#with no clear resolution as to what actually happened to his family after he defects abroad and he barely even mentions them afterwards????

[aroacehanzawa]

The Half Life of Valery K by Natasha Pulley would be so good if it was good

[pilot-boi]

Fifth Wheel

In my version of what happens post-Atlas, Jaune and Marrow have a talk about things that should be simple, but actually aren’t. Boats and sunsets and feelings galore, and maybe Marrow learning that it’s okay to belong to something.

AO3 LINK

It’s been about a week. Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but after Marrow’s whole world managed to fall down in a couple of hours, a week was a long time.

A week since Ironwood was arrested. A week since Atlas fell. A week since Marrow gave up on pretending that siding with Atlas was anything short of horrible.

He’d given up on following the orders of people who didn’t care about the people they were supposed to be protecting. He’d given up on the people who thought that a “shoot to kill” order against a bunch of kids was an okay order to follow.

A bunch of kids, ha. What a joke. He wasn’t much older than these so-called kids. And Marrow didn’t doubt for a second that if he’d been on the wrong side of that order, his former comrades wouldn’t have hesitated to fire on him, too.

They’d allowed those three to storm that whale. By themselves. How could he possibly claim that they were on the right side of history after Arc had to beg to be allowed to march straight into enemy territory? All to rescue a friend that the General had written off as “an acceptable loss.”

So he’d left. Without much fanfare, what with the whole world falling down around everyone’s ears in more ways than one. Marrow had helped them in the end, and they’d welcomed him with mostly open arms. Some animosity was expected, and he didn’t begrudge them of it for a second.

Team RWBY, as they’d been known at Beacon, were mostly amicable but still distant. He hadn’t really been friends with them before martial law was declared, at least not past casual coworkers. So they were kind and friendly, but mostly left him alone.

However Team ALPN, as they’d dubbed themselves, added him to their little family faster than he could blink. The supposedly professionally-clinical friendship that he’d had with Arc before wasn’t nearly as professionally-clinical as he’d thought. Jaune smoothed the transition by simply accepting him without a second glance, and Marrow couldn’t be more grateful.

He did wish he could stop feeling guilty though.

Every time Oscar winced when he moved wrong and one of his still healing injuries twinged, Marrow had to fight to stop his traitorous tail from drooping. Every time he caught sight of Nora’s scars he had to hide a flinch. Every time he was in a room with Ren, Marrow froze, certain that the kid was somehow going to find out more of the things he was trying to keep hidden.

And every time Jaune so much as glanced his way, Marrow had to avert his eyes to avoid eye contact and the damn feeling that the kid was x-raying him. His black-haired teammate was supposed to be the one who could read feelings, why was Jaune the one who he couldn’t keep eye contact with without feeling like he was reading him like an open book?

And always it ended with a look of sort of understanding, sort of pity, and more and more of the concerned glances. With how many of them Jaune kept giving him, he probably wasn’t hiding any of it as well as he’d hoped. That kid was too much of a worrier for his own good.

A message over the faulty CCT. Some of the kid’s friends were in trouble in Vacuo. With another Relic in tow, they’d set out at once, and Marrow had been allowed to tag along. That was a week ago.

A week of traveling, of worry for the future and fear of the past, and of trying to figure out where he fit in his new “team”. A week of slowly building up the courage to just talk to these kids like the friends they clearly saw him as.

After the events of a few days ago, everyone had been needing their space. Marrow could understand that, so he’d made himself scarce in the central gathering areas. He might not have been at the Fall of Beacon, but he’d seen enough of the footage and read enough of the reports to know that this had to have opened some old wounds for the kids.

Wandering the deck of their ship had become a pastime of his. He’d never really seen much of the world outside of Atlas, and seeing the water look more green and warm than steely and cold was more odd than he could put into words.

It was like his hair had decided to become liquid, which was the weirdest thought he’d had in years. Although judging by the sort of passing comments he’d heard from Nora and Ruby, it appeared that thinking irrationally came with the territory of associating (read: being almost friends) with these kids.

