into the lowlands, because they don't know the Clan Lands, they have no idea what they're getting into, it's not like he's joining them, okay?

Deep in the lowlands, they finally find Guy and the others. Plus a stranger, Jade, a Quen who understands more about the Old Ones than anyone they've ever met before. Troubled by the information he’s been sorting through, Jade’s planning on researching the ruins even more deeply, and while he’s not thrilled to be joined by all these wandering kids, he sees no particular reason to stop them at present. Traveling all over the west with an expert, picking up forbidden knowledge of the past, seeing things people haven’t seen for a thousand years, would be fascinating, very cool, except for one little problem: They're isolated in the middle of the jungle and they're all being held prisoner by the most frightening person they’ve ever met. Even, to his chagrin, Jade.

I was dreading Jade's design. We don't have a lot of Quen designs to pull from, and what we do have is really intricate. But I ended up loving the final result. The aquatic, organic, structured Quen style makes him look like some kind of water sorcerer, very appropriate for a Malkuth fonist. He gets a dark Focus because he's still the Necromancer – I don't know why he's called Necromancer in the Horizon universe, but, rest assured, he still is. Maybe because you just can’t kill him. What he doesn't have are glasses. We know the Carja have the technology to make glasses, so there's no reason to think the Quen wouldn't. But in Abyss, Jade's glasses were only there to regulate his Fonic Sight, so there's no call for them here.

I don’t really know what the common factors among Quen names are. As far as basic phonetic sounds, something like Jaed or Jayd could probably show up in a lot of cultures, though most of the Quen names we do have are polysyllabic. Possibly Jade could go by Jeido, as he does in the original Japanese?

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt.3

Part One, Part Two, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Longer one this time! As always, let me know if you want to get tagged in the next part.)

—————————-

“I hate this,” you whined, as Garcia pulled you through the crowded streets, “why didn’t we drive straight to the office, again?”

“Because, my little Grumpy Gus, you look like you barely slept, and this place has the best coffee in the city.” She promised, giving your arm a squeeze.

You grumbled under your breath, but didn’t complain, letting Garcia ply you with endless cups of coffee.

“Are we getting for the whole team?” You asked, your mind drifting to your late night message to Spencer.

Garcia paused, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, “Yeeeeees, why?”

You shrugged, “I was just asking. No need to read into anything.”

“This is about Spencer, I can tell. Spill it.”

You groaned, letting your head thump down onto the table, “How do you do that?”

“I’m a veritable fountain of knowledge, Y/N, you know this,” she teased, “plus I speak fluent Y/N, especially the little known Spencer Reid dialect.”

“Witch!” You said accusingly, “You’re a witch!”

“You flatter me,” she winked, tapping your forearm, “now spill it.”

You sighed, taking another sip of your coffee, “It’s nothing, I just-I messaged him, alright?”

“You did what?”

“I messaged him! And it was stupid and he didn’t even respond, so it’s not important.” You explained, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Penelope gasped, “He didn’t respond?”

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing, look-“

You took out your phone and glanced briefly at the screen, frowning when you spotted the notification from the night before. You swiped up, your eyes tracing his response. Something in your stomach pinched.

“Huh.”

“What?” Penelope asked, “What is it? You’re legally obligated to tell me, it’s in the rules.”

“He-uh-“ you stared at the screen, still frowning, “he responded. I must’ve fallen asleep…”

“Ooohhh my gosh, what does it say? What did you say? Is it romantic?”

You pressed your lips together, your mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour as you try to figure exactly what Spencer meant by “I did.”.

“It’s-“ you shook your head, “I don’t know really.”

Something in your tone must’ve let on how conflicted you were feeling because Penelope let the matter slide, just giving your arm a comforting squeeze.

“Let’s get to work, Sugar,” she said, standing and extending her hand for you to hold, “we’ve got crimes to solve.”

You gave her a weak smile but let her pull you to your feet, trying to force your mind away from Spencer and back onto your case.

“That we do, Garcia, that we do.”

——————————-

“We come bearing gifts,” Garcia announced as she pushed open the door to the BAU, “sustenance in the form of sweet, sweet caffeine.”

Your eyes instantly flew to Spencer, giving him a weak smile which, to your intense relief, he returned. You also noticed, with a rush of fondness, that he’d kept your side of the desk clear.

“Garcia you’re an angel,” Emily smiled, pushing away from her desk to accept a cup.

“Speaking of angels,” you sighed, carrying a cup of coffee flavored sugar over to Spencer and taking your seat next to him, “have we got an ID on our victim yet?”

“Marcus Wilcox,” Spencer said, flipping open the file closest to you, “25 year old drug addict and male prostitute. He went missing two weeks ago and was reported missing by his best friend.”

You glanced over at the picture of the man whose body had been left in your bookstore and felt the familiar pang of sorrow in your chest. There was always going to be another one, another life cut short, another dead son or daughter who’s family would grieve their loss for years. It was enough to put a damper on anyone’s morning.

You could feel eyes on you, heavy and questioning and you found you couldn’t look up to meet their gaze.

“Anything unusual in the M.E.’s report?” You asked, still avoiding the eyes.

“All the mutilation was done postmortem, so that rules out sadism as a motive,” JJ suggested, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully.

“High levels of caffeine in the blood too,” Emily pointed out, “and…” she pressed her lips together.

“What, Em?” You asked.

She looked up at you nervously, something like sympathy in her eyes as she said, “Biscuits, in his stomach. They found brown butter biscuits and coffee in his stomach.”

Your blood froze and you felt a rush of nausea. You put your cup down, suddenly not thirsty anymore.

“Is...that significant, somehow?” Hotch asked, his perpetual frown firmly in place.

“They’re the best sellers at Y/N’s coffee shop,” Spencer said, something off in his voice, “she sells them fresh every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

You looked over, shocked, and noticed that Spencer was working his jaw, like he was angry, his one hand curled into a fist under his chin. You itched to reach out and touch his forearm, like you once would have, but you restrained yourself.

“What the hell is this guy doing?” Emily asked, “Why go through all this trouble to personalize the crime? What’s driving him?”

“It’s gotta be erotomania, right?” Morgan asked, “Someone’s trying to get Y/N’s attention.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you insisted, frustrated with having the same conversation again and again, “stalkers don’t start off with an elaborate and expertly executed murder. If it was erotomania, why not call first, or email or leave notes at my apartment? There’s been no build up to this sort of violence.”

“Plus, the victim has no connection to Y/N,” Spencer pointed out, “erotomaniacs want to reinforce their supposed devotion to the object of their affection, if he wanted to do that he would’ve picked someone Y/N knew, like an ex-boyfriend or an enemy of some kind.”

“Some who he thinks Y/N would actually want dead,” Emily agreed.

“Reid and Y/L/N are right, there’s something more to this, something we’ve missed,” Hotch said, “Garcia, I want you to go through everything you can find about Marcus Wilcox and see if he came into Y/N’s store at all. Maybe he’s a customer who was rude and offended the UnSub. After that, comb through Y/L/N’s life again; old friends, high school classmates, college professors, agents she worked with on cases, anyone who could have formed an attachment and been stalking her without us knowing.”

Garcia paled under her Barbie pink lipstick, “Sir, I-“

“It’s fine, Garcia,” you assured, giving her a soft smile, “I’ve got nothing to hide. You’ll have to get permission from the CIA to access some of my case files though, there’s some sensitive data in those.”

“I’ll call the director myself,” Hotch said, “that’ll expedite the process.”

“But, sir, sorting through all that data could take weeks,” you pointed out, “what do we do in the meantime?”

Hotch pressed his lips together, and you sighed, sensing his next words before they even came out of his mouth.

“We work cases, as usual,” he said, “Y/N, yours will still be our priority but, until we get a new lead…”

“We’re stuck.” You finished. You breathed in, trying to calm your restless nerves, and pushed yourself up, “Well, it was lovely seeing you guys again, but I guess that’s my cue.”

“What?” Spencer said, sitting up suddenly, “No, Y/N you can’t just leave, if there’s someone out there delusional enough to do this to get your attention then it’s not safe.”

“I’m with Boy Wonder,” Garcia agreed, shooting you an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, Sugar Plum but this whole thing is just icky and gross and I’d feel much better knowing you were here.”

You looked around, but we’re met with a wall of concerned faces. You wanted to scream. Nothing about this situation was fair. You hated feeling helpless, it was why you’d joined the FBI in the first place and, ultimately, why you’d left.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do while we wait for a lead?” You asked, “I can’t go home, I can’t go back to work, I can’t just sit here all day until my assigned babysitter for the night is free.”

“You could join us on cases,” Hotch said simply, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re still officially an agent so you’re cleared to be in the field.”

Spencer and Emily sucked in a breath in unison, and you shut your eyes. Shit.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Emily asked, “You never actually resigned?”

You shot her a sheepish look, “I meant to! I did! It was just,” you shrugged, “at first I wanted the safety blanket in case normal life didn’t work out and, once it did, I just-“ you trailed off.

Truth be told, you didn’t know why you’d never left. It was really only one document that you needed to sign, it would take less than three minutes to complete, there was nothing stopping you. You’d even filled it out once or twice but, for some reason, you always stopped before actually submitting it.

You shot a nervous look at Spencer, who was determinedly avoiding looking at anything except a particular patch of empty air, and sighed.

“So...what does that mean?” Morgan asked, “You’re back on the team?”

“Agent Y/L/N has technically been on an extended sabbatical for the past year,” Hotch explained, “ideally we would be able to keep her on in an advisory capacity while we work her case but, with her safety being such an issue, for the time being, yes, she’s back on the team.”

——————————-

You collapsed into your old seat on the jet, exhaustion weighing you down like a ton of bricks. It had taken almost no time for Hotch and Garcia to brief you on the team’s newest case and, before you could even pack a proper Go-Bag, you were wheels up and on your way to Tampa Bay. It was a fairly standard case, or as standard as it got for the BAU at least, and it had only taken three days to catch the guy, but it had still taken the life right out of you. Hotch had noticed your distress and sent you ahead to the jet with Rossi while the rest of the team finished packing up. On the one hand you resented being treated like a child, on the other….well, you were exhausted.

Rossi sat down across the aisle from you, handing you a mug of warm hot chocolate, which you accepted gratefully. He raised his eyebrows in that grandfatherly way, like he was asking you a question, and you smiled.

“What?” You asked, “I can tell you’re thinking something.”

“You love this” he said simply.

“Love it?” You laughed incredulously, “Rossi I haven’t been this tired since I spent three full days setting up my shop. I’m exhausted.”

“And you love it,” he insisted, “I can see that Evil Genius sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours.” He gestured at your face and you smiled, “Not that I blame you. Catching killers tends to be more exciting than baking cookies.”

“Hey, I thought you loved it when I made cookies!” You complained, whacking his hand away in mock outrage, “You said they were your favorite!”

“They are, I’m just making a simple observation, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” you said suspiciously.

“Here’s another one; there’s tension between you and the Good Doctor,” he continued.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t disagree, letting your mind wander back to the last three days. After Hotch’s little announcement to the team, things had been...odd with Spencer. Actually, you couldn’t be sure that was the catalyst, for all you knew things could’ve been weird before that but, now it was just impossible to miss. He would bounce between avoiding you like the plague and actively seeking out your company; sitting next to you at dinner one minute and then purposely standing as far away as possible the next minute. It sucked. It sucked and it hurt your feelings and it was confusing, so there was no point in denying it to Rossi.

“I just wish he’d talk to me, you know?” You said, “Or yell, or shout or something. Like, if you’re angry then be angry. At least then we could talk it out, but this-“ you shook your head, “I hate it.”

“Ah, kid,” Rossi commiserated, patting your knee comfortingly, “I don’t think he’s angry, and that’s probably part of the problem.” You looked up, confused, and Rossi continued, “If he was angry, things would be a lot simpler. Like you said, you could just yell for a bit, and then it’d be over. No, I think Spencer’s just hurt and confused. He blames himself for you leaving and, now that you’re back, he’s happy, but he feels guilty about being happy because you’re in danger.” He explained, “It’s a confusing time for him, for you both.”

You sat up, “Wait why would he blame himself for me leaving?”

Rossi looked down, like he was thinking hard but, before he could say anything, you heard footsteps and the rest of your team boarded the jet. You shot Rossi a look that said “we’ll finish this later”, and then turned away, smiling at your friends.

“Hey,” you greeted, letting Morgan ruffle your hair.

JJ gave you a small smile, but your eyes went straight to Spencer, Rossi’s words bouncing around inside your head. To your surprise, he collapsed into the seat beside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I-uh-I was hoping we could talk.”

Your heart leapt, but you tried to keep your face neutral as you answered, “Sure thing, Reid. What about? The case?”

“Actually,” he said, his voice still low, “I wanted to talk about you.”

You pressed your lips together, but nodded, following Spencer’s lead and leaning in to avoid being overheard as your team settled in for the flight home.

Spencer was silent for a moment, like he was thinking, and then, “Why didn’t you resign? I thought you wanted out.”

“I did, or I thought I did. Reid, when I first left I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I guess I wanted to be able to come back if things went wrong.” You explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You paused for a moment, “Spence-“

His breath hitched in his throat, “The first time, when you were thinking about leaving. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-“ you sighed, the exhaustion rolling over you like a river, “I didn’t want to worry you until I was sure and then, after that….” you shrugged, “it all happened so fast. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, like he understood, and you watched some of the tension leech out of his body. For the first time he met your eye, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He said.

“Spence you’ve got nothing to-“

“I do,” he interrupted, “I promised you that we’d always be best friends and then, after you left, I just stopped trying.”

You were conflicted. Some part of you had been longing to hear this for months, ever since the texts, visits and calls had stopped out of the blue but, now that you were actually hearing it, it just made you sad.

“You did try,” you reminded him, “you came to the store a few times, helped me organize my books.”

He shook his head, “Not often enough. It just-it just got so hard, you know? Seeing you every weekend and knowing you weren’t going to be there when I got to work the next day,” he explained, his voice cracking, “watching you have this whole life outside of us, it just started to feel like maybe I didn’t fit-maybe we didn’t fit.” He gestured to the team, “And I thought maybe you were better off-“ he trailed off.

“Hey,” you cut in, reaching out and covering his hand with yours, “hey, listen to me. You guys are my family. You’ll always be my family, no matter what happens. I’m sorry you ever felt like anything else was even possible. I could never be better off without you guys.”

The hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth, and he squeezed your hand gently.

“If it’s okay,” he said, still smiling hopefully, “I’d really like for us to be friends again. I know I broke a solemn oath but, if you’ll trust me, I’ll never let it happen again, I promise.”

Your smile felt so wide that it hurt your cheeks as you pulled him into a hug, savoring the way he chuckled as he hugged you back.

“Of course, Spence,” you smiled, still holding him close, “of course.”

“God, I missed you,” he admitted into your neck, “no one else pretends to care about Star Trek as well as you do.”

You laughed and let him go, feeling the distance that had formed over the last year vanishing bit by bit.

“I’ve missed you too, Doctor Reid.” You said, “But, I’ll admit, I haven’t missed the Star Trek talk as much.”

“None of us miss the Star Trek talk,” Derek said, making you both jump, “honestly, I miss not knowing about Star Trek.”

“Preach,” JJ agreed, “Y/N/N, I know you’re in charge of what we watch tonight but I’m begging you, please pick something made for adults? I’ve been watching nothing but Marvel and Disney for months.”

“But I love Disney,” Emily complained.

“Rest assured,” Rossi interrupted, “it’s my entertainment system and I don’t even have any Disney.”

“You have Lord of The Rings though, right?” Spencer asked.

You watched your team bicker amongst themselves, laughing like you hadn’t laughed in months. Being together like this was like a healing balm for your frayed nerves, bringing you back to a place of calm, like you’d just come home from a long trip. In the back of your mind, you knew there was still work to be done, old wounds you needed to address and mysteries you needed to solve but, for now, you were just happy to be with your family. For now, this was enough.