Currently, he was sitting perched on the railing of the ship, uniform jacket lying abandoned beside him. Double insulated, top of the line, silver buttons, expertly tailored. The mark of an Ace-Op.

A former Ace-Op. He’d defected and so no longer legally had the right to wear the uniform, but he had no other clothes. On a different note, he felt more than a little awkward wearing the uniform of the military that had knowingly abandoned the majority of its civilian population, and had instigated a retreat plan that involved leaving said civilian population to the proverbial dogs.

Plus it was just too freaking hot to wear right now. The ocean from Solitas to Sanus was no tundra, that was for sure.

“Mind if I join you?” came a voice to his left, shocking Marrow out of his thoughts. Only years of training kept him from pitching over the side of the ship into the frothy water below.

It was just Jaune, out of his armor for once, and looking like his smile had only just now been wiped away by Marrow probably looking like he was having a heart attack. They stared at each other for a few seconds, time ticking irrevocably onwards, Marrow’s brain simply refusing to process whatever the hell Jaune had just said.

A few more seconds passed, mostly consisting of Jaune just staring at him like he expected some kind of response. “Did you need something?” Marrow eventually asked, wincing at the edge that he hadn’t meant to put into his voice.

“Can I join you.”

“Oh. Oh yeah! Yeah sure, whatever,” Marrow replied quickly, “I mean if you want.”

“Thanks.” Jaune leant his forearms on the railing, wrists crossed, one ankle hooked around the other. He would’ve seemed perfectly casual if Marrow couldn’t see the tension in his shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes as clear as day. Kid wasn’t taking this any better than the rest of them.

The wind over the ocean ruffled his blonde hair and caught the red sash at his waist. Eyes that seemed to reflect both the sky above and the sea below stared out over the waves. Freckles that could never have been caused by the harsh cold sun of Solitas dusted their way across his cheeks and down his arms and-

-And Marrow abruptly realized he was staring and returned to gazing determinedly out over the waves.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, simply existing in each other’s presence. Jaune didn’t attempt to start a conversation, for which Marrow was supremely grateful. He honestly didn’t know what he would say in response even if a conversation started.

It was an awkward comfortable kind of silence. Teetering on the edge of concerning and companionable. But eventually Marrow found himself relaxing and settling back into the semi-slumped over posture he’d been in before Jaune walked up. His tail started to sway with the rhythm of the boat, but he put a stop to that as soon as it began moving.

“Ya know,” Jaune suddenly spoke, and Marrow froze. Still not taking his eyes off the ocean, he said “You don’t hafta do that.”

“Do what?” he couldn’t help asking, looking over at him in confusion.

“Your tail, you don’t have to stop it from… doing whatever it does or whatever,” Jaune explained vaguely, glancing away from the ocean to meet his gaze. Eyes too wide and too discerning, Marrow could only maintain eye contact for a second before returning his gaze to the waves.

“Yeah well, maybe I want to,” he replied, a little defensively. No, wait he wasn't getting defensive. Why would he be getting defensive? “Why do you care anyway? It’s not like it affects you.”

“That’s true,” Jaune conceded, shifting so his weight was resting on his other foot. “It just seems like it might get irritating after a while, to have to think about it all the time.”

Marrow resolutely kept his eyes on the ocean, not acknowledging what Jaune had said. “It’s fine.” He sighed, slumping a little. “I’ve gotten used to it.” This time he couldn’t keep the tinge of dejection out of his voice.

“Hey,” Jaune said sharply all of a sudden, voice more hard than it had been before. “Just because you’ve gotten used to it doesn’t mean you should’ve had to.”

Marrow hesitated at that, brow furrowing in confusion. “What?” he asked, turning to face the other. “What the heck does that mean?”

Jaune’s determined expression faltered slightly and he grinned sheepishly for a moment. “Yeah, wasn’t my best line I have to admit,” he shrugged, returning his gaze to the ocean and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Marrow didn’t turn away.

“So?” he prompted after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“What did you mean?”

“Oh! I guess…” Jaune paused to collect his thoughts, something that Marrow had already seen do several times. Even after only a couple weeks of knowing each other, Marrow could already tell that sometimes Jaune’s mouth went faster than his brain could keep up with.