—————————

Spencer felt like he was living in some sort of strange fever dream, like all his months of sulking had finally driven him mad and now he was physically imagining things as he helped you out of his car. Touching you always made him a little dizzy but, over the years that you’d worked together every day, he’d managed to build up a tolerance, a tolerance that was now almost completely gone. It had been months since everyone had agreed to have family dinner at Rossi’s, but now that you were back, he’d insisted. Spencer was on cloud nine. He had his best friend back and, for the first time since you’d left, things felt good again, like he was exactly where he should be.

As you sat around Rossi’s table, swapping stories and reminiscing over the past, Spencer had to fight to stop from staring at you. You were really there. He could reach out and touch you. If he called your name you would respond and your eyes would light up the way they always had, like he was the only person in the world you wanted to see. It was surreal. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew he was being selfish, that he shouldn’t want you to stay this time and he should be itching to find out who was stalking you so that you could go back to the life you’d built. But he wasn’t.

When JJ had gotten the call that you needed them, Spencer had thought his heart was going to implode from all the pent up longing he’d kept stored away. Seeing you hadn’t exactly improved things. He’d spent the entire day trying to hold himself together, unsure of how to act around you, playing through every single memory he’d been keeping repressed for all this time like it would somehow give him the answer. God, half the time he’d wanted to scream, the other half he’d wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go ever again. As his eyes traced the plains of your face, plains he’d memorized a million different times, he felt a flicker of that old flame burn in his chest, like the embers of a fire that had never really been put out, and he sighed.

“Hey, kid, where’s your head?” Morgan asked, his voice soft enough to avoid being overheard.

“Hmm? What?” Spencer replied, tearing his eyes away from you as you laughed at something Garcia said.

“Your head,” he repeated, where’s it at?”

Spencer thought for a minute, and then smiled, “I’m good. Really good, actually.”

Morgan nodded, a little too knowingly for Spencer’s liking, but let the matter drop. Just then, the unmistakable ping of Hotch’s cell cut through the late night air and, as if on cue, every eye in the house turned to face the sound. Hotch examined his phone, his frown deepening and sending shivers of worry up Spencer’s neck. He wanted to say something, to stop Hotch from giving them whatever horrible piece of news was on that phone, but he couldn’t. He just sat and waited, like everybody else.

“Hotch?” JJ eventually asked, her hand gripping yours, hard.

“They-uh-” Hotch started, showing a rare moment of nerves, “they found another note at Y/N’s apartment.”

Several people swore, Garcia whimpered, Derek slammed his fist against the table, but you just stared straight ahead, your face stony and unmoving. Spencer wanted to reach out, but he was frozen in place.

“What did it say?” You asked, “Is it another love poem?”

“No,” Hotch answered, “it’s a string of numbers; 29.07.15/18.01.14/38.8765.77.0006.”

“Reid, you got that?” Morgan asked, shooting him a look.

Spencer felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but he nodded, “I’ve got it.”

“But, that’s not all, is it?” Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head, “They found another body. This time in an empty storefront a few blocks away from Y/N’s apartment.”

“Probably the site I’d picked out for the second branch,” you supplied, “I just signed the deal three weeks ago.”

You buried your face in your hands, sighing as the atmosphere around the dinner table took a turn for the worst.

“Well,” Emily said, “Looks like we’ve got our lead.”

Hotch nodded, “Let’s get to work.”

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless​, @reidloversisforever​, @ashookykooky​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @shilohpug​, @tangerinenotions95​, @petitchatonbleu, @pirateismywayofspeaking​, @must-be-a-weasley-92​, @whovianayesha, @holding-on-to-my-youth​

[seasonsofeverlark]

Memories in Winter

Author: @hutchhitched​

Prompt: I would love an Everlark fic based on the Pentatonix song “Coldest Winter”. Any rating. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: M

Summary: Peeta’s alone with only memories to warm him on a cold winter night. Until the phone rings.

Author’s Note: Welcome to your holiday dose of angst. Sorry about that. The lyrics for the song on which this is based is under the cut. Happy holidays!

____________

On lonely nights I start to fade

Her love’s a thousand miles away

Memories made in the coldest winter

Goodbye my friend will I ever love again

Memories made in the coldest winter

It’s 4 am and I can’t sleep

Her love is all that I can see

Memories made in the coldest winter

Goodbye my friend will I ever love again

Memories made in the coldest winter

Goodbye my friend will I ever love again

If spring can take the snow away

(If spring can take the snow away)

Can it melt away all of our mistakes

(Can it melt away all of our mistakes)

Memories made in the coldest winter

Goodbye my friend (goodbye my friend)

Will I ever love again

Memories made in the coldest winter

Goodbye my friend I won’t ever love again

Memories made in the coldest winter

Peeta Mellark pressed his forehead to the window and watched as it fogged over from the warm breath escaping his nose and mouth. It was cold outside. It always was in December in the mountains in West Virginia, but this year the temps had hovered in the teens for two weeks even though there were still ten days left till Christmas.

He couldn’t sleep. It didn’t matter that it was four am or that he had to be at the bakery he helped his father run in an hour. His mind wouldn’t allow him to shut down earlier, so he’d lain awake for hours sifting through memories and missing her so much his insides hurt. He knows she feels the same whenever she has time to remember him.

Katniss Everdeen was his best friend for years before they decided to take their relationship to the next level. They’d been so, so young and naïve and stupid as hell, but they’d also been head over heels for each other as they basked in the throes of young love and few responsibilities. He should have known better. He really should have. He’d had a built-in safety net—a job at the family business—while Katniss struggled to make her way in the world. She’d worried about her career and financial status until she’d finally enlisted in the military to ensure a solid future.

Peeta hated her deployment, despised an economy that extended so few options for employment that his best friend, the woman he loved, had no other options than to sign over her body and service and ship out to another continent. He couldn’t even think about the possibility that she was in danger on top of it all.

It’d been 16 months since he’d seen her in person. Sixteen long months since he’d held her in his arms and felt her body pressed against his. Too long since she’d sighed his name as she welcomed him inside her, since he poured his love into her, since they were together and united and blissfully happy.

He didn’t know why he kept waiting, wasn’t sure why he believed it would ever end. He wasn’t this strong. He needed her, and he needed them, and he’d made mistakes, and she’d done things that hurt him. How could they ever overcome any of it, let alone make all the wrongs right?

He didn’t deserve her. He wasn’t sure he deserved anyone after some of the things he’d done, but he wanted her, needed love like he needed air. Man could not live by bread alone. Peeta could feel that truth in his very bones.

Snow whirled outside, coating the trees and scampering along the window panes. Clouds obscured the moon and stars, so only weak light from the streetlamps shone. The effect was apocalyptic, turning the world around him a sickly yellow with a reddish hue. Maybe that’s how his life would be from now on. Perhaps he deserved a life of despair. How could she ever forgive him, and was it possible for him to accept her after what she’d one to him?

Conflict resolution should be taught in schools. Instead of teaching to a test, teachers should pit students against each other and force them to fight fair through words and sharing feelings and healthy debate. He’d been too passive, too willing to take what was offered instead of what he needed and to give what didn’t help her. If he’d only listened more, he could have been part of the solution instead of the problem.

His forehead was freezing, but he didn’t move. He needed the chill to thaw the numbness. It didn’t make sense, but neither did the way he loved someone he couldn’t have. He knew she cared about him, but sometimes love just isn’t enough.

His phone rang, and he jumped at the sound penetrating the calm and quiet. He only had a few minutes before he needed to head to work, but a 4:30 am phone call wasn’t normal. He stared at the phone screen, considered the blocked number, and felt his heart thump twice in his chest.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Peeta. Merry Christmas.”

“Katniss,” he sighed. His body relaxed, his eyes pricked with tears, and he sank into the couch on unsteady legs.

“I miss you. I love you. I can’t wait to see you again.”

Her words were balm to his wounds and a salve to his soul. Her voice lilted like music as it escaped her lips, and he felt it wrap around him, binding him up, making him whole. He gripped his phone, his knuckles white, as he clung to his lifeline.

“I miss you, too. Love you, too. Please come home soon.”

“I miss the cold. It’s so hot here. I miss curling up with you. I miss the hot chocolate, and I miss the way you kept me warm when we were stranded that one time.”

He remembers it so clearly it’s like a movie reel plays in his head. Car trouble on a back road. Their frosty breath as they kissed. The way her chilled skin grew heated as they moved together. The way she moaned as he moved inside her. The euphoria of their climaxes. The sound of his name on her lips. Those three words binding them together. The wash of headlights on the trees when their rescue arrived.

“You still love me. Real or not real?” he asked, his voice husky with remorse and longing.

“Real. It’s always real, Peeta.”

“You’re still trying to protect me.”

“I’m trying to protect everyone. That’s what the military’s supposed to do.”

He closed his eyes. He could barely block it out, but he tried. He really did. He wanted to believe her, needed to know he wasn’t alone in this.

“When will I ever see you again?”

It was a plaintive cry, but she didn’t scoff. Instead, she told him what he’d been dying to hear.

“I’ll be home in the spring. I have to go, Peeta. We’re moving out. I love you.”

“I love you. Stay safe, Katniss.”

He wasn’t sure she heard him before the call disconnected. He only knew she’d given him what he’d been waiting for. She’d be home in the spring. They’d reconnect when the earth was reborn. He’d make her a crown of dandelions and ask her to be queen of his heart. Until then, it was winter, the coldest he could remember. Only memories of her could keep him warm.

[soundwavereporting]

this (currently untitled) fic was intended for the sadly-cancelled tfrarepairings week :< 

onesided soundwave/shockwave/prowl (all the pining is on soundwave’s end) ft. the junkion campaign, casual war crimes, attempted genocide, mentions of unethical scientific experiments, fantasizing, poorly handled PTSD, mentions of xenophobia, canon-typical nonsense and violence. lmk if you think there’s anything else that needs a tag.

it’ll go on ao3 whenever i think of a title!

Soundwave sat and waited.

This sector of Junkion was almost familiar—even before their arrival, it had clearly been one of the areas the unfortunate masses had fled to survive. Soundwave knew little about Junkion’s governing bodies, but he doubted it mattered.

No matter where they went, the result was the same.

A stay thought process attempted to run the probabilities of the Junkions themselves organizing a revolt against their leaders, had they not had the misfortune to make contact with the Decepticons a mere five centuries ago. Soundwave cut off the calculations before they could begin to run in earnest. That the Junkions were a mechanical race, fully sentient and still going to be extinct within the next week…Soundwave tried not to think about that.

He wondered what might have changed if Megatron were here. Would Megatron have forbade Shockwave’s envoy from landing on Junkion? And what about the test group of Junkions, sent to them as a peace offering, who now lay in pieces in one of Shockwave’s laboratories. They came from this sector, Soundwave knew, because their fear smelled like these buildings.

What little he remembered of his life before finding Ravage and the birds surfaced only in his most restless dreams. For whatever it was worth, Soundwave had come from a place like this.

Soundwave saw himself in Junkion; a chaotic melange of unstructured sensation, brought to heel only by the strength of will.

Not even his own will: Soundwave leaned back in his seat, stretching his awareness to the edge of the planet, seeking the only respite this place offered. Junkion was maddening chaos and disorder, threatening to break through what little focus had survived this campaign. He pushed past the colors and sounds that danced across the walls surrounding him, unhindered by the sensornet dampeners he had installed around the building.

He found it quickly: after all this time, his sensors were perfectly attuned to the chilling void of Shockwave’s mind.

Soundwave lingered in its absence for as long as he dared. Shockwave had never given any indication that he noticed Soundwave’s intrusion into his mind, but Soundwave did not dare press his luck. On multiple occasions, Shockwave had floated the idea of Soundwave being assigned to his command, with the understanding Soundwave would be there to continue work on Ferak’s aptly-named Nightmare Engine. Megatron had denied each request, not even needing to ask Soundwave for his input. Shockwave’s command was a euphemism for test subjects.

If nothing else, Shockwave’s cold desire for him provided all the incentive Soundwave needed to remain in Megatron’s good graces.

Soundwave could not read Shockwave’s mind, but he loved the silence all the same.

The only hint that Shockwave was still planetside at all was the passionless void amidst Junkion’s chaos. Soundwave had managed to carve out a semblance of peace in this sector, killing every Junkion in a hundred-mile radius and transferring what little signal-blocking equipment could be safely removed from his ship. Junkion was still a constant storm, but now it lingered in the back of his processor, allowing him to focus on relaying Decepticon communications across the planet. It was a simple task—too simple, leaving Soundwave excessive free time to struggle over Junkion’s hold on his mind.

Soundwave’s internal temperature kicked up a notch. The Junkions had unleashed a weapon—more chaos than anything substantive, a flurry of hundreds of acid-soaked scrap metal raining down on the encampment.

And then—ah. There he was.

Where Shockwave’s mind was eerie, comforting silence, Prowl’s mind was a tumult of conflicting numbers and trajectories as he calculated the exact path of the acid maelstrom raining down on them.

Soundwave lacked the presence of mind to look deeper and attempt to understand exactly why Prowl had determined stepping up to divert the Junkion’s attention away from Shockwave was needed.

He trusted Prowl’s reasoning all the same. Soundwave had spent a full week analyzing Prowl’s strategic choices in past campaigns, and he rarely made an error that could not be traced back to unreliable information. He allotted himself a few minutes to run scenarios as Prowl directed his squad where the fire, shooting down the storm of acidic debris with pinpoint accuracy.

Chances were Prowl had decided to save Shockwave in order to preserve command structure. Were he to allow Shockwave to be killed, the void in Decepticon High Command would lead to temporary victories—at least until someone took Shockwave’s place. Prowl likely feared someone even more ruthless—and more unpredictable—than Shockwave himself would be promoted. Bludgeon or Scorponok, perhaps.

The second reason, Soundwave was startled to realize, was because Prowl knew he was here. Decepticon communications had been transmitting across the system flawlessly, and Prowl had deduced it was because Soundwave was present. Killing Shockwave would flush Soundwave out—maybe. Or it might drive Soundwave deeper underground.

And Prowl had determined, Soundwave realized with no small amount of surprise, he was important. Not important in the vapid, Autobot way, where important mechs like Optimus Prime were lauded and shielded from the worst their factions had to offer. Important like a Decepticon, where he mattered. Not because of his alt mode or a shiny, false bauble had been implanted in his chassis, but because he was…

For a moment, Soundwave indulged himself, lingering in the tantalizing mix of fear and hate Prowl felt whenever he thought of Soundwave. He felt Prowl’s instinctive repulsion of Soundwave and his abilities, his devotion to a cause that had torn his home apart. What little sympathy Soundwave might have had for him dissolved like acid on protometal. Orion Pax had done more to destroy Soundwave’s home than Soundwave ever could, long before Soundwave had ever picked up a blaster, but Prowl would never see it that way.

He relayed the last transmissions for the cycle, then powered down the console and settled back in his chair. He was too far away to reach the battlefield before the skirmish inevitably finished (as it always did these days: in a draw), and his mission was clear: streamline Decepticon communications, jam Autobot transmissions.

Soundwave switched off his visor. Through Prowl’s eyes, he watched the Autobot gunners successfully take down the last of the storm. The Autobot’s tactical processor detected an anomaly in his surroundings, and Prowl whipped around, only for Shockwave’s blow to bounce painfully off his doorwing, shorting out the sensors as Prowl screamed and Soundwave winced at the unexpected blow.

Prowl’s mind was a finely-tuned, ruthless instrument of war, but compared to Shockwave’s dispassion, he was nothing. Soundwave allowed himself a moment to imagine what it might be like, struggling under the weight of Shockwave’s empty gaze as the scientist peeled him apart, finding what made Soundwave Soundwave…

And making it Shockwave’s.

As it inevitably did, the fantasy switched gears. Soundwave hadn’t been at an Institute in a hundred thousand years but he remembered it well—the cold steel restrains, the sharp needles digging into his neck. The mnemosurgeons’ barely-contained fear of having a high-profile target in their ‘care’ smelled like sulfur.

Soundwave exchanged the mnemosurgeons for Prowl. Where they felt fear, Prowl felt anger.

He had lived most of his life with both, and Soundwave always preferred the anger. Prowl would hurt him, yes, and Soundwave would hurt him in turn, reciting the things Prowl kept close to his spark, guarded with what tattered remnants of compassion had survived the last two million years.