“I guess what I meant was…” He kept his eyes trained on the waves, brow furrowed in some emotion that Marrow couldn’t identify. “...Was that Atlas freaking sucks for making you feel like you had to suppress a signal of how you’re feeling, just to fit in.”

Oh.

That was anger.

That expression was anger, anger on Marrow’s behalf.

Like the righteous anger Jaune had shown on the tundra when they’d refused to help the citizens of Mantle escape the river of Grimm. Like the desperate anger Jaune had expressed after nearly being denied permission to rescue Oscar. Like the raging anger Jaune had screamed at Ironwood after finding out that his friends had been injured and hunted on the General’s orders.

All in defense of someone or something the blonde cared about. Jaune wore his emotions on his sleeve, as far as Marrow could tell. He’d never seen someone’s face be so expressive, without even a hint that Jaune was trying to hide anything he felt.

But now that anger was targeted at someone else, and Marrow was the one who was being defended. With that same fire in his eyes.

“Sorry if I’m overstepping!” Jaune started backpedaling after Marrow didn’t respond. “Jeez, I probably just shouldn't have said anything, right?”

“No!” Marrow interjected. “No. It’s fine.” He unhooked his ankles around the railing beneath him and slumped slightly. “You’re right,” Marrow admitted reluctantly, kicking his feet and staring at the water below.

“I am?” Jaune asked, sounding astounded, and even without looking, Marrow could tell that Jaune had looked away from the waves.

Yeah, he was right, and that was a whole different thing he needed to unpack at a later date. But for now… for now he needed to ask…

“Why do you even care?” Marrow refused to look away from the water now, certain that Jaune was giving him one of those wide-eyed looks that he didn’t know what to do with. “It’s my tail after all, not yours.” My feelings, not yours. My institutionalized suppression, not yours.

“I guess I don’t really care,” Jaune admitted, and Marrow had to admit that hurt. He didn’t really know why it hurt, but it was definitely going on the pile of things not to unpack later. If he slumped any further, he was going to fall off the damn boat, and honestly he didn’t know if that was a bad outcome. “It is your tail, so it’s by all rights your business.”

“I guess partially I relate a little bit, but...” he admitted and hesitated again. A little astonished that they could possibly share common ground on something like this, Marrow risked a glance at him. That same damned look of sort of understanding, sort of pity.

“But man it’s not your tail I care about,” Jaune clarified, smiling softly at him, and Marrow didn’t know what exactly he’d done to earn that smile, “I couldn’t care less about that, I care about you.”

Gods above what the sweet hell was Marrow supposed to do with that?!

“Why?” Marrow heard himself ask from wherever the shock had sent his brain.

Jaune looked honestly taken aback by that, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide, eyebrows raised high enough that they were threatening to escape into his hairline. In any other situation Marrow might have laughed.

While Jaune pondered his question, Marrow’s brain struggled to process Jaune’s frankly ridiculous claim.

They were on the same team, fine. He’d been pleased to find that they didn’t insist on keeping the kind of distant professionalism that the Ace-Ops had always enforced. But Marrow clearly didn’t fit into the dynamic the four of them had set up.

He was the odd one out, the Atlesian defective, adopted into team ALPN because he had nowhere else to go. Academy teams were made up of four people: five was right out. It was just logical that with them already having bonds forged from fighting for their freaking lives, that Marrow be the odd one out.

On top of all that, they’d barely known each other for a month. A month during which Marrow had actively aided the former leader of the Atlesian military stage a coup and hunt down any and all of Jaune’s friends for treason.

And now Jaune was claiming to care about him? All with that damned smile on his face.

“Why wouldn’t I care about you?” Jaune eventually asked, not even bothering to hide the confusion in his voice.

“Answering with a question,” Marrow noted, a ghost of a smile on his lips for the first time in this conversation that had gone nowhere near where he thought it was going.

“Yeah shut up.” Jaune rolled his eyes. “Asking why I care is like…” he fumbled for the words for a moment. “...is like asking why the sun comes up in the morning, or why water is wet, or why the moon is shattered.”