And then he imagined them both, united against him. Their hands on his plating. Undoing him. Making him theirs, all ruthless, unyielding focus and cold logic pitted against the chaotic harmony of Soundwave’s mind.

Soundwave wanted nothing else.

The skirmish was brief: Shockwave was not built for combat, which factored into all of his plans. One of Shockwave’s scouts sent a ping (which Soundwave intercepted effortlessly and read before sending it on its way). They had found a way to the planet’s core.

Prowl’s scouts had found a path two days ago. Soundwave had allowed himself a brief moment of selfishness, withholding the information from Shockwave in the hopes that they might remain on Junkion a while longer.

Clearly, he had underestimated him—he had underestimated both of them.

With some disappointment, Soundwave realized their time on Junkion was coming to an end. The whorls of muted color dancing across the walls vanished for a moment, leaving nothing but the dead gray of his surroundings. He spent another longing moment in Prowl’s mind—while he might need to take care not to alert Shockwave of the mental intrusions (if an intrusion could even be detected), Prowl did not warrant any such courtesy. The desperate, rebellious part of Soundwave wanted Prowl to feel it, to seek him out and hunt Soundwave down.

He cut off that thought process as well. That bordered on courting treason—there was imagining a fantastical scenario where he was pinned between Cybertron’s greatest minds and fragged senseless, and then there was wanting to be caught by the enemy.

He felt the collision of the skirmish dissipate into Junkion’s murky atmosphere as the Autobot and Decepticon’s respective forces retreated. Steely resolve and bottomless logic clashed once more, and then Shockwave and Prowl parted ways a moment later, each sporting new dents and scratches Soundwave would have given anything to touch.

So many of his memories faded to hazy sameness as time drained all but the strongest of his emotions dry, but Soundwave hoped he would remember this.

Soundwave sighed and reactivated his visor, then got back to work.

[blessedsage99]

Why Lapis and Pearl Could Work As A Great Pairing

It is without a doubt that most people agree that Lapis and Pearl would do absolutely anything for Steven. Maybe not anything as Lapis jumped off to the nearest solar system to get away from conflict, but he is in fact the one person she would indefinitely pull out extra stops for (ie; willing to indulge befriending Peridot, live on and try earth, go into the ocean once more, etc) . But I do not think that would be the one of the driving forces between their relation but it might be one of the factors to goad them into trying and befriending each other. And perhaps…. More.

Similarities On a surface level you can perhaps glean several similarities, perhaps similar shadow and body type, sasuke pointing hair… And then another layer and find their personalities are vastly different. Pearl is very educated, prefers order, dramatic, emotional, enjoys engaging in combat, very forgiving (ex; is quick to forgive Peridot once she actually makes the amends to not call her an object), and does her best to make up for mistakes (ex; several episodes of making it up to Garnet).

Lapis is very lazy and blase, the barn she and Peridot have formed together has no sense of order and moreso chaos, she instantly flies at the first sight of conflict, is the least forgiving gem out there (ex; holds it against the crystal gems for pretty much the entirety of the series, and Peridot goes lengths and miles to try and get Lapis forgive her and still is unable to and it takes Steven to intervene and scold her to make an attempt), and honestly? Lapis hardly ever apologizes for her mistakes versus Pearl. She shows signs of guilt but she never really apologizes to Peridot for anything she’s done to her nor Steven nor… Well, really anyone else, except in Future.

But that aside, it’s when you think about their more lighthearted sides and trauma is where most of their similarities lie.

Hobbies

As off as it sounds, it’s fairly essential in pretty much any relationship to cross over a few hobbies, even if you don’t share everything, it often all starts with something along those lines. And Pearl and Lapis share a huge chunk of their hobbies, believe it or not.

Both Lapis and Pearl definitely enjoy reading, Pearl being the educational beast she is and Lapis probably enjoys the relaxed activity. In fact their genres might be even similar as Lapis and Pearl enjoy reading odd textbooks (ex; The hairstyles book for Lapis, and the engineering book for Pearl) and both enjoy dramas (albeit, perhaps this might be different) like Camp Pining Hearts and Pearl was willing to write a play and overseer one in Jamie’s case. This perhaps is b-level canon however, in the comic issue Camp Pining Play, Lapis is willingly engaging in participating and acting out in a play, she even enjoys it.

If given incentive of enjoying the subject already, Lapis is willing to perhaps enjoy the drama of things along with Pearl.

Both enjoy singing, if we’re going off Lapis was previously like other Lapis, that would mean singing and dancing is looked down upon on her caste. So the fact she even makes the attempt to do so in Distant Shore means she’s practicing in it, and if we want to add another layer of it, in the game Unleash the Light, one of Lapis’s key items is the Crying Breakfast Friends Sing-Along. And who else enjoys karaoke? Pearl (ie; the commercial karaoke). Also Lapis does it in Future so like if you want canon material it’s right there in Why So Blue.

This is a bit of a stretch but it’s clear that Lapis enjoys the arts which her participation in the class and what the heck else she does with Peridot in the barn, and Pearl has at the very least has experience in it. (ex; the drawing she makes, despite her humble opinion, makes it clear she’s done it before, in fact I’m willing to bet she even painted that fucking painting of Rose Quartz) It perhaps could lead to some more experience and artworks together if you know what I mean…

Casting that aside, it’s clear the two have a main stream of things to enjoy together should they choose to versus some other couples. (And different ones should they choose to introduce the other, Pearl with baking and sword fighting and Lapis with farming and flying, etc)

Traumas

Now this is the important part, I’m willing to argue they both can share extremely similar and relate to each other’s problems. They just have vastly different ways of coping with it, or well… They both have some similarities there as well, but we’ll address that in the next paragraph-ish.

But the biggest one? Both miss their homeworld. Dearly.

In fact it’s the driving force for Lapis’s introductory episodes and one of Pearl’s where she tries to get Steven into a rocketship back to her home. Both are ancient and dusty as fuck, or well, at least heavily implied to be ancient with the fact of Pearl commenting she learned the sword when she was only ten thousand years old (Sworn to the Sword iirc), the war was six thousand which implies Pearl learned before it. And Lapis, it’s merely conjecture however the fact that Lapis isn’t a vegetable after and still has a strong sense of identity after being in the mirror for 4 thousand years says something (ie; My name is LAPIS LAZULI!), the likely conclusion is the fact it’s because that’s not even close to how old she is. It’s only a fraction of her lifetime, which means both are… Well, old as hell. And even more likely? They come from the same ‘homeworld’ unlike Peridot or Amethyst who were made after and Garnet who has herself.

The second one is the one both of them likely have their divisive opinions on, especially as they were from opposing sides of it, is that they were both part of the War.

Both obviously have their trauma’s from it, as shown as Pearl in ‘A Single Pale Rose’ she’s still traumatized over the thousands of shattered gems (which is essentially corpses to her) she was forced to witness right after the war, and Lapis being forced to watch inside the mirror as everyone condemns her to being a crystal gem. I’m willing to bet she saw everyone die while inside the thing as well. As well as considering Lapis never really got over anything as she was gonna literally yeet herself away at the mere IDEA of the war… Well, who else could help her but another person who knows the horrors as well? And Pearl has experience as she had a support system unlike Lapis who got worse and worse purely just by being herself.

Moving on as I don’t have a cool and smooth transition...  This might be a bit of a stretch, but the last thing they both share very heavily over is the fact both were objectified.

Pearl was born to be an object, whereas Lapis was forced to become one, the mirror. And both consistently fight over the fact throughout most of the series. In the movie, the thing that makes Pearl remember herself is the freedom to be herself, and when she returns to her homeworld she’s forced to be reminded of her place when she talks to Holly Blue and returns to Steven in the final season. Lapis is obviously shook over it and holds it against the fact she always feels like she’s being used, (‘[...] AND YOU CAN’T KEEP ME TRAPPED ANYMORE!’) she longs for a safe place and to be free just as well just as Pearl does and the freedom to express herself (ie; her art). And who else but Pearl----- *coughcouhgcough*

Differences

I covered this in the first part where it's obvious the two have very vast differences when it comes to their personalities. But I find it important to have differences as both have something to bring to the table with their differences, no? Another essential part of a working couple.

And to quickly cover what I had before, their personalities. Pearl is literal and Lapis is sarcastic, Pearl is outwardly emotional and sobs and Lapis moodily and angrily exists, so on and so forth. How does this work? It’s also one of the hardest parts of their relationship, should they ever try it out because one of their biggest differences, is one of their flaws in a relationship as proven over and over.

Pearl is all give and no take, and Lapis is all take and no give. Which is a mix for a toxic relationship, as Pearl would constantly be giving to Lapis as Pearl’s entire worth as shown in her previous relation was all about what she would give to Rose, or else she was nothing. Even by the end of the main series she still needs to be reminded she’s still something without her. And Lapis’s emotional baggage? Let’s face it, Lapis is selfish and it’s all about her. She’s angry? She’s gonna fuck you up (ie; Jasper and the two Lapis), Lapis doesn’t want to deal with war? She doesn’t even think twice about what Peridot wants, and jumps away despite Steven calling out towards her.

But, but, but, but… It’s also a mix for something amazing as after their development, they’re kind of the perfect people to call each other out. In theory of course should they communicate.

Lapis would teach Pearl to be a little more selfish and care about her own needs, whereas Lapis needs constant reminders to actually take notice about what others want and feel (ex; the way she immediately rushes in and notices Steven’s expression at the last moment). It’s clear that Pearl isn’t willing to be treated that way should Lapis do so (ex; the way she snapped back at Peridot and towards Holly Blue) and Lapis upon caring enough? Is in fact willing to try to do better (ex; Why so blue, and Alone at Sea). It’s just that Lapis is farther behind on maturity (considering she ran away and panics instantly twice in a row). They can strike a perfect balance should they put the effort to do so, which would lead to the possible second problem they might have and would need to work through.

And the second difference the two of them have?

Fusion.

It’s the one trauma Lapis has that Pearl wouldn’t understand, and, it’s something Pearl clearly finds something addicting or to use above others. In fact she needed a crash course on it with the string of episodes of what she did to Garnet. Because Pearl is the kind of person who would desperately try so hard to not repeat the same mistake, she’s probably she’s willing to wait a millennia about it or even be fine with never fusing with Lapis. Because consent is important, but I think because of her actual experience with good and loving fusions? She might not be actually be a bad candidate for helping Lapis should she ever want to try again.

The Biggest Conflict

Now, for the biggest problem of the relationship. Uh, let’s be real here…. Despite all these arguments and nice claims and all.

Lapis doesn’t like Pearl, at all. Perhaps she even holds the biggest grudge against Pearl because Pearl was the one who literally carried her around in the mirror for a good chunk of time, doesn’t even bother to learn who she was, and even was willing to bubble her and trap her further. And Lapis probably has incentive to keep it against her for purely that fact as she was holding it against Peridot for the same fact, except for the fact Pearl has made zero amends to apologize for it. So why would Lapis ever want to talk to her?

You might consider the possibility of Steven but it’s not his job to make them friends. The only thing the two of them would do for him is to pretend to be friends, as shown in ‘Hit the Diamond’ and ‘Gem Harvest’ but otherwise, there’s clear distaste from Lapis’s side (ie; The New Crystal Gems) and her consistent ‘fuck the crystal gems’ attitude from the beginning. Maybe for him they might try something however I doubt it’s enough.

Regardless, I do believe an apology is due on both sides whenever they are ready. And that would be the start of perhaps their romantic relationship shenanigans which I consistently desire. Also I’m a slut for tense relationships to friendship to lovers if people would just---

Anyway I think there’s a lot more material for them to work with and they might actually be a pretty awesome couple

[charcherry-weekly]

Charcherry Weekly - Issue 52!

Heya peeps, Prince of Time Garnett Garren here. With Nick on vacation for a while, you're gonna be seeing me a lot more often.

1 year anniversary!

Seeing as its issue 52, that means this newsletter's been going for an entire year now! A lot has gone on in the single year that this has been running. While there aren't that many dungeons being crashed lately, there is a metric heckton of other things in the wings. One thing's for sure though, things don't show any sign of slowing down so expect this newsletter to keep going for issues to come!

Since when are emeralds red anyways

Very early in the week, Emerald Guardian Barack Obama sent Seals (as in like, navy seals or something) after the runaway Hoopa while in the Fire Nation. Apparently they got into a stand-off against a group of firebending bears, which wound up setting a portion of the forest on fire. The red Super Emerald, having been found with the hoopa, was apparently shattered, its pieces having been reported thousands of miles away.

There has yet to be any conclusive efforts on seeking out the emerald shards, and the hoopa is still at large, having been reported of summoning more pokemon to starter planet.

You know what would be really funny though? If hoopa made a bunch of starter pokemon show up on starter planet. Like, even without that happening, I can still imagine someone asking where Nick got their first pokemon and being just like "I got my starter from starter planet", with absolutely nobody outside of the dungeon crashers even believing them. That being said, what type would starter planet wind up being? it's got water, grass (albeit pink), and fire on it.

Thankfully, contrary to Nick's previous concerns, the conflict was limited to only one battle, with only one recorded casualty (rip unknown primeape).

Terrors of Terraria Defeated!

A couple days back, Enker.exe, Magical Fae Brae Emit, and *CaFAI reconvened to fight against the Eye of Cthulhu in Terraria. Reportedly, they were actually successful this time, and moved on to the Eater Of Worlds, which they also managed to defeat in battle, with minimal deaths to boot. It seems they're getting pretty far with this thing.

This is the current list of npc's present at the main base:

Golfer - Harry Madison

Zoologist - Daphne

Party Girl - Candy

Tavernkeep - Driscan

Angler - Tyler

Dryad - Faye

Goblin Tinkerer - Grodax

Nurse - Lorraine

Arms Dealer - Maurice

Stylist - Esmeralda

Painter - Marco

Dye Trader - Yehomilk

Merchant - Gus

Demolitionist - Darur

Guide - Maxwell

As someone who's never played Terraria ever, I have no idea what half of these npc's even do most of the time. From the way things are going, it seems there's still more bosses to be fight on the horizon.

The Mage is Out

The other night, me and Mage of Light Nick Card (and Slope the Slowpoke, can't forget about Slope!) were invited over for dinner at the lab in Desertia. It was spaghetti night. It was alright at first, the spaghetti was excellent, but Nick just kept escalating in anxiety over worries about the safety of a close friend as the night continued on.

There wasn't much I could do for them in their upset state, to the point where I just sorta went home by myself after the Kitten couple retired for the night.

The next day, Nick hadn't come home yet, and neither had Slope. Last footage of them showed them entering a fairy ring and disappearing. According to local experts, by using fae tokens while in an emotionally compromised state, it wound up redirecting their destination to somewhere else entirely. I was freaking worried for a bit there.

Later on, a letter had apparently appeared in Gene's Garden, having been penned by Nick. Here's the contents:

My dear newsletter readers, Rest assured, your dear newsletter writer is safe and sound. I have found myself in the world of pokemon, in a region seemingly pulled from my own imagination, but extrapolated further than what I could ever dream of. The Pinto Region is Real. I am currently travelling with my faithful companion slowpoke Slope. I plan on catching more pokemon later on, as I do plan on taking on the pokemon league, however, it appears I have to take a day-class to get my trainer's license and the class isn't until tomorrow. While I didn't expect a vacation like this, perhaps this is what I really need. Stay safe over there. -Nick Card, Mage of Light

According to Nick's letter, they wound up in the "Pinto Region", identified as a location that the two of us had (very vaguely) written about in our self-insert pokemon fanfic, Pichu quest. It can be assumed that Nick will be just fine, as long as they don't run into any hungry snorlaxes. Likely Slope will be able to protect them until they accumulate a larger party.

I'm kinda split about this whole debacle. while it seems like it'll be a good vacation for them and all, what if they wind up getting into trouble over there? What if they start causing personal crises upon potentially revealing that they may have had some part in that region's creation? Damn, now I'm starting to sound more like them @ _@.