“But you know why the moon is shattered.”

“Yes! Still shut up!” Jaune waved away his comments, the look of worried confusion finally being replaced by the sort of sad smile again. “I care because I do, okay? It’s just who I am.”

But that wasn’t the answer Marrow wanted to hear, because he needed concrete reasons and evidence. Wishy-washy “Because” wasn’t going to do, he needed to know the reasons why.

“But if it helps,” Jaune amended, and Marrow perked up unconsciously. “I care because you’re a great guy, and because quite honestly I think you need someone to just care about you without strings attached.”

That… maybe Marrow could work with that. No strings attached sounded nice.

“And I also care because you’re part of my team, and ‘round here that means something,” Jaune said, the ‘not like in Atlas’ going unspoken. “So you’re just gonna have to deal with it, because it’s not going away any time soon!”

His eyes were shining again. That same fire from when he’d been angry on Marrow’s behalf, angry at people who weren’t even here to see his expression. His eyes were shining, his shoulders were set defiantly, and even still leaning on the railing he looked like he was prepared to keep arguing the point until Marrow conceded. Fighting until he understood.

But he didn’t understand it. And he also didn’t understand why Jaune looked so upset. The silence stretched on. Marrow had no words, and it seemed like Jaune had nothing more to say. What was he supposed to say to all of that? What kind of response was an appropriate freaking follow up?

Marrow dropped Jaune’s gaze and went back to staring out over the waves. The sun was starting to set. Had they really been out here for that long?

“Thank you,” Marrow eventually said, voice quiet enough that he half hoped that Jaune wouldn’t hear. He may not understand it, but he could accept that for whatever reason, Jaune Arc had chosen to care about him.

Even though that was not how it was supposed to work. And even though that was not how it was supposed to work, somehow all of Marrow’s carefully built defenses had been chipped away. X-rayed away by eyes that reflected the sky and the sea.

Out of the corner of his eye Marrow could see Jaune un-tense. “No problem,” the blonde responded, matching Marrow’s volume. Relief was coloring his words, and Marrow had to wonder why. It was like Jaune had half-expected Marrow to fight him at the end of his heartfelt speech or something.

The sun sank lower to the horizon, and the two of them lapsed back into the companionable silence that they’d started the conversation with. But now the awkwardness was gone, and Marrow frankly had no idea why. It was like some invisible wall had come down.

“I meant it ya know,” Jaune murmured, some unknown amount of time later. “What I said before, I wasn’t just saying it. I meant it.”

Marrow glanced over at him. The wind ruffled his hair and caught his sash. Freckles danced their way across his cheeks and speckled the arms he was resting his chin on. His eyes were on the horizon, watching the sun sink into the ocean, blue eyes alight with the fire from the distant star.

He looked worried. Brows pushed together, eyes intent on the sinking sun. The bags were still under his eyes and the tension still hadn’t left his friend’s posture. Marrow realized with a start that he was one of Jaune’s worries.

The realization didn’t send him spiraling into confusion like it might have done earlier in the day.

“I know you meant it.” And although Marrow didn’t know what the little bundle of emotions he felt in the pit of his stomach meant, he knew with every fiber of his being that Jaune Arc meant it when he said that he cared.

And if a soft smile crossed his lips and if his tail swayed a little faster than the rhythm of the boat, who was to say?

[computerkisser]

im brainstorming ideas for my chess s/i. since a lot of characters are kind of allegorical representations of things (freddie and anatoly kind of representing the spirits of their countries in the cold war era and all that), i think my s/i is gonna be sort of a representation and deconstruction of the “all girls want bad boys” trope. the real-life chess player whose career and reputation inspired tim rice to create freddie received a lot of love letters from fans crushing on his bad boy persona, and that’s a good enough reason for me to base my s/i around the phenomenon. 

this turned into, like, practically a minific. tw for canon-compliant amounts of dysfunctionality and infidelity. it’s all resolved by the end, though

my s/i just wants someone cool and strong to protect them, and when they see freddie trumper, they think, that guy is cool and strong. i imagine they’d get their own song about this topic. this is midway through act one, and freddie is still feeling a serious void where florence used to be, so he accepts their attention just to see what will happen -- and, surprising both of them, they wind up falling seriously in love. it’s playful and silly, it’s him teasing them for their bad chess playing, but it’s the type of romance that would get your heart pumping as a teen reading a ya novel. meaning the first act follows the development of two starkly contrasting romances, and that freddie and anatoly are both in relationships when the curtain falls on act one.

tensions build between them as my s/i realizes that freddie is, like, genuinely toxic and it’s hurting people. but they know he has the potential to be a good person, he really does!! this is musically represented with my s/i singing their own version of pity the child, where they stress to freddie that they were that same child he was, that their careless mother let them go too, and that they didn’t turn out anything like freddie did. the song likely serves as a bit of a psychoanalysis for them too; perhaps that family environment is what drove them to go after bad boy types? it’s as much for their own sake as it is freddie’s, as they start seriously unpacking and examining the whole bad boy deal, and if it’s really what they need. hearing all this is what gets the ball rolling for freddie’s act 2 character development.

this is also around when my s/i starts to realize they like anatoly, too. they’re completely honest about this with freddie, that they like both of them. the proposition of polyamory is all but spoken, and leaves freddie to seriously sort out his sexuality and his weird, confusing feelings for the commie bastard who stole his second -- again, contributing to his character development.

their one brief interaction with anatoly makes it clear that the feeling is mutual, though neither of them dare act on it. anatoly’s already gotten into enough of a mess by cheating on his wife, he does not wanna dabble in cheatingception by cheating on his mistress too.

my s/i gets roped into the deal (no deal), because, who doesn’t? having had more time to mull over their whole bad boy thing, they suddenly don’t really like the part of anatoly that defected from his homeland for the sake of an affair, and what molokov promises them is a resolution to that. if anatoly just loses the game and goes home, he’ll be a nice, wholesome, husband and father, just what my s/i actually needs to see, right? and they fall for it, and are among the people pressuring anatoly to throw the match. around the time of talking chess, they’re doubting molokov’s logic, and freddie approaching anatoly is equally as on my s/i’s behalf as it is on freddie’s. 

everything after that plays out essentially the same, though freddie and my s/i are an item, and the show ends with my s/i and anatoly being a huge “what if”. post-canon, anatoly and svetlana have a hopefully clean, respectful divorce, and he moves to the u.s. and finds my s/i and freddie, and the three of them slowly turn into a poly triad.

[kleinemuisje]

Theodosia Hamilton

Part 4

24th of November, 1801. Philip woke up with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to remember whether he'd dreamt about anything that night, but it was all slipping away from him, like sand through his fingers. A dark figure with a gun, and someone counting, counting up to 7...

He shook himself off as if he were a dog, and leapt out of bed. It was just a nightmare, he reminded himself firmly. He was far too old to still be scared of a nightmare. He walked across the room and flung open the curtains, basking in what little early morning sun was filtering through the window, trying to dispel the remnants of his dream.

He failed. It haunted him all through the rest of the morning, despite his mothers best efforts to find out what was wrong, his fathers rough words of comfort, his siblings practical jokes and awkward hugs. He was morose, and it showed, but he could not for the life of him figure out why. He should be able to shake off a nightmare more easily than this, shouldn't he?

Making his excuses shortly after breakfast, he retired to his room, where he sat sulking by the windowsill fiddling with a pistol. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Before he had the time to shout "Come in!", his father had already marched into the room, looking resolute. Philip sighed. He couldn't guess why his father wanted to talk to him, but he did know they'd end up fighting - they always did, now.

"Son." The older Hamilton cleared his throat awkwardly, sitting down gingerly on the edge of Philips bed. "Look, I know we haven't gotten on since, well... you know, but I'd like to think you could still come to me for some fatherly advice. I know why you've been moping around all day."

Philip glanced over at him, surprised.