I wonder if I should try again on the whole pokemon training thing, now that I don't have tigeplushsprite figuratively breathing down my neck anymore. This house sure could use some more noise now that I have it to myself, that's for sure. It's just like, its hard to heal after losing someone you bonded with for so long. Yes, I do realize that Scrabble was probably on the edge of going feral after the blood dress incident on my ascension day, but we had a bond. He started out as an eevee plush prototyped imp and ended up evolving into an umbreon prototyped imp. It takes a lot of work to gain the trust of an underling. Probably the only reason things worked out was because he got injured to near breaking point when I first met him on the Land of Holes and Numbers, having fallen into one of its many holes.

Anyways, back to the topic, if things pan out as expected, Nick will probably be on a pokemon adventure for like, a year or something.

That should do it for this week! There's been some reports of even moar vandalism on important government buildings in hepi, as well as Brae apparently really getting into the whole pokemon trainer thing as well.

https://letssosl.boards.net/thread/275/charcherry-weekly-issue-52

[queerpyracy]

PORTLAND, Ore. — Angela Foster started showing up in the early days of the protests in Portland as one of the novice activists standing off to the side with no gear to protect herself.

Roughly 40 demonstrations later, she has moved toward the front, wearing a mask, goggles and a helmet, and bracing for law enforcement officers to charge at her.

“We’re not leaving,” Ms. Foster said in interview on Sunday.

While President Trump on Sunday described the unrest in Portland as a national threat involving “anarchists and agitators,” the protests have featured a wide array of demonstrators, many now galvanized by federal officers exemplifying the militarized enforcement that protesters have long denounced. Gatherings over the weekend grew to upward of 1,000 people, some of the largest crowds in weeks.

Some protesters have exhibited the lawless behavior that federal officials have cited to justify their crackdown: Some have thrown cans and bottles, shot fireworks or pointed lasers at officers. One was recently accused of hitting a federal officer with a hammer. On Saturday, protesters set a fire in the police union headquarters.

But others have demonstrated in the streets through peaceful means, appalled by the aggressive responses by federal officers that have left some protesters injured and the air inflamed with tear gas. They have held signs and marched. At times when people have thrown bottles, other demonstrators have rushed to try to stop them. On Saturday, a group of women locked arms and chanted: “Feds stay clear. Moms are here.”

Attending a protest for the first time over the weekend was Christopher David, a Navy veteran and a 1988 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy. He said that, as a Navy veteran, he felt the need to confront the federal officers to ask, Why were they violating their oath to the Constitution?

But as Mr. David went to do just that late Saturday, he didn’t get a conversation. Instead, as Mr. David stood still, according to video of the encounter, a federal officer dressed in camouflage fatigues began hitting him with his baton before another doused him in pepper spray.

Mr. David said in an interview on Sunday that he needed to have surgery on his hand.

Luis Enrique Marquez, a self-described anti-fascist who has been a fixture at protests in Portland for years, said the purpose of the federal officers’ arrival had appeared to be to scare the protesters. But he said the officers had instead galvanized them by displaying the types of actions that have concerned protesters for years.

“With every act of violence they commit, our numbers seem to grow, people seem to get more angry,” Mr. Marquez said.

Demonstrators in Portland, including some who identify as antifa, the loose coalition of self-described anti-fascist activists, have had years of conflict with law enforcement. But after the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis set off a nationwide movement for racial justice and police accountability, the protest in Portland drew thousands to the streets.

That created powerful scenes including images of protesters blanketing the Burnside Bridge, each lying face down on the pavement for eight minutes and 46 seconds in remembrance of Mr. Floyd.

While those initial mass crowds have waned, hundreds of protesters have continued on with near-nightly confrontations with law enforcement.

Unlike demonstrators in Seattle at the Capitol Hill Organized Protest, or CHOP, in which they established a permanent location that created tensions over how the police should handle unrest inside the area, protesters in Portland have brought the same feel of communal support throughout the downtown area. Volunteers wearing red crosses hand out ear plugs, eye wash and hand sanitizer. A mobile snack van provides Gatorade and food.

Jeremy Vajko, who operates the snack van, said he initially operated in the CHOP zone in Seattle and then came to Portland to support the people on the streets.

“I noticed there was problems with nutrition,” he said. “People are sleep deprived.”

During the daytime, the protests can draw families, businesspeople and political leaders such as Jo Ann Hardesty, a city commissioner. At night, the crowd is made up mostly of young people. Dozens of protesters at the front carry homemade shields made out of materials such as 55-gallon drums. Others stand farther back, shining lasers or gathering materials for building barricades.

But protesters’ tactics have strained the city. Business owners, already struggling because of the coronavirus pandemic, have cited the protests as a reason residents have been staying away from downtown. Some leaders in the Black community have also questioned the tactics, suggesting that some demonstrators have seized the moment in the aftermath of Mr. Floyd’s killing to advance their own causes.

Last month, officers from the Portland Police Bureau repeatedly fired tear gas and made arrests of protesters, who have variously called for the abolishment or defunding of the bureau, and for more accountability for law enforcement officers. The city’s officers now operate with new limits on the use of tear gas after a judge ordered it to only be used if it’s needed to keep people safe.

Protesters have focused much of their attention on Mayor Ted Wheeler, who also serves as police commissioner. Crowds have at times gathered late at night outside Mr. Wheeler’s condo building, shining lights and chanting about the perceived failures of his administration.

For weeks, Mr. Wheeler has called for an end to destructive demonstrations, saying he is concerned about “groups who continue to perpetrate violence and vandalism on our streets.” But as federal agencies have moved in to play a role in combating the unrest, Mr. Wheeler has said he told the federal officials to stay away.

City police leaders have said they are not coordinating with federal agencies on the protests. But at one point early Saturday morning, a line of federal officers was moving up one street while a line of local police officers was moving up another, both advancing to keep protesters on the move. It was unclear what level of coordination was involved in that effort.

Mr. Trump said in a Twitter post on Sunday that federal officials were “trying to help Portland, not hurt it.” Mr. Trump, who has said states need to “dominate” protesters, said Portland officials had lost control.

“They are missing in action,” Mr. Trump wrote. “We must protect Federal property, AND OUR PEOPLE.”

Local leaders have grown increasingly vocal in opposition to the federal presence after one protester appeared to have been shot in the head with what was described as a less-lethal munition, severely injuring him in a bloody scene that was captured on video. Federal officers have operated from unmarked vans, at times seizing protesters and pulling them into the vehicles.

Joel B. Barker, who runs a marketing agency, said that he had frequently participated in protests during the day near the Justice Center, which includes the county jail, and that he usually left before 9 p.m. at the latest. He said that the protests drew a diverse crowd, reflecting a range of racial backgrounds, age and socioeconomic statuses, and that there was a sense of unity.

He lives about a mile away, and the demonstrations have not had any repercussions close to his home. The demonstrators, he said, were largely peaceful and not there to foment disorder.

Mr. Barker said he felt rage that the city was being used for what he believed was a ploy for the president in an election year.

“It’s really terrible,” he added, “and I want America to understand how terrible it is to feel like a city you love is being occupied by your own federal government, because that’s how it feels.”

Oregon’s attorney general, Ellen Rosenblum, has filed a lawsuit seeking to halt some of the detainment tactics used by federal officers. Her office has also opened a criminal investigation into the case of the protester who sustained a head injury.

Lisa Reynolds, a pediatrician who is running as a Democrat for a seat in the Oregon House of Representatives, said she had tried to keep her distance from the protests, largely because of the coronavirus crisis. But on Sunday, she said, she was going to be fitted for a respirator so she would be safer at protests where tear gas is used.

“I think my fear kept me away,” she said. “I think this is a step where I need to put myself out there a little more.”

Sergio Olmos reported from Portland, Rick Rojas from Atlanta and Mike Baker from Seattle. John Ismay contributed reporting from Arlington, Va.

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, September 22, 2021

Trudeau’s Liberals win Canada election, but miss majority (AP) Canadians gave Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Liberal Party a victory in Monday’s parliamentary elections, but his gamble to win a majority of seats failed and nearly mirrored the result of two years ago. Trudeau’s Liberals were leading or elected in 156 seats—one less than they won 2019, and 14 short of the 170 needed for a majority in the House of Commons. The Conservatives were leading or elected in 121 seats, the same number they won in 2019. The leftist New Democrats were leading or elected in 27, a gain of three seats, while the Quebec-based Bloc Québécois remained unchanged with 32 seats and the Greens were down to two. “Trudeau lost his gamble to get a majority so I would say this is a bittersweet victory for him,” said Daniel Béland, a political science professor at McGill University in Montreal. “Basically we are back to square one, as the new minority parliament will look like the previous one. Trudeau and the Liberals saved their skin and will stay in power, but many Canadians who didn’t want this late summer, pandemic election are probably not amused about the whole situation,” he said.

COVID has killed about as many Americans as the 1918-19 flu (AP) COVID-19 has now killed about as many Americans as the 1918-19 Spanish flu pandemic did—approximately 675,000. And like the worldwide scourge of a century ago, the coronavirus may never entirely disappear from our midst. Instead, scientists hope the virus that causes COVID-19 becomes a mild seasonal bug as human immunity strengthens through vaccination and repeated infection. That would take time. “We hope it will be like getting a cold, but there’s no guarantee,” said Emory University biologist Rustom Antia, who suggests an optimistic scenario in which this could happen over a few years. For now, the pandemic still has the United States and other parts of the world firmly in its jaws.

Why Louisiana’s Electric Grid Failed in Hurricane Ida (NYT) Just weeks before Hurricane Ida knocked out power to much of Louisiana, leaving its residents exposed to extreme heat and humidity, the chief executive of Entergy, the state’s biggest utility company, told Wall Street that it had been upgrading power lines and equipment to withstand big storms. That statement would soon be tested. On the last Sunday in August, Hurricane Ida made landfall in Louisiana and dealt a catastrophic blow to Entergy’s power lines, towers and poles, many of which were built decades ago to withstand much weaker hurricanes. The storm damaged eight high-voltage transmission lines that supply power to New Orleans along with scores of the company’s towers throughout the state. Hundreds of thousands of homes and businesses were without power for days. Ida damaged or destroyed 31,000 poles that carry lower-voltage distribution lines in neighborhoods, nearly twice as many as Hurricane Katrina, according to Entergy. Lawmakers and regulators require utilities to ensure safe, reliable service at an affordable cost. The grid failure after Ida is the latest display of how power companies are struggling to fulfill those obligations as climate change increases the frequency and severity of extreme weather. In California, electricity providers have been forced to shut off power to tens of thousands of customers in recent years to prevent their equipment from setting off wildfires and to reduce energy demand during heat waves. In February, the grid in most of Texas failed during a winter storm, leaving millions of people without power and heat for days.

White House faces bipartisan backlash on Haitian migrants (AP) The White House is facing sharp condemnation from Democrats for its handling of the influx of Haitian migrants at the U.S. southern border, after images of U.S. Border Patrol agents on horseback using aggressive tactics went viral this week. Striking video of agents maneuvering their horses to forcibly block and move migrants attempting to cross the border has sparked resounding criticism from Democrats on Capitol Hill, who are calling on the Biden administration to end its use of a pandemic-era authority to deport migrants without giving them an opportunity to seek asylum in the United States. At the same time, the administration continues to face attacks from Republicans, who say Biden isn’t doing enough to deal with what they call a “crisis” at the border. Immigration is a complex issue, one no administration has been able to fix in decades. And Biden is trapped between conflicting interests of broadcasting compassion while dealing with throngs of migrants coming to the country—illegally—seeking a better life.

Haitian journey to Texas border starts in South America (AP) Robins Exile downed a traditional meal of plantains and chicken at a restaurant run by Haitian immigrants, just a short walk from the walled border with the United States. He arrived the night before and went there seeking advice: Should he try to get to the U.S., or was it better to settle in Mexico? Discussion Monday at the Tijuana restaurant offered a snapshot of Haitians’ diaspora in the Western Hemisphere that picked up steam in 2016 and has shown little sign of easing, demonstrated most recently by the more than 14,000 mostly Haitian migrants assembled around a bridge in Del Rio, a town of only 35,000 people. Of the roughly 1.8 million Haitians living outside their homeland, the United States is home to the largest Haitian immigrant population in the world, numbering 705,000 people from the Western Hemisphere’s poorest country. Significant numbers also live in Latin American countries like Chile, which is home to an estimated 69,000 Haitians. Nearly all Haitians reach the U.S. border on a well-worn route: Fly to Brazil, Chile or elsewhere in South America. If jobs dry up, slowly move through Central America and Mexico by bus and on foot to wait—perhaps years—in northern border cities like Tijuana for the right time to enter the United States and claim asylum.

‘We were them:’ Vietnamese Americans help Afghan refugees (AP) In the faces of Afghans desperate to leave their country after U.S. forces withdrew, Thuy Do sees her own family, decades earlier and thousands of miles away. A 39-year-old doctor in Seattle, Washington, Do remembers hearing how her parents sought to leave Saigon after Vietnam fell to communist rule in 1975 and the American military airlifted out allies in the final hours. It took years for her family to finally get out of the country, after several failed attempts, and make their way to the United States, carrying two sets of clothes a piece and a combined $300. When they finally arrived, she was 9 years old. These stories and early memories drove Do and her husband Jesse Robbins to reach out to assist Afghans fleeing their country now. The couple has a vacant rental home and decided to offer it up to refugee resettlement groups, which furnished it for newly arriving Afghans in need of a place to stay. “We were them 40 years ago,” Do said. “With the fall of Saigon in 1975, this was us.” The crisis in Afghanistan has spurred many Vietnamese Americans to donate money to refugee resettlement groups and raise their hands to help by providing housing, furniture and legal assistance to newly arriving Afghans.

‘Crisis of trust’: France bristles at US submarine deal (AP) France’s top diplomat declared Monday that there is a “crisis of trust” in the United States after a Pacific defense deal stung France and left Europe wondering about its longtime ally across the Atlantic. France canceled meetings with British and Australian officials and worked to rally EU allies behind its push for more European sovereignty after being humiliated by a major Pacific defense pact orchestrated by the U.S. Speaking to reporters in New York, French Foreign Minister Jean-Yves Le Drian said European countries won’t let Washington leave them behind when shaping its foreign policy. Le Drian reiterated complaints that his country was sandbagged by the submarine deal between the U.S., Britain and Australia, which led to France losing a contract to sell subs to Australia. Washington, London and Canberra say the deal bolsters their commitment to the Indo-Pacific region, and it has widely been seen as an effort to counter an increasingly assertive China. But Le Drian, who is in New York to represent France at the U.N. General Assembly, said it was a “brutal, unexpected and unexplained breach” of a contract—and a relationship.

Pedestrians take to the streets of Paris to celebrate the city’s seventh annual ‘day without cars’ (Business Insider) On Sunday, Paris turned over its streets to pedestrians so that citizens and visitors could enjoy its seventh annual “day without cars.” Announced by socialist mayor Anne Hidalgo in 2015, the city received enthusiastic support from both ordinary Parisians and unlikely parties including the head of a French drivers’ association, USA Today reported. From 11 a.m. to 6 p.m., cars, motorcycles, and scooters are banned throughout Paris, and any offenders face a fine of 135 euros, according to the Paris Without A Car website. Certain vehicles like buses, emergency vehicles, taxis, and private drivers are allowed to circulate, although their speed is limited to 20-30 kilometers per hour (12-19 miles per hour) in certain areas. Events at this year’s “day without cars” included a techno parade, picnic, bicycle fair, rollerblading marathon, and street art exhibitions, according to the event website.

More evacuations as lava gushes from Canaries volcano (Reuters) Lava gushing from the Canary Islands’ first volcanic eruption on land in 50 years has forced authorities to evacuate another part of El Paso municipality on the island of La Palma and to urge sightseers attracted by the phenomenon to stay away. About 6,000 of the 80,000 people living on the island have been forced to leave their homes to escape the eruption so far, TVE said. The volcano started erupting on Sunday after La Palma, the most northwestern island in the Canaries archipelago, had been rocked by thousands of quakes in the prior days. It has shot lava hundreds of metres into the air, engulfed forests and sent molten rock towards the ocean over a sparsely populated area of La Palma. Experts say that if and when the lava reaches the sea, it could trigger more explosions and clouds of toxic gases.

Magnitude 6.0 earthquake strikes near Melbourne (Reuters) An earthquake with a 6.0 magnitude struck near Melbourne in Australia on Wednesday, Geoscience Australia said, causing damage to buildings in the country’s second largest city and sending tremors throughout neighbouring states. The quake’s epicentre was near the rural town of Mansfield in the state of Victoria, about 200 km (124 miles) northeast of Melbourne, and was at a depth of 10 km (six miles). The quake was felt as far away as city of Adelaide, 800 km (500 miles) to the west in the state of South Australia, and Sydney, 900 km (600 miles) to the north in New South Wales state, although there were no reports of damage outside Melbourne and no reports of injuries.

‘An iron curtain’: Australia’s covid rules are stranding people at state borders (Washington Post) The four figures huddled in the shade on the side of the highway, eight miles from a border they had hardly noticed until it slammed shut behind them. As flies buzzed and crows circled and their supplies ran low, they waited for emails that would allow them to leave New South Wales and return to their home state of South Australia. Teresa Young and her husband had been stuck at the rest stop—little more than a toilet in the middle of the Outback—for 10 days. “All of a sudden, Australia has been cut up like pieces of a cake,” the 75-year-old said on a recent day. Welcome to covid-era Australia, where state border closures designed to keep the coronavirus from spreading have turned retired office workers into roadside nomads. When the pandemic began, many Australians found that the leaders of the country’s six states and two territories, rather than the federal government, suddenly controlled the most vital things in people’s lives, including who could go to work and where they could travel. The closures have upended domestic travel and stranded scores of Australians internally, even as a vaccination ramp-up means some states—and international airports—will soon open up. People in Sydney could find it easier to fly to Singapore or Los Angeles than to Adelaide.

Sudan’s coup attempt (Foreign Policy) Sudanese state media reported a “failed coup attempt” early Tuesday morning. The coup reportedly involved an attempt to take control of the state radio services. If confirmed, the attempted power grab would be the fourth putsch attempt the African continent has seen this year, following military takeovers in Guinea and Chad and an unsuccessful coup in Niger.

[baby-impalas]

who you are

pairing: richie tozier x reader

warnings: angst, swearing, sexual references, crying (should that be a warning? idk but i’m putting it here just in case), self-loathing, unedited

word count: 2160

sorry this ending is kinda shitty I didn’t really know how to end it :(

normally, you loved any opportunity to spend time with your boyfriend. he was your safe place, the one person you could be 100% yourself around. although he was hyper-active and constantly making sexual jokes, he accepted you for who you were — even loved you for it. and you loved him for who he was completely.

but sometimes he pissed you off.

like last week — you had all been hanging out at bill’s house, not really doing anything in particular. conversation steered in the direction of school, then people at your school.

eddie brought up how a girl named jess garcia was said to have given the star quarterback a bj under the bleachers after practice. bill said he heard she’d gotten an std from him.

to which richie said, “that’s what she gets for being a slut.”

you’d gotten used to richie’s off-color humor over the years, but this crossed the line from joking into just being an asshole. you’d scolded him for it immediately, telling him how it was a shitty thing to say. 

“it’s not like she’s gonna know what i said,” richie said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“that’s not the point. it’s the principle of the thing.” 

“what thing?” 

“respecting women.” 

“are you joking? i respect women. i respect you, don’t i?” 

“and not being a dick.” 

at that point the room had grown quiet save for your arguing. ben and bev’s separate conversation in the corner had ceased as the tension grew thicker and your voices grew tighter. 

richie’s eyes tightened, then, and he gave you a sarcastic smile. 

“you think i’m a dick?” 

“rich-” 

“no, say it. i want to hear you say that because i made one joke you didn’t like, you now think i’m a dick and you can never look at me the same.” 

until then you’d forgotten about everyone else. they were all staring between the two of you, none of them daring to intervene. 

you dragged richie outside, not wanting to make anyone anymore uncomfortable than they already were. he stomped up the stairs behind you, being the drama queen you knew he was. 

“what the fuck?” you said once you’d gotten on bill’s porch. 

“answer my question,” richie said. his voice was stiff, almost cold. goosebumps erupted on your arms, which you crossed over your chest. 

“what question?” 

“do i respect you?” 

honestly, he really did respect you. he never spoke over you, never pushed you into doing anything you didn’t wanna do. he’d even stood up for you and bev once right to henry bowers’ face. 

henry had said you two had come over during the weekend and given him a bj together. 

“we all know it’s your dad you’re talking about,” richie had said. “you’re not fooling anyone.” 

he got a black eye. you’d tended to it for him, holding ice to his face. when you asked why he’d done it, he said it made his blood boil to hear bowers talk so crudely about you two, said it killed him inside. 

which was why you were having such a hard time processing this argument. 

“yes, richie. you respect me a lot,” you said, leaning back against the wall of the house. 

“so what’s the problem?” 

you raised your eyebrows, to which richie gestured with his hands in a “what?” motion. he was starting to get real angry, you could tell by the growing blush on his cheeks and his locked jaw. his eyes were staring daggers at you and it made your blood run cold - you weren’t used to him looking at you like that, like you annoyed him. 

suddenly you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. 

“the problem is that you made a lewd comment about a girl’s sex life, which you have no business judging, for the sole purpose of-” 

“being a dick?” he finished for you in a haughty voice, a smug smirk playing at his lips. though there was a fault in his snarky demeanor; an air of sorrow behind his cocky appearance.

it went silent for a minute. richie sighed, pressing his back against the porch lining. the air around you settled down, both of you processing your anger. 

“what the hell’s wrong with you?” you asked, your voice tired. you were past yelling, and just wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on with your boyfriend. 

richie looked up at you, his hands in his pants pockets. he almost looked apologetic. his shoulders were sagging and his face had a shadow of guilt that was barely noticeable. you ached to hold him. to run your hands through his hair and tell him that everything would be okay, that you would get through this.

but you were still angry.

you could barely see from where you were standing, but richie’s eyes were filling with tears, a couple spilling over that he paid no attention to. and your restraint snapped. you walked over to richie, and took his hands in your own.

“rich,” you said in a calming voice. he wouldn’t look at you. “talk to me.”

his foot scuffed against the ground. you waited patiently for him to speak, and noticed his face begin to soften.

though instead of opening up, he dropped your hands.

“just leave me alone,” he said.

richie glared at you harder than he had all night, then walked off the porch to his truck, leaving you dumbfounded and heartbroken.

you didn’t realize how long you’d been standing out there by yourself until mike came out to check on you.

he asked if you were alright. you turned to him and shook your head, then said, “i think something’s wrong,” and began to cry. mike held you, resting his chin on your head and stroking your back, easing your sobs.

only then in the heat of his arms did you realize how cold it actually was outside. every part of your body was frozen, your hands, your legs, your nose, your feet,

your heart.

+

the more you thought about it, the more you realized how stupid of an argument it was. it was just a stupid joke. did you really wanna lose richie over some stupid joke?

yet at the same time, did you wanna date someone who didn’t share the same morals as you? but everyone has their differences, right? this felt like a pretty important difference.

your head was a mess.

you didn’t see richie for a week. you had no idea where you two stood. you didn’t even try to contact him, wanting to give him his space, though that was the last thing you wanted. he’d pissed you off big time, but you couldn’t get past the feeling there was something under the surface, something else that had made richie act the way he had; an internal conflict he was struggling with. you longed to talk it out with him, help him any way you could.

so, you nearly burst with relief when you got a call from him one friday night a week later.

“hey,” he said.

he sounded tired.

“hi,” you said.

a pause.

“so, i think we should stay friends, for everyone else’s sake—“ richie said.

“what?”

another pause.

“you wanna break up?” you said.

“you don’t?”

“richie can you come over?”

another pause.

“sure.” then he hung up.

fuck. richie wanted to break up?

to the best of your ability, you tried to not think about it while sitting in your kitchen waiting for him to arrive. he did, nearly twenty minutes later.

he looked like shit.

his curly hair was flaccid on his head, and there were purple bags under his eyes. he was wearing a hoodie, for fuck’s sake. richie tozier. in a hoodie. it had to be his father’s.

“richie,” you said, barely holding in a shocked gasp. if this were any other day, you’d tell him that he looked like shit, he’d say ‘you should see the other guy,’ then he’d let you play with his hair while he told you what was wrong. this wasn’t any other day, though.

“hey,” he said with an awkward little wave and a half smile that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

you opened the door all the way and he stepped in, shifting around like he didn’t belong. it was odd and not at all typical richie behavior. he was a king at treating every place he walked into like his own home. he never felt an inability to be himself, that was one of the things you admired about him.

you figured you could either drag out the awkward conversation so it took half an hour to the answers you wanted, or you could get right to the point.

“why would you think i wanna break up?”

“we had a fight,” richie said after a moment with a shrug, his eyes trained on the floor.

“we’ve had fights before. why would this one be any different?”

he thought for a moment, shrugged again.

“i don’t know.”

“please look at me.”

richie paused. finally he met your eyes. you weren’t sure if he’d been crying before, but there were definitely tears in his eyes now.

“rich,” you walked towards him and tried taking his hand in yours, but your boyfriend flinched away. you weren’t gonna give up, though. you wrapped an arm around his waist and cupped his face in your hand, wiping away the tear that rolled down his cheek with your thumb. “talk to me, baby. i’m not mad anymore, okay? i wanna help. even if that just means listening.”

richie looked at you, scanning your face for you didn’t know what.

“why aren’t you mad?” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“what?”

“why aren’t you mad at me anymore? i was an asshole. i made a nasty comment that i shouldn’t have been forgiven for. why do you keep forgiving me? stop forgiving me. you shouldn’t forgive me,” his voice dropped low on the last line.

“why do you think that?” you brushed a rogue strand of hair behind his ear.

richie locked eyes with you, his broken soul brimming on his irises.

“you deserve better,” his voice was cracking at this point as he tried not to cry. you’d never seen him so vulnerable. he’d opened up to you before, sure, but now his pain was right on the surface. “you deserve someone who’s not a dick. someone who doesn’t have to follow every stupid fucking impulse that arises in them. i mean i can’t keep my mouth shut to save a life. half the time i don’t even know what i’m saying! it’s just every thought that pops into my head rolling off my lips at a thousand miles an hour. i’m... explosive. i’ll end up saying something that will really hurt you... and i don’t ever wanna hurt you.”

richie put a hand on your face, stroking his thumb along your jaw.  his eyes were red with tears by now, and it nearly killed you inside to hear him speak so low of himself when he was practically the light of your life. 

“hey,” you spoke gently. “i know you, rich. i know who you are. when I told you I loved you for the first time, and every time after that, I knew who you were. I love you for every flawed and wonderful element that makes up richie tozier.” 

his gaze held restricted adoration; as if he wanted to love you but something was holding him back. and suddenly it hit you. 

“you knew that comment about jess would get under my skin,” you said, carefully watching richie’s face for any reaction. his lip twitched just barely. “you said everything to make me mad so I would break up with you, didn’t you?” 

he didn’t speak, but his face was shadowed with guilt. 

“it’s up to me to decide who and what I deserve. and I know I deserve you, rich. wanna know why? because you’re caring and thoughtful and you want me to be happy. I truly, truly couldn’t ask for anyone better,” richie was crying harder than ever now, though he wasn’t making any noise - just watched you speak and let the tears spill from his lids. “as long as you still want me, we’re staying together. and if you ever have any doubts I will always be here for you. always.” 

it was silent as you wiped richie’s tears, standing on your tippy-toes to kiss his cheeks. he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into him. he was holding onto you for dear life, like you’d run away if he let go. 

you two would be okay. 

it was an unbelievably selfless act to give up someone you loved so deeply because you believed they would find happiness outside of yourself. you truly did love him to the ends of the earth. 

if you have any requests feel free to send them in :) also I promise I will improve as I write more!

[prettyboybarzal]

tattoos together (4) // tyler seguin

pairing: tyler seguin x reader

summary: the end of your trip to dallas brings change to your friendship with tyler... read to find out the rest

(a stars road trip to LA)

word count: 2k+ (she’s a filler chapter, my b)

author’s note: i’m sorry this took forever to get to you guys!!! and im sorry it’s short... longer ones are coming! promise! i will try to get the next chapter up next sunday. please read/reblog/like/comment, xoxo

warnings: i think just alcohol and cursing! the usual, you know. but if there’s anything else please let me know :))

On the morning you left Dallas, Tyler was out of bed first. He made breakfast, Nutella French Toast included, for the two of you and woke you up to join him out back. It was wonderfully warm in Dallas, and you stepped outside still wearing the pajamas you’d been sleeping in. Tyler reclined in his chair and kicked his feet up on the bench you were sitting on as you two ate.

The conversation had over breakfast was easy, even though you were both thinking about the kiss. Truth be told, you were reeling from it because it made you feel conflicted. And Tyler was reeling from it because he was sure you were the one and the night before had just added fuel to the fire.

When you finished breakfast, you told Tyler not to worry about the dishes and gathered them all on your own to clean up. He watched you walk off to the house with plates in hand until you disappeared beyond the door.

He waited a few more minutes, letting the morning sun wake him up a bit more before joining you in the kitchen.

Tyler stepped up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Despite yourself, you melted into his embrace and felt your heart beat a bit faster when his lips touched the shell of your ear. He placed a kiss there, then stepped away, his hands lingering on your hips as he moved to the side.

“We should talk,” you blurted out. Tyler raised an eyebrow. “About last night.”

“Uh oh.”

“I don’t know,” you murmured. You started scrubbing Nutella off one of the plates, then dropped the sponge and looked up at him. “I’m just a little rattled.”

“Why?”

“Because I liked it,” you admitted. A smirk appeared on Tyler’s lips. “But, God, it can’t happen again.”

The corners of Tyler’s lips turned down and his eyebrows pulled together. He shook his head and asked, “Why not?”

You started storing the plates in his drying rack and then looked up at him. You leaned your elbows on the counter and dropped your head in your hands, which were wet with dish soap and water.

“I can’t date you from California when you’re all the way here in Texas,” you stated. Your eyes remained on the countertop, feeling too upset to look him in the eyes. “I just can’t do it.”

“Loads of people pull that off.”

“But, I don’t want to do that with you,” you told him. You looked up at him again. He was leaning his hip against the counter on the other side of the sink, waiting for more of an explanation from you. “I don’t want us to try this when we’re thousands of miles away from each other because it would tear me in half if it didn’t work out. If we’re going to do it, I wanna do it right. I want us to be together.”

“What if that time never comes?” he asked. “What if this is the chance?”

“It’s not.”

“How can you say that so confidently, YN?” You had no answer to that question. Tyler huffed, tossing his arms up in the arm in frustration. “I have been waiting for this day, for this chance, since 2013. I don’t want to just let it slip away. Last time I did you ended up dating douchebags for three years.”

“I don’t trust the timing.”

Tyler stood, staring at you, for a minute longer and then shook his head. He dropped his mug into the sink with a shake of his head and exited the kitchen. Calling over his shoulder, he stated, “We’ll leave for the airport in an hour.”

You didn’t speak to him for the entire 60 minutes. Instead, you spent most of the time crying in the guestroom. When the time finally came for you to leave with him for the airport, you kissed the dogs goodbye and gave his house one last look.

You had a feeling this could be the last time you saw them, or ever stepped foot in his home.

At the airport, Tyler grabbed your bags from the trunk of his car and placed them beside it as you situated yourself. When you finally looked up, he wasn’t even looking at you. It’s like he couldn’t find it in himself to meet your eyes. That’s when you realized how much you hurt him.

“Ty…”

“YN, I don’t want the pity,” he said. His eyes finally met yours. They were dark and angry. “Thank you for coming, but I think it’s best if we just put this on the back burner for a while.”

“What?”

“I can’t be your friend, YN,” he stated. “Not right now.” You couldn’t find the words to protest. “I need to figure my shit out without thinking about you all the time.”

“Okay,” you whispered. Tears were welling up in your eyes, but you tried to blink them away. How had this situation become such a colossal fuck up?