"Look son, I've been there too. When I was a young man, before I met your mother, there were plenty of other girls that caught my eye as well. But you have to realise that this Burr girl - it is her, isn't it? I know you met her a few nights ago, Burr wrote to me of it, and I thought that might have set this off. Anyway, this Burr girl - she's completely unsuitable. You see that, Philip, don't you?", he asked, despairing.

"I mean, her father's been my enemy since last years election, he defected from our party to join Jefferson, of all people, he doesn't stand up for any of his views when it comes to a proper debate, it's a miracle he made it to Vice President in the first place-

The sound of a knock on the door stopped him - and quite possibly saved him, too, thought Philip darkly, laying his gun down on the cabinet. If he heard another one of those self righteous speeches...

Out of curiosity, he glanced down to see who was at the door. A dark head of long hair, one long lithe arm raised, a dress that looked oddly familiar...

Philip jumped up and bolted out of his room, ignoring his fathers questions. He met his mother at the door, but before she could open it he grabbed hold of the handle and gave her a pleading look and she stepped away, seeming almost amused. Sucking in one deep breath, he swung the door open, and tried to put a polite smile on his face.

It was her. She'd been about to knock again, and her hand was still raised before him. She seemed startled by how suddenly he'd appeared there, and moved her hand back down to her side slowly, almost cautiously. On impulse, Philip took hold of it. He was still smiling, but it was a different smile now - no longer so much the casual expression convention demanded but something deeper, something more honest.

He was jolted out of his reverie when his mother cleared her throat. "Philip, why don't you show our guest in? I'm sure she must be cold by now, the weathers been dreadful..."

Philip stepped backwards, blushing, but forgot to let go of her hand, and ended up half dragging Theodosia across the threshold and into the Hamilton house. When he realised what he'd done the blush in his face only increased, until he thought he must be positively scarlet. Muttering some breathless apologies, he turned round and strode through to the drawing room, his mother audibly sighing and inviting her in, before shutting the door behind her.

The first minute sitting around the table in the drawing room, waiting for the tea his mother had called for to arrive, was almost unbearably awkward. All attempts at an actual conversation stuttered into silence, and nothing Philip tried seemed able to keep the discussion moving.

Theodosia had, she explained briefly, come only briefly to thank him for 'rescuing her' (her words, met with a yet deeper blush and a muttered denial from Philip) from the street outside the theatre. It was only when she mentioned what had happened with Eacker that Eliza stopped looking shrewdly between her son and her guest and glared sharply at Philip.

"He had a gun, did you say, Miss Burr?"

Her words dripped from her mouth like acid, and Philip winced, knowing he'd be in real trouble as soon as Theodosia left. Theodosia, on the other hand, seemed to realise her mistake, and faltered, trying to take back what she had said.

"Yes, Mrs Hamilton, he did - but I'm sure whatever reason that was for can be no fault of your son - indeed, once my father had scared Mr Eacker off, Mr Hamilton was more than willing to let it go."

Philip hid desperately behind her flimsy excuse. "I was, mother - I mean, I did. It was barely a fight at all, anyway, I was just annoyed about some stupid things he said. All I was doing was returning Theodo- returning Miss Burr, I mean, to her fathers house."

At that moment, their tea arrived, and Philip breathed a great, internal sigh of relief, casting about for a new topic of conversation. His mind settled on Maria Jefferson, and he asked Theodosia whether she'd been alright, not caring about the answer, looking only for an excuse to gaze intently at her without seeming rude.

Theodosia replied in the positive, and mentioned that she'd gone back home to her husband and their young son near Monticello - and as soon as she said it, Philip remembered his own summer holidays to Virginia, staying on the Washington estate. When he said as much to Theodosia, she told him that she'd been down there too, only a few weeks before - although she had stayed with the Jeffersons instead of the Washingtons, of course.

She spoke of long, warm days in the sun, with the air so arid that she had at one point cracked an egg on her balcony, just to see if it would fry - of the sound of cicadas so deafening in the night she thought she'd go mad with it - of the ballroom in Jeffersons home, which was so stately and so encrusted in gold and diamonds that she was almost afraid to touch anything, for fear that she break it...