“Have a safe flight,” Tyler said. He leaned in and wrapped one arm over your shoulder to hug you. “Good luck with the move.”

That day still feels like it was yesterday, despite all the months that had passed since then. The sadness was still there. It had become imbedded in you like a personality trait. 

The first month in California was as shitty as it felt when Tyler said goodbye to you. You went to work, came home, and went to bed. Your roommate, Delia, was insightful and understood that something had happened and you didn’t want to talk about. So, she left you alone until you decided you needed her.

“We hardly know each other,” she said. “But I can tell you’re sad. I’m here to talk about it, whatever it may be, whenever you want.”

“Thanks, Delia,” you responded.

You were pretty sure you’d never talk to her about anything serious.

Boy, were you wrong.

It wasn’t until you were out at a bar in October that everything came to a head. A Dallas Stars game was on the television and it seemed like every time you looked up, Tyler was on the screen. That’s when it occurred to you that you were looking at a stranger, not someone you used to spend every day talking to, not someone you had matching tattoos with.

Delia caught the tears welling up in your eyes and grabbed your hand to pull you away from the group you were with. She sat you down in a booth on the other end of the bar and pulled you into her arms.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes.”

“Should we go home?”

You nodded, not trusting your words to come out coherently.

Back in your apartment, you told Delia everything from the moment you first met to the last goodbye. She watched in amazement, eyes wide and soft at the memories you shared with him. At the end of your story, she sighed.

“The hopeless romantic in me wishes that you just lived happily ever after,” Delia admitted. “But the supportive roomie and friend in me is happy you didn’t base all your decisions on a guy.”

“I loved him,” you murmured. “I still do.”

You spent so much time wondering if it was a mistake not try the long-distance thing with him. But, eventually, you decided it was time to stop dwelling on it, and that’s when he popped up again.

Tyler wasn’t going to call you, despite every part of his being begging him to give in. It felt wrong to be in your city before a game and not get food, or even see each other. Not reaching out to you felt like the official end to your friendship.

He didn’t say anything about it to anyone, not even Jamie, but the guys knew he was thinking about you. This season was the first one that Tyler seemed indifferent about almost everything.

Going out for drinks after a big win? He was there for twenty minutes, then gone.

Double date with Jamie and his new girlfriend? He’d grab dinner, but leave before drinks.

Day off? He wasn’t hanging out with the guys. Instead, Tyler was in his backyard with the dogs.

The pilot’s voice filled the plane, “Welcome to LA!”

Jamie took an uneasy glance at Tyler to find him staring at the palm trees out the window of the plane. He reached over and nudged him with his elbow.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you going to call her?” Jamie asks. Tyler’s face remained stoic, but the flare of his nostrils indicated something beneath the surface. Jamie continued, “Well, I was going to call her.”

“Why?”

“Because she was my friend, still is,” Jamie states. He stands up as the other boys start exiting the plane. “I think you should call her. I can tell that you’ve been thinking about her since we got on the plane. Besides, I’m superstitious and we always used to get food with her before games in her city.”

The entire way to the hotel, Tyler stared at his phone. He swiped through your Instagram and then stared at the last conversation you had until, finally, he pressed the call button.

The phone rang three times.

You couldn’t trust your eyes when you saw Tyler’s name and picture flash across your phone screen, so you had to have your roommate look too.

“I’m not seeing things, right?”

She stares at the name a moment and then meets your eyes over the screen to confirm, “Definitely not seeing things.”

You stared a little longer. Two rings, three.

“Fucking pick up!” Delia shouted. She stood up and left the room, as if giving you privacy for whatever conversation was to come. You pressed ‘accept’ and brought the phone to your ear.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Tyler sounded a little out of breath. There was a beat of silence and then he said, “I just landed in LA. We have a game tomorrow afternoon against the Kings.”

“I know.”

“Send me your address.”

You felt your heart thump in your chest once, twice. Swallowing, you asked, “What?”

“Your apartment’s address,” he clarified. “I want to see it.”

“Tyler.”

You could hear the eye roll in his voice as he grunted, “Just drop your location to my phone, YN.”

The line went dead.

You dropped your location to him and Tyler liked the message a second later. The exchange sent you into a panicked frenzy around the apartment. Throw blankets were folded up and spread over the back of the couch, or placed in the wicker basket beneath the table. The dishes were cleaned, dried, and put away. You made your bed, for whatever reason.

All of this happened while Delia watched in amusement until, finally, everything seemed to be picked up and put away, and you collapsed on the couch beside her.

“You okay now?”

“No.”

No amount of time could have prepared you for the knock at the door when the boys finally did show up. It was loud and aggressive, and you both jumped at the sound. You sat up and glanced over at Delia. She shook her head, started to stand so she could retreat to her room, and said, “Go get it.”

When you pulled the door open, it wasn’t Tyler on the other side but Jamie.

“Hey, lady,” he greeted you. Tyler was standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest. When you looked over at him, he was looking back at you with dark eyes and a small scowl. Jamie called your attention back to him. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you answered. “Happy to see you.”

You stepped aside, motioning for them to enter the apartment as well. They slipped in and Jamie made himself right at home, kicking his sneakers off beside the door. Tyler, however, stood in the foyer with his hands in his jean pockets.

“Nice place,” Tyler said. His eyes hadn’t met yours since you opened the door. The two of them gazed around the living room. Jamie had even ventured further into the apartment to look out at the view. Tyler stayed where he was.

“I’m starving,” Jamie announced. “You have any good places around here?”

Twenty minutes later, you were squeezed beside Tyler in a booth and Jamie was beaming back at the two of you like nothing was wrong. The boys ordered more food than your stomach could handle, but you knew that they’d handle it on their own.

While you waited for food, conversation didn’t start up. Jamie wanted one of you to figure it out. But, nothing fell from either of your lips, so Jamie began.

“YN, tell us about the job.”

You spent the next fifteen minutes talking about work. Tyler watched you as you spoke, eyes lingering on your lips a little too long for his liking. He liked listening to you talk about what you were doing because you sounded so passionate. He was glad the job had worked out for you, but he was upset that he had missed out on all these milestones.

As dinner continued, you all shared stories about the past few months and Jamie felt satisfied when the conversation seemed to shift. Eventually, Jamie stayed silent as you and Tyler carried the conversation by yourselves, giggling and teasing each other the entire time.

It felt like old times.

And then it didn’t.

“Hold that thought,” Tyler blurted out as his phone screen lights up. He slid out of the booth and stepped away, pressing the phone to his ear with a smile. You watched him walk out of the restaurant.

When you turned back to Jamie, he was looking at you.

“It’s Maisy,” he stated. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Some girl he’s seeing.”

“Ah.”

Jamie watched you turn back to the door to see if Tyler was coming back in.

“It might be a while,” he explained. “They’re in the honeymoon phase.”

“Pretty serious then?”

“I think it could be,” Jamie answered. The phrase held the underlying message of ‘it could be serious, if you don’t make a move’. “He went off the deep end this summer.”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“You should know,” Jamie urged. “He hasn’t been himself since that day. I’m sure you haven’t either, but I’ve seen him first hand. I was nervous there would be no turn around for him, then he met Maisy and it sort of lifted his spirits.”

“I’m happy for him.”

“No, you’re not,” Jamie murmured. “You feel obligated to say that, I know, but you aren’t happy for him. And that’s okay.”

He was right. You were just happy he was in a good place, not that he’d found someone else. Selfishly, you didn’t want him to find someone else. But that wasn’t fair.

Before you could say anything more, Tyler came back into the restaurant. His cheeks were rosy, his smile was unwavering, and he had a swagger in his step. Tyler was far gone, you’d missed your shot.

After dinner, the boys came back to the apartment to say their goodbyes. Jamie’s was short and quick, complete with a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead. Tyler, on the other hand, took his sweet time. 

“I’ll meet you outside,” he said to Jamie, but his teammate was already on his way out the door. It shut behind him and left the two of you staring at each other in silence.

You both spoke at once.

“I miss you.”

“Why haven’t you called me?”

There was silence again before Tyler ran a hand over his face and muttered, “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry for what happened in Dallas,” you told him. “I’m really sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” he responded. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was projecting this crush I had onto you and that just wasn’t right. You were drunk. I was drunk.”

“But I shouldn’t have let it get as far as it did.”

He repeated, “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“We can play the blame game all day,” you said. Tyler nodded. “I just want my best friend back without all the complications we created.”

“Me too,” he admitted. “I tried to forget about how stupid that night was and the fight we had the next day, and I actually kinda did, but the closer we got to this game, the more I thought about it.”

“I think about it every day, I’m pretty sure,” you stated. He frowned. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Ty. Losing you was losing a part of myself.”

His face softened at this expression.

“I don’t want us to be strangers anymore,” he said as he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” he said. Your eyes met again, both a little shocked at the words. “I always have, always will.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered. He smiled softly before stepping towards the door. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Definitely,” he responded. “We’re back to regularly scheduled programming, alright? I’m going to annoy the shit out of you now more than ever. I have a lot of time to make up for.”

[douglashonorscollege]

Protecting the Diversity of Hawaiian through Monk Seal Conservation

research paper by Kimberly Barnett  ⌂

On July 19, 2019, at Paradise Cove on the Island of Oʻahu in the state of Hawaiʻi, Nanea, a Hawaiian monk seal was born. Nanea was monitored during her first six-weeks of life by Hawaiʻi Marine Animal Response (HMAR) and NOAA Fisheries to make sure she stayed healthy and matured properly while nursing. After this six-week period, HMAR’s main concern for Nanea was letting her have the opportunity to interact with other monk seals during this essential time in her development. After much consideration, HMAR and NOAA Fisheries decided to relocate her to the North Shore of  Oʻahu so she could grow up with other wild monk seals—with less human disturbance. Nanea’s relocation went smoothly, as NOAA fisheries had no concerns about her behavior or overall health. HMAR and NOAA Fisheries continued to closely monitor her for the next four weeks to make sure she adjusted to her new environment. She was doing amazing. Nanea was seen frequently socializing and playing with other seals, which proved her relocation was incredibly successful as she remained healthy.(Fisheries)

However, after two months of life, all hopes for Nanea’s future were shattered. On

September 24, 2019, Nanea was discovered dead on the North Shore of Oʻahu. HMAR and NOAA Fisheries “determined that the circumstances surrounding her death indicated that she did not die of natural causes.”(Fisheries) Since the overall population of Hawaiian monk seals in the main

Hawaiian Islands is only around 300 total, the news of Nanea’s death was heartbreaking.(Fisheries) Hawaiian monk seals, also known as Monachus schauinslandi​​, are the only marine mammal found solely in United States waters. This, along with being one of the two mammals native to the Hawaiian Islands, makes the Hawaiian monk seal an interesting and important animal to protect. Although Hawaiian monk seals were declared endangered in 1976, according to NOAA fisheries the Hawaiian monk seal population grew by “three percent each year between 2014 and 2016”.(Brown) This shows that with enough care and consideration, humans can help protect and promote the increase of the Hawaiian monk seal population. Supporting the population growth of these marine mammals can be maximized by continuing to ensure they have safe places to breed and reproduce in the Hawaiian Archipelago, as well as focusing on preventing human-caused deaths of Hawaiian monk seals. Minimizing all sources of monk seal mortality will help to create more favorable conditions for this species to thrive.  

To know how to best protect Hawaiian monk seals, it is important to first understand the anatomical features of these animals. Hawaiian monk seals grow to be about six to seven feet long and weigh between four- and six-hundred pounds, with female seals tending to be larger than males. Hawaiian monk seals can live for more than thirty years in the wild, but few live that long due to the wide variety of threats they face every day. These animals enjoy warm subtropical waters and, surprisingly, spend two thirds of their life out at sea as they can be found “throughout the entire Hawaiian archipelago a distance of 1,549 miles from Kure Atoll in the northwest to Hawai’i Island in the southeast.”(Fisheries)

Furthermore, Hawaiian monk seals have a very distinctive look: when seal pups are born, they are black, “while weaned pups and older seals are dark gray to brown on their back and light gray to yellowish brown on their belly.”(Fisheries) Hawaiian monk seals also have funny-looking folds of skin around their neck area. According to National Geographic, the monk seal is named after these folds of skin that resemble a monk's cowl, and also because they are normally seen alone or in small groups.(Brown)These seals go through a "catastrophic molt" about once per year.

During this molt, they shed the top layer of their skin and fur. Even with these yearly molts, Hawaiian monk seals still have distinct natural markings, such as scars, which help researchers identify them. In addition to natural markings, NOAA Fisheries personnel apply tracking tags to monk seals’ rear flippers. The combination of natural markings and tracking tags allows for long-term monitoring of individual monk seals.

Despite the fact that little is known about the ancient history of Hawaiian monk seals, according to Culture, Conservation, and Conflict: Assessing the Human Dimensions of Hawaiian​ Monk Seal Recovery​, the Hawaiian monk seal is estimated to have occupied  the Hawaiian Archipelago for fourteen million years. This has given this species time to adapt to all of the geological changes the Hawaiian Archipelago has undergone. Humans, on the other hand, have been estimated to have inhabited Hawaii since 1250-1290 AD. This makes humans relatively new additions to the islands when compared to Hawaiian monk seals. The oldest information on Hawaiian monk seals dates back to the prehistoric period, but relatively little is known about the importance of these animals at this time. Based on examinations of archaeological deposits, it is believed that ancient Polynesian societies, which inhabited Hawaii during the prehistoric period, did consume Hawaiian monk seals in small amounts. This suggests that although this species is believed to have an unknown use, they were still had some use in ancient Polynesian societies.(Fisheries)

In addition to calling Hawaii home for an estimated fourteen million years, the Hawaiian monk seal has had an interesting role in Hawaiian culture. Ancient Hawaiian societies pass their information down through Mo‘olelo—oral stories told by the Kūpuna—community elders. This has made it difficult for researchers to find an exact use of the Hawaiian monk seal in Hawaiian culture. Researchers have found, however, that there are many terms that are used to describe

Hawaiian monk seals in Hawaiian culture, depending on the geographical location of the society. The first term, ‘īlioholoikauaua, is the most common term for the Hawaiian monk seal and translates as “dog that runs in rough water.”(Watson) The second term, nā mea hulu, meaning “the furry ones,” has also been used when referring to the monk seal species. The last term, ōhūlu, means “a seal hunter” and was used very rarely. The importance of these terms is still being researched, but as of now, the presence of multiple terms to describe this species suggests that the Hawaiian monk seal has had an interesting role in Hawaiian culture.(Watson)

Moreover, as researchers move past studying the prehistoric period, and move into the historic and modern periods, knowledge about Hawaiian monk seals begins to grow. In the early 1800’s, the first whalers began arriving in Hawaii, and by the 1840’s and 50’s, major sealing expeditions had begun in the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands. During these expeditions, thousands of Hawaiian monk seals were killed for their fur and oil. After the sealing voyages of the nineteenth century, only a few Hawaiian monk seals had survived. An example of the depleted population of Hawaiian monk seals can be seen in  the before and after images from the Saginaw, sealing expedition in 1870, around Midway Islands.(McClenchan) The top image in Figure One, although faded, shows the presence of many Hawaiian monk seals on Midway Islands when the sealing expedition began, whereas the bottom image shows the absence of Hawaiian monk seals when the sealing expedition ended.(McClenchan) The sealing voyages of the nineteenth century left the Hawaiian monk seal population throughout the archipelago depleted and with minimal genetic diversity: the species was near extinction.(Watson)

In the decades to come, sealing voyages moved away from Hawaii as the Hawaiian monk seal population was almost completely extinct. By the 1900s, all focus had moved away from Hawaiian monk seals and their population actually began to rise again. In the 1950’s the focus on these animals began to grow, and by 1976 the Hawaiian monk seal was officially declared an endangered species. The declaration of endangerment was a huge step for this species as conservation efforts could  begin.(Lowry) As of now, the Hawaiian monk seal population in the Hawaiian Archipelago is still only around fourteen hundred seals total. This population size makes these seals one of the most endangered species in the world. Although this species is protected under federal law, there are still many threats that impact these seals on a day-to-day basis. For the purposes of this essay, the threats are grouped into two main categories: environmental dangers and human-caused threats.  

The first environmental threat to Hawaiian monk seal populations is disease. These seals lack the antibodies that could protect them from particular diseases resulting in Hawiian monk seals being extremely vulnerable to potential infection. The main diseases that affect these seals are found on the shores of many beaches in Hawaii: leptospirosis, toxoplasmosis, and West Nile virus. According to NOAA Fisheries, “Since 2001, there have been a minimum of eight monk seal deaths from toxoplasmosis in the Hawaiian Islands, with at least three deaths occurring since 2014.”(Fisheries) This number is most likely an underestimate of the real cases of the disease and its effect on the population. The second and third threats go hand-in-hand as they are food limitation and habitat loss.(United States) The Northwestern Hawaiian Islands are greatly impacted by sea level rise, as most of the NWHI are low-lying atolls. These areas happen to be the primary pupping locations for the Hawaiian monk seals, which has had a negative effect on pups, as they have to find other areas to survive. With these pups having to find new places to live, the areas that have food are limited, which in turn has left juvenile seals starving and is the driving factor for population decline in the NWHI.(United States) These components are not the only environmental threats to the Hawaiian monk seal population; they are simply the most relevant and detrimental to the overall population.

In addition to the three environmental threats listed above, this essay will focus on the four main human-caused threats. The first threat is fishery interactions. Since the 1990’s, fishery management has been able to eliminate interactions with monk seals, but due to fishermen and Hawaiian monk seals sharing the same environment, there have been many negative interactions.(Fisheries) According to NOAA Fisheries, “Between 1976 and 2016, there have been 155 documented hookings and entanglements in gill nets, which resulted in 12 monk seal deaths.” This shows that even with fishermen being cautious, Hawaiian monk seals are still going to be affected by fisheries. The second human-caused threat goes along with the first: entanglement. Hawaiian monk seals are greatly affected by marine pollution and have one of the “highest documented entanglement rates of any pinniped species, and pups and juveniles are the most often entangled.”(Fisheries) Since these animals have had such a hard time with marine pollution in the NWHI, NOAA has teamed up with the U.S. Coast Guard to clean over “800 metric tons of debris in the NWHI since 1996….”(Fisheries) Although these centers are trying to prevent seal entanglement, marine pollution is still a growing problem across the Hawaiian Archipelago.  

The last two human-caused threats are the worst, yet also the most preventable. They include human-seal interactions and intentional seal killing by humans. Human-seal interaction includes feeding, disturbing sleeping and resting seals, touching, and even swimming with juvenile seals. Although all of these things are illegal, as these seals are protected under federal law, these threats have become a serious issue across the main Hawaiian island chain.

Along with human interactions is intentional killing of Hawaiian monk seals. This threat to the Hawaiian monk seal is an extreme human impact and although it may be thought of as one of the least common threats, it is sadly not: “As of June 2017, at least four seals have died from apparent gunshots (including one pregnant female) and five from blunt force trauma.”(Fisheries) This indicates that Hawaiian monk seals, while protected by federal law, are somehow not fully protected from human interactions.(United States) 

With all of these threats in mind, it is hard to believe that this species is still surviving. Luckily, since they was declared endangered, plenty of research has gone into protecting the Hawaiian monk seal population. There are four main elements scientists are focusing on to promote the conservation of this species. These elements include improving the survival rate of female monk seals in the NWHI, maintaining extensive field presence during breeding season in the NWHI, ensuring the natural growth of these seals in the main Hawaiian islands by reducing all environmental and human-caused threats, and reducing the probability of new infectious diseases coming in contact with the Hawaiian monk seal population.(United States) To determine what techniques would work best to protect and research these animals, researchers have tried many different techniques, some of which have not worked out well.  

In 1982, during a study on Hawaiian monk seal populations on Lisianski island, researchers wanted to have a way to count the amount of seals on the island. In order to do so, these researchers would mark the resting seals with commercial bleach. This technique, although thought to work at the time, did not promote a healthy environment for the seals.(Stone) Since this research in 1982, technology has come a long way, and now, Hawaiian monk seals are marked with chips so that they can be tracked by NOAA Fisheries. This technique allows NOAA to determine how far these seals travel as well as if they emerge on a populated beach. This helps NOAA and other organizations focused on the protection of these animals to display signs warning beachgoers that these seals are endangered and federally protected.(United States)

Although NOAA and other organizations focus particularly on protecting these seals, everyday beachgoers can also help promote the conservation of the Hawaiian monk seal population. There are four main things that residents of Hawaii and tourists of the Hawaiian Islands should focus on: obeying posted signs regarding Hawaiian monk seal protection, becoming informed about these seals endangerment, standing up when they see people harming these animals, and helping clean marine debris when the opportunity arises. If all beachgoers could follow these four tips, the Hawaiian monk seal population would have a better chance of emerging from the endangered species list.

Although some believe the Hawaiian monk seal is not an essential species to protect, this unique creature is an essential part of the rich and diverse marine life of Hawaii. If the Hawaiian monk seal were to disappear from the ecosystem completely, it would offset many other species’ population sizes. As it was shown so well in The biggest Little Farm ​documentary, everything in nature is connected.(Chester) It is essential to have a diverse set of species in an ecosystem. I personally believe that the Hawiian monk seal is a ecologically important and beautiful species, and it definitely deserves our protection. Being a Hawaii resident for my entire life, I have seen many Hawaiian monk seals and can speak to their beauty and importance; although the population is declining, these animals have an important part to play in the marine life ecosystem of Hawaii. I hope that one day these species are removed from the endangered species act, but to make that happen there is still a lot of work to do.  

Nanea’s story inspired me to look into a species that I have often looked past because they are not one of the most picturesque species of Hawaii. However, since I have begun my research on this species, I have read three other articles of Hawaiian monk seal pups dying. This news has saddened me, as I now know that there are only 1,400 of these seals left in the world. At the same time, these sad news articles have also inspired me to not only learn more about this species, but also to do what I can to protect them. In my research, I have found how incredibly resilient this species can be. They have inhabited the Hawaiian Archipelago for an estimated fourteen million years. They have survived geographical changes, losing parts of their environment, sealing voyages, and even present day, human-caused threats. The Hawaiian monk seal is an incredible, adaptive species and if we all do our part to protect them, we may be able to bring their population back from the brink of extinction.  

Works Cited  ~Brown, Eric, Guy Hughes, Randall Watanuki, Thea C. Johanos, and Tracy Wurth. "The Emergence of an Important Hawaiian Monk Seal (Monachus Schauinslandi) Pupping Area at Kalaupapa, Moloka'i, in the Main Hawaiian Islands." Aquatic Mammals 37, no. 3 (2011): 319-25. ~Chester, John and Molly Chester. The Biggest Little Farm​ ​. Universal Studios Canada, 2019. ~Fisheries, NOAA. “Death of Young Hawaiian Monk Seal RL44/Nanea | NOAA Fisheries,” October 8, 2019, https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/feature-story/death-young-hawaiian-monk-seal-rl44-nane a. ~Fisheries, NOAA. “Hawaiian Monk Seal | NOAA Fisheries,” Accessed September 23, 2019, https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/species/hawaiian-monk-seal. ~“Hawaiian Monk Seal.” National Wildlife Federation. Accessed October 11, 2019, https://www.nwf.org/Home/Educational-Resources/Wildlife-Guide/Mammals/Hawaiian-Monk-Seal. ~“Hawaiian Monk Seal | National Geographic.” Accessed October 11, 2019, https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/h/hawaiian-monk-seal/. ~Lowry, Lloyd F., David W. Laist, William G. Gilmartin, and George A. Antonelis. "Recovery of the Hawaiian Monk Seal (Monachus Schauinslandi): A Review of Conservation Efforts, 1972 to 2010, and Thoughts for the Future." Aquatic Mammals 37, no. 3 (2011): 397-419. ~McClenachan, Loren. “Historical Ecology of the Hawaiian Monk Seal:Summary of Historical Data Available to Estimate Historical Population Size.” Scripps Institution of Oceanography:2-3. ~Southwest Fisheries Science Center (U.S.). Honolulu Laboratory, issuing body, Pacific Islands Fisheries Science Center (U.S.). Protected Species Division. issuing body, issuing body ~Southwest Fisheries Science Center (U.S.). Honolulu Laboratory, and Pacific Islands Fisheries Science Center (U.S.). ~Stone, H. Sheridan. Hawaiian Monk Seal Population Research, Lisianski Island, 1982​ ​. NOAA-TM-NMFS-SWFC 47. Honolulu, Hawaii: USDeptof Commerce, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, National Marine Fisheries Service, Southwest Fisheries Center, 1984. http://purl.fdlp.gov/GPO/gpo1553​ 4. ~United States. Marine Mammal Commission. The Biological Viability of the Most Endangered​ Marine Mammals and the Cost-Effectiveness of Protection Programs: A Report to Congress from the Marine Mammal Commission.​ Bethesda, Md.]: Marine Mammal Commission, 2008. http://purl.access.gpo.gov/GPO/LPS9267​ 8. ~United States. National Marine Fisheries Service. Recovery Plan for the Hawaiian Monk Seal​   (Monachus Schauinslandi): Revision​. 2nd rev. ed. Silver Spring, Md.]: National Marine Fisheries Service, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, 2007, http://purl.access.gpo.gov/GPO/LPS100989.​   ~Watson, Tk, Jn Kittinger, Js Walters, and Td Schofield. “Culture, Conservation, and Conflict: Assessing the Human Dimensions of Hawaiian Monk Seal Recovery.” Aquatic Mammals​, 37, no. 3 (n.d.): 386–396. https://doi.org/10.1578/AM.37.3.2011.38​ 6. ∎

More on Kimberly ~ Minerva’s Owl Homepage

[nikibogwater]

A Shot in the Dark: Chapter 2 (Author’s Commentary--pt 1)

Read the fic here

Author’s Commentary pt. 2

General Notes:

Yes, I actually had to split the commentary into two parts because there was just So. Much. Going on in this chapter. We shifted over to Douxie’s perspective as he and Nari spent a lovely day about NYC, were properly introduced to the antagonist, and ended on what is probably the cruelest cliffhanger I have ever left anyone on ever (I’m soooooorry...! 😅). I swear I tried to carve this down as much as I could, but even so, there was just way too much to talk about for one post. So in Pt 1 of the commentary, I’ll be talking about the Magical Siblings and their Therapy Cat, but Pt 2 is going to be all about Rivan, because I have a lot to say about this Classy Boi. 

One significant thing about this chapter is that it is my first time writing Douxie in Distress. There’s not really any moment in the show where Douxie is completely stripped of every last one of his defenses and put into a situation where he has no choice but to rely on others--which is fine! I love me one Badass Wizard Boi. But I did want to explore the concept because it opens up opportunities to expand on Douxie’s character. There is more to it than that, but I can’t say anything more until after Chapter 3 has been posted. 

All right, now let’s get into some Passage-Specific notes.

Passage-Specific Notes:

It was a bit like witnessing a long-lost family reunion from the outside, and Douxie felt a strange ache settle in his heart as he followed the tiny forest goddess, who danced from one place to another, wide eyes glowing like sunlit amber.

“...She should have this all the time,” he murmured to Archie, who, after having his own little roll in the grass, had returned to his perch on Douxie’s shoulder. “She shouldn’t be stuck in that prison cell of an apartment.”

This is probably one of my favorite instances of Douxie showing off his Big Brother Energy. He is naturally a very kind-hearted person who believes everyone deserves the freedom to live their best lives (See Ep. 4: “The Lady of the Lake”) but in this scene, he’s not wishing for Nari’s freedom and happiness because of some abstract sense of empathy--Douxie loves Nari, and seeing her happy makes him happy. But he is also bound to his duty as her protector, and that forces him to put aside both her desires and his own in order to keep her safe. He has to balance the line between Responsible Guardian and Loving Brother. I just really enjoyed taking this moment to explore the nature of their relationship, and the impact it has on Douxie, even if it is a somewhat bittersweet scene. 

“What do you suppose it would take for Americans to learn how to make a decent cup of tea?” Douxie grumbled, glaring at the disposable coffee cup in his hand as though it had personally offended him. “Seems like any hack street vendor with a pot and a filter can be taught to make a solid enough cup of coffee in this country, but ask them for a simple cup of water with a bag of leaves in it, and somehow no one knows how to do it properly.”

My new favorite game is “How Many Times in a Single Story Can I Not-So-Subtly Remind My Audience That Douxie is Very British?”  

“Sweet tea is an abomination and I only let you get one because we’re eating out. But never shall such a detestable liquid be found under my roof.” Nari pulled her cup closer to her in a mock show of defensiveness and giggled.

I really love it when the Magical Siblings get playful like this, especially given all the crap that they’ve seen/been through. Also I did some research on sweet tea just for this line--it is an American beverage, and is made by sweetening a dark tea--such as the kind Douxie always drinks. Hence the reason he views it as an abomination--how dare we filthy Americans tamper with the sacred British liquid (although to be fair, I think he’s playing up his “hatred” for it for the sake of humor. Douxie’s pretty chill about most things). 

“I...I think we should go home,” Nari squeaked. “He just....gives me a bad feeling.”

“Alright,” Douxie agreed, rising from his place and lifting Archie up onto his shoulder. He moved around the table and took Nari’s hand as she stood, squeezing it reassuringly when her other hand came up to anxiously grip his sleeve.

It was really important to me that Douxie not brush off Nari’s intensifying anxiety. Maybe she’s being a little unfair here (Rivan can’t help the fact that she can’t sense his life force/aura) but still, she feels unsettled, and Douxie responds to that by removing her from the situation, even though they still don’t have any proof that Rivan is actually following them. Douxie even begins to grow anxious about the situation himself, going so far as to double up on the concealing spell around Nari’s aura. It’s a small moment, but I like to think it displays the level of trust these two have developed over the last few months.

Even at his most desperate, Douxie wasn’t demanding. But he was begging with every ounce of his heart, calling on the bone-deep affection that had always bound these two together.

“...Yes, Hisirdoux,” Archie sighed, and Douxie’s heart ached with a rush of love and gratitude for his Familiar.

This scene was originally drafted as being on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum--Douxie was going to snap and give Archie a direct order--something he knew a Familiar can’t ignore, and it was going to be this gut-wrenching moment of Angst. But I realized very quickly that, after almost a thousand years of flawless teamwork and mutual support, these two are VERY unlikely to have a relationship fumble that intense. Also, it really would’ve just been pointless drama. So instead I leaned into the warmth and comfort of just how close and trusting Douxie and Archie are with one another, to the point that when Douxie begs Archie to do the one thing he doesn’t want to (leave Douxie), Archie acquiesces. 

“...N-no. Archie...!” Nari stammered, looking frantically between the two of them. “Douxie, please!”

“Everything’s going to be fine, sweetheart,” Douxie soothed, giving her a gentle nudge forward. “I’ll meet you both back at the apartment later.”

Douxie using “sweetheart” on Nari is actually very significant here. While Douxie is a Pro-Tier Sweet-Talker who absolutely uses pet names on both friend and foe alike, Nari is the one exception to that rule (this is actually the first time in the series that he’s used a pet name on her). Douxie respects Nari in a way that is unique to their relationship. She’s a much-loved part of his family, yes, but she is also eons old, and a demigoddess, and whether consciously or unconsciously, I think Douxie is aware of that for the most part. So the fact that he caves and accidentally calls her Sweetheart here indicates that in this moment, he’s not seeing her as Nari the Ancient Sorceress, but as Nari the Child, Nari the Little Sister--someone who he wants to shield from the harsh reality they’re facing. So he makes her a promise he knows he might not be able to keep. Because sometimes, grown-ups lie in order to protect the children in their care. It’s not right, but in the heat of the moment, it’s all he can think to do.

There was a click and a soft whirring sound, and suddenly the magic in Douxie’s hand was pulled out of his grasp, leaving his fingers cold and empty. The wizard cast a frantic look down at his right arm to see an iron band locked around it, the intricate engravings glowing the same color as his own magic.

Just a short fun fact: The Inhibitor Cuff was actually originally conceived for my 12th Century Siblings AU. 