Philip interrupted occasionally, adding his own thoughts and his own memories, but for the most part he was content to watch her joyfully recollect all that had happened that past summer, as if he could breathe in her happiness, or the warmth she spoke with.

It was a long time before he realised that his mother had disappeared, but he did not concern himself with it. There was too much for him to take in the moment to wonder properly about where she might have went, and it was only when he heard faintly the sound of raised voices floating down the staircase that he realised she had gone upstairs to stop his father from interrupting the two of them.

He looked at Theodosia, and saw that she had heard the voices too, and that she knew what they meant, and was instantly pained - not just embarrassed, but physically hurt, wanting her to think of him and his family well.

But perhaps she saw that pain reflected in his eyes, because she took his hand and said quietly, "Well, I must be going sir. I only came to thank you."

Philip stood. He took her other hand in his empty one and said hurriedly, "Philip. Call... call me Philip."

"And I am Theodosia..." she said it softly, almost whispering, when his mother came gliding down the stairs, looking strained. The two of them jumped apart as she smiled politely at Theodosia, saying, "Well, I am sorry, Miss Burr, but it seems that my husband and I must be going. I would invite you to make use of the hospitality of my household, but it seems I cannot trust my son for the evening without him running off and getting into some sort of gunfight. If you don't mind...

Theodosia hurried out, saying that she'd already overstayed her welcome, despite Philip and Eliza's denials. She turned to him for a moment before she left, and he breathed in one last time - she was wearing some sort of perfume, he was sure of it, he must remember that perfume - and then she was gone, a carriage waiting for her at the edge of the road.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Philip heard his father striding down the stairs. He turned around to face the music.

Full Story: https://www.wattpad.com/story/236660130-theodosia-hamilton

[snicketsleuth]

Whatever happened to Mrs Widdershins?

Fiona Widdershins' life was plagued with abandonment issues. Her birth father is unaccounted for, her mother died when she was very young, her only sibling disappeared and her stepather left her stranded on the Queequeg without so much as an explanation. It's no wonder that Fiona snapped when she finally got her brother back and decided to stay with him at all costs. It's the tragic tale of a broken childhood, and a broken family.

But the topic of Mrs Widdershins' untimely demise is interesting from a narrative point of view. Why did Daniel Handler decide to make Fiona and Fernald's mother such a big deal in the first place? Surely the tension between the Captain and Fernald was enough to explain the trauma inherent to the Widdershins family drama. Adding a mysteriously departed mom on top of it is kind of overkill.

The Netflix adaptation attempted to give us some resolution by turning Fernald into a lab assistant at Anwhistle Aquatics and giving the Captain the subplot of his wife's disappareance. That's all well and good, and satisfying from a narrative perspective, but the books have their own separate canon.

Surely there's a reason why this subplot was included in the books. Daniel Handler probably had a resolution in mind but decided not to include it (just like he never confirmed that Lemony was the taxi driver from "The Penultimate Peril", for example). So why did he think Mrs. Widdershins was important? What's the missing story behind her death? Her demise looms in the background of the Widdershins family dynamic like the missing piece of a very important puzzle. It seems inoccuous, but it's probably the key to understanding everything. So what really happened to her? And how would it help us rationalizing the actions of Fernald and his stepfather?

Although the following hypothesis will mostly focus on Mrs. Widdershins, we will also try to answer a number of burning questions regarding the Widdershins family, including but not limited to:

How did Fernald lose his hands?

Who killed Gregor Anwhistle?

Who burned down Anwhistle Aquatics?

Why did Fernald betray his stepfather and join Olaf's troupe?

More after the cut.

There are some interesting tidbits of chronology to be found in the Widdershins legacy, so let's try to organize events in the right order.

We don't know anything about Fernald's and Fiona's birth father. Apparently Handler chose to make the Captain their stepfather to better explain why the relationship between Fernald and the Captain turned sour so quickly. Indeed if you look at the chronology it turns out that the Captain is only older than Fernald by a few years. So basically the Captain became Fernald's stepfather when he had barely entered adulthood. Fernald probably never saw him as a proper authority figure, which would explain why his bossy attitude particularly annoyed him.