“Spare me the pleasantries,” Douxie interrupted. “I’ll die before I’ll let the Order anywhere near her.”...

...Douxie stared back at Rivan defiantly, his jaw clenched shut, though behind his back, his hands were trembling with dread.

Writing Douxie in Distress like this was...tricky. I’ll talk more about this in pt. 2, but it was really hard to know when Douxie would drop his trademark sass and just be Dead Serious. His interactions with Morgana and the Arcane Order are mostly just him being a cocky little punk, but I also think that might have had something to do with the fact that he was never completely helpless in those situations. Apart from the few seconds he was held down by a corrupted Jim, Douxie always had at least some level of defense in those conflicts. But he has absolutely no power in this situation--his magic has been cancelled out, he’s tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse miles away from home with no way of contacting his friends for backup, and the only thing standing between the Arcane Order and Nari at this point is his refusal to talk. So he drops the sass and just gets Stubborn. He wants to make it abundantly clear that he knows what Rivan could do to him--and that he doesn’t give a damn. He’s not talking, no matter what.

...Ngl, that’s very sexy of him.

[nokomiss]

@deadtedkord replied to your post “I’m still up for taking fic prompts! Let me know if there’s something...”

not to pop up w angst but maybe something about either bruce or steph keeping tabs on steph's adopted baby years down the line. not getting involved just, checking in every now and again to make sure that kid is safe and happy and never has to know the pain that they do. make me CRY 2020

Okay this skirts the line of ‘not getting involved’ as steph’s baby does make an appearance but this wouldn’t leave me alone! hope you enjoy <3

*

It was a slow night in Gotham, which just… didn’t feel right to Steph. So instead of cutting her Batgirl patrol short and heading home to study for the midterm she had in two days, she hit up the comms to see if anyone else needed a hand.  

Robin and Nightwing were fine, apparently eating falafels and chatting with some stray cats after interrupting a carjacking.  Tim was off with Young Justice, Jason was with the Outlaws, Babs was doing some fairly intense cold-case research that Steph knew would end with her sneezing over some dusty police file and Cass was having a movie night with Alfred.  

Steph finally asked Bruce, knowing that he always had something going on.

Being left out of a case is fine -- they all do their own investigations, there’s nothing at all unusual about that -- but there was something about the sharpness of Bruce’s voice when he said, “You’re not needed, Batgirl,” that hit Steph the wrong way.

It had felt personal, in a way things between them hadn’t in a long while.

So Steph did what she did best: ignored the hell out of Bruce’s pettiness and showed up anyway.

Immediately she could tell that she wasn’t actually needed.  The kidnappers weren’t exactly supervillain material.  The kids were unharmed and locked in a room together.

She couldn’t figure out why Bruce had tried to keep her away.

She helped zip-tie the kidnappers, who Bruce had dealt with quickly and easily while she’d still been assessing the situation and trying to find whatever hidden threat she was meant to stay away from.

And it was Bruce that she was dealing with, she realized suddenly. There was a stiffness in his shoulders, a tightness in his jaw showing that he was uncomfortable with something, and that wasn’t a Batman trait at all.  

Only the fact that the kidnappers were still conscious -- albeit dazed -- kept her from asking what was up. 

“You can go now,” Bruce said. He still hadn’t unlocked the door the kids were behind, even though Steph knew that they’d been there for hours. 

“What? There are like five kids in there,” Steph said. “I’ll help. Kids love Batgirl.”

That strange twist of his mouth again, and then Bruce said, “Okay.”

It sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself that it was a good idea.

Steph rolled her eyes as she unlocked the door. The kids themselves were totally unharmed, and the kidnappers had clearly known what they were doing in one respect: the room was stocked in juice boxes and tablets, and the kids were for the most part calmly playing games.  They ranged between roughly four and six years old, and there were loud gasps of joy when Batgirl and Batman barged into the room.

There was no clear-cut demographic of the children -- two boys, three girls, a variety of ethnicities, though Steph noticed they all wore nice clothes, clearly no hand-me-downs, and their shoes were trendy and had clean soles.  Chosen for their parents’ wallet size instead of anything more nefarious, most likely, which made Steph relieved.  

Steph’s checking the kids over, making sure everyone’s physically and mentally good when one of the girls says, “Thank you for saving us, Batgirl!”

Steph looks at her directly for the first time and felt her heart drop.

She knew that face. She’d seen it a thousand times, she’d seen it in the pictures her mom still had hanging in the hallway from her childhood. The same eyes, the same baby-fine blonde hair, the same wide smile. Other things were different -- she couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop seeing the shape of her mom’s jaw, her dad’s ears, and her loser ex-boyfriend Dean’s freckles and eyebrows.  

It felt like she was frozen, like the way she felt in dreams sometimes, like the air itself had solidified and moving just took too much effort.  

She could feel Bruce’s presence behind her, heard the rumble of his voice letting the kids knew that their parents would be so proud of how brave they were being, that the bad people were going to jail, that help was on its way.

She blinked, and everything rushed back into focus. And she was still standing there, dressed as Batgirl, while the girl she’d given birth to beamed up at Batman like he was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen.

“You’re welcome,” Steph tells her daughter. 

The girl smiles and flings her arms around Steph’s waist.  Her face is pressed into Steph’s belly, just inches away from the c-section scar, and Steph rests her hand on her back, wishes that she wasn’t wearing gloves so that she could feel how warm and alive and present she was.  

It’s a moment she never thought she’d have - that she’d never really wanted to have, if she’s honest, because she knew that if she held her daughter she might never let go -- and it’s over before she knows it.  The girl lets go, hurries back to the other kids, beaming and saying, “I hugged Batgirl!” like it’s the biggest accomplishment of her life.

One look at Bruce and what she already knows is true is confirmed beyond a doubt; he’s watching her carefully, like she’s something that might break. Like she’s in danger of doing something dumb.

She shook her head lightly at him, trying to show without words that she’s not going to break, that she’s not going to try to do something stupid, that she’s-- 

That she’s happy and sad and trying very, very hard not to think about the fact that her daughter is four years old and has survived her first kidnapping.  

They lead the kids out of the room, shielding them from the kidnappers with their capes. Bruce lets her accompany her daughter, holding her hand and marveling at the way her little fingers curled perfectly into Steph’s, the way her daughter held her head high, tears unshed.  

“You are so, so brave,” Steph tells her, because she’s never going to have this chance again, and she’s wearing a mask, and her daughter is looking at her with something akin to hero-worship in her eyes. Steph remembers being little and seeing Batman and the way the thought of heroes out there making the world safer had made her feel, and it twists something inside all sharp and intense to think of her daughter feeling that when looking at Steph. “Always remember that. You’re incredible, and your parents are so lucky to have you.” Quieter, because she had the chance, and she knew better than to squander a chance -- “Your mother’s so proud of you.”

“She’s gonna be, I didn’t cry hardly at all,” the girl says, and Steph’s heart twists again, because there’s sweetness and love and pride in her expression at the thought of her mom seeing how brave she was. This is a girl who is happy, who is loved, who will have the best possible life.

Steph smiled at her as widely as she could and waved, not trusting her voice. 

Before she leaves, she sees a woman break through the line of cops and cry out, “Hope!”

Steph’s daughter runs into the woman’s arms, and just like that, the spell is broken, and she’s not Steph’s daughter anymore. She’s someone else’s daughter, a woman who is sobbing with relief that her little girl is unharmed, who is clinging her daughter so tight that the girl -- Hope, her name is Hope -- is pushing away at her, is laughing and talking a mile a minute about her ordeal, and Steph hears her voice, crystal-clear, say, “Batgirl rescued me, Momma, she said I was brave.”

Steph barely makes it out of sight -- there’s a building, two blocks over, and the roof has an abandoned, overgrown garden, and Steph likes to go there, sometimes. She’s standing in the overgrown garden and Bruce is hugging her, and she’s laughing and crying all at once. 

“Hope,” she says into Bruce’s chest, conscious of the fact that minutes before, she’d been holding her own daughter like this. “You knew that already, didn’t you?”

“You know I’ve been keeping track of her.” Bruce’s voice is gentle,  “Do you want to know anything else?”

Steph shakes her head, still pressed tight against the Batsuit -- the smell of kevlar and sweat and faintly, leather -- but then asks, terrified of the answer, “That-- she hasn’t had experiences like that before, right?”

She doesn’t even really want to know the answer, doesn’t want to know if her daughter had been doomed from the start, if her bad luck was somehow genetic, but Bruce replies. “She’s never been targeted before, no. She handled herself admirably.”

“She did, didn’t she?” Steph said, obscurely proud. She doesn’t really want to but she lets go of Bruce, steps back to sit on a wrought-iron bench.  In the daylight it would be scorching hot, but at night, the metal is cool and inviting.  

Bruce sits beside her.

“I know I shouldn’t have gone,” Steph says, because acknowledging her own fuck-ups is something she’s used to, “and I’m glad you tried to keep me away.”

“I didn’t intend for you to find out about this,” Bruce said. “I know the topic is… painful.”

Steph opened her mouth to tell Bruce he had no idea, to try to put to words the conflicting swirl of emotions-- not regret, exactly, because she knew with bone-deep certainty that she’d made the right decision to not raise her daughter, to keep her away from the wreckage that had been her life the past few years, but a more abstract feeling of sadness that the circumstances had been necessary at all in the first place. A wish of what might have been, had she been older, had she been prepared, had she not grown up the way she had.  A thought that at some point in the future, things might be different.

But then she realized that Bruce, out of everyone, actually would understand. He had children. 

“My mom told me,” Steph began, unsure as to how Bruce would take this, but knowing she had to set the words free that were bubbling up in her throat, “that kids, whether or not they were yours, are the one thing in the world guaranteed to break your heart.  Because you want so much for them, you want them to have everything that you never had, that could never possibly be, and that-- that it’s impossible. You can’t remake the world, can’t make it a kinder place. You just have to live with it. That loving a child meant pinning your heart to your sleeve, and having to suffer the consequences.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but reached over and clasped her hand in his own. 

“I think-- I think she might have been wrong. About not being and to remake the world, because that’s what we do every night. And she was right, but… I know she didn’t want me to go through everything I had.” Looking back, she’d been a lot younger than she’d realized when she’d been pregnant. Just a few scant years older than Damian, and he was so firmly a child in her mind that it made her reconsider all those feelings she’d had at the time of being grown-up.  She hadn’t felt it at the time, but she was older now, had a world of experiences that shone a light on exactly how young she’d been when she’d gotten pregnant.

She knew that to Bruce, she likely still was a child. Right now, she didn’t feel it. 

“Like, I knew she was out in the world before,” Steph said. “But now… She’s real, in a way that she wasn’t before.”

“Her life is significantly safer than ours,” Bruce said, reassuringly. She could hear the truth of it in his voice, trusted him on this.  Then he said, “I knew you didn’t want to see her.” There was no condemnation in his voice, only understanding, but Steph felt compelled to defend herself anyway. 

“I wanted to see her so badly,” she said. She couldn’t look at Bruce, just looked at the tangle of dying plants around them, at the Gotham skyline, all soft lights and sharp edges, beyond that. “It felt like losing part of myself at first, but I knew… I knew what her life would be if I kept her. What my life would be.”  She took a deep breath. “If I’d held her, and wasn’t strong enough to let her go afterwards, I would have been condemning us both.”

Now it seemed unfathomable. She wouldn’t be Batgirl now, she knew that much. Would never have been Robin. Spoiler might have been laid to the wayside, like it had when she’d been pregnant, but she remembered how she’d longed to go out in the night even when her belly made her waddle and struggle to sit up. Likely she still would have figured out a way.

But she wouldn’t have taken the risks she had. Wouldn’t have thrown herself into things as wildly. She probably wouldn’t have died, wouldn’t have broken her mother’s heart, wouldn’t have caused all the grief she could still sometimes see in Tim and Cass’s face when it was alluded to.

Instead, she knew the path her life would have taken: trying at first to stay in school, but working long hours. Her mom being forced to babysit every spare moment, life turning into a never ending scheduling conflict. Quitting school in favor of a minimum wage paycheck and abandoning hope of becoming something greater, something more. She might have managed a nursing degree, her own mother had with an infant at home, but she’d seen that path, too. 

She wouldn’t be here, now: sitting on a rooftop with Batman, filled with a flurry of might-have-beens, having just saved a roomful of children who looked up to her with something akin to worship. Wouldn’t be worrying about a midterm in biology. 

And the woman she’d seen, the one who’d loved her daughter enough to elbow her way through a police line, wouldn’t have that. 

“She looked so loved,” Steph said.

“She has good parents,” Bruce said. “She’s taken care of. Cherished.”

“She seemed okay, and the kidnappers were jokes, but they didn’t… this isn’t going to hurt her, is it?”  Steph had been kidnapped plenty, had been involved in various criminal acts even younger, and she knew it had skewed the way she looked at the world. 

“She attends a preschool,” Bruce said. “They were meant to be going on a field trip to a farm outside of town. One of the kidnappers disguised themselves as the van driver, while the others distracted the teachers. One of the other children on board’s father is the director of a medical group, I understand that there are delays with getting treatment for the child of one of the kidnappers. She was never harmed.”

Oh. That explained the juice boxes, they loved their own child enough to do something desperate to save them.

“That kid’s going to get the treatment it needs, right?” Steph already knew the answer but asked anyway.

“They’ll get a letter from Wayne Memorial this week,” Bruce confirmed.

Steph had another question, one that Bruce likely wouldn’t answer. Shouldn’t answer, but she wanted confirmation. “Did… Does it feel different, with Damian, from the others?”

Bruce took a minute to think, long enough that she knew he was answering her underlying question with care. “At first. The others, I chose. I brought them in, I thought it through, I knew them and wanted them in my life. Wanted to make a home for them. I didn’t choose him. And at first, if anything, it was harder.”

Steph listened. She wasn’t sure if Bruce had ever spoken of this out loud.

“But then it was like he’d always been a part of my life, just like the others, a part that was irreplaceable and unique but that I loved in the same way.” 

That settled something within her, something she hadn’t realized was bothering her. 

A long pause, then Steph broke the silence. “How do you do it?”

Bruce looked at her, waiting for clarification.

“Send your kids out there every night,” Steph said.  She could still feel the way her heart had dropped when she’d realized that her daughter was in danger, and couldn’t fathom what it would be like knowing her child was out trying to punch supervillains in the face. “Doesn’t it scare you?”

“Every day,” Bruce said. “Every night.”

She wondered if he was thinking about Jason’s death, about all the close calls. About how Damian flung himself into danger so recklessly, like he still believed he was invincible. The way all kids thought they were invincible. About Dick, Tim, Cass. About all of his children, choosing the fight over safety every time.

 She wondered if he was thinking about her in Leslie’s clinic, clutching his hand and dying.

Bruce continued, looking down at their currently clasped hands. “I have faith in their ability to keep themselves as safe as possible. I train them as best I can, make sure they have the best equipment. Try to always know where they are, in case I can help. But mostly… your mother was right. Having kids is putting a piece of yourself out in the world and not knowing if it’s safe or not, and being grateful for every day that it is.”

He’d been careful with his words, never said you, but Steph could feel the weight of a small fortune’s worth of equipment and technology in her suit, in her belt. The communicators that shared her location. 

The way he’d tried to protect her by trying to keep her away tonight, so that she wouldn’t have to face this complicated churn of emotions.

She rested her head on his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you. For everything.”

She felt him shift, and the slightest hint of pressure as he pressed a kiss into the top of her cowl.  

“There’s a file, if you want to know more about her.”

She’d known that, from the moment she’d made him promise to keep her baby safe.  She knew Bruce didn’t do half-measures, that he took each promise he made as a lifelong commitment.  She’d known that, and she’d never consciously thought about it, because it was too much. “No, I think-- I think I saw enough.”

She’d seen a child deeply loved, a child that was brave and beautiful and bright.  That flung herself at heroes, safe in the knowledge that they were only there to help.

She’d seen all she needed to know that her daughter was living the life she’d hoped to have herself as a child. That she was living the life that Steph had hoped for when she’d signed those papers.  

That this was one glorious instance of one of her choices going exactly right.