For more details on Fernald and the Captain's age, please refer to this article : (Link).

Although not traditional, the family was originally a happy one:

"I found something else," Violet said, handing her brother a crumpled square of paper. "Look." Klaus looked at what his sister had given him. It was a photograph, blurred and faded with four people, grouped together like a family. In the center of the photograph was a large man with a long mustache that was curved at the end like a pair of parentheses – Captain Widdershins, of course, although he looked much younger and a great deal happier than the children had ever seen him. He was laughing, and his arm was around someone the two Baudelaires recognized as the hook-handed man, although he was not hook-handed in the photograph – both of his hands were perfectly intact, one resting on the captain's shoulder, and the other pointing at whoever was taking the picture – and he was young enough to still be called a teenager, instead of a man. On the other side of the captain was a woman who was laughing as hard as the captain, and in her arms was a young infant with a tiny set of triangular glasses. [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Twelve]

This does beg the question: who took the photograph and towards whom is Fernald pointing? Who’s this assumed friend of the Widdershins family? More on that later.

Then the questionable death of Mrs Widdershins took place:

"Phil!" Violet cried. "What on earth are you doing here?" "He's the second of our crew of two!" the captain cried. "Aye! The original second in the crew of two was Fiona's mother, but she died in a manatee accident quite a few years ago." "I'm not so sure it was an accident," Fiona said. [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Two]

The Captain and Fernald seemed to get along well when Mrs. Widdershins was alive. Then the relationship changed.

"You?" said Olaf's henchman. "What happened to Widdershins?" "He disappeared from the submarine," Fiona replied. "We don't know where he is." "I don't care where he is," the hook-handed man sneered. "I couldn't care less about that mustached fool! He's the reason I joined Count Olaf in the first place! The captain was always shouting 'Aye! Aye! Aye!' and ordering me around! So I ran away and joined Olaf's acting troupe!" "But Count Olaf is a terrible villain!" Fiona cried. "He has no regard for other people. He dreams up treacherous schemes, and lures others into becoming his cohorts!" "Those are just the bad aspects of him," the hook-handed man said. "There are many good parts, as well. For instance, he has a wonderful laugh." [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Ten]

It’s jarring that Fernald cites the Captain’s behavior as the main reason he joined Count Olaf’s troupe. Why would he suddenly resent his stepfather when he used to actually like him? In fact, he seems to think so little of him that he considers Olaf an upgrade. What made Fernald change his mind about his stepfather so quickly? There could be three explanations for this: either the Captain’s behavior changed dramatically after his wife’s death, or Fernald learned something about the Captain which redefined the relationship entirely. The third option is that Mrs. Widdershins’ death was so traumatic an ordeal that it severed any affection between Fernald and the Captain.

As one can imagine, it’s easy to posit that these three hypotheses could combine themselves. There are things about Mrs. Widdershins’ death which Fiona does not know and which severely damaged the bond between a stepfather and his stepson. A huge disagreement occurred over her untimely end, and feelings were hurt. Now there’s one legitimate reason for Fernald to be upset at the Captain: he’s lying about the true circumstances of his wife’s death. Fiona was already questioning the official version while she was devoted to V.F.D. and her stepdad, so it’s safe to assume that Fernald does not believe this story either.

Although Fernald's eventual defection clearly has much to do with what happened at Anwhistle Aquatics, it's clear that the death of Mrs Widdershins is equally important in the matter. Is it possible that the two events are linked? In fact, it's likely. The composition of the Queequeg's crew of two is especially revealing:

"Aye! The original second in the crew of two was Fiona's mother, but she died in a manatee accident quite a few years ago." [...] "Then we had Jacques!" the captain continued. "Aye, and then what's-his-name, Jacques's brother, and then a dreadful woman who turned out to be a spy, and finally we have Phil! Although I like to call him Cookie! I don't know why!" [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Two]

Now there is someone apparently missing from this list: Fernald. After his mother died, it would seem likely that her son would replace her as the second-in-command in the crew of two. Fernald remembers the Captain bossing him around. It's possible that Fernald was indeed a member of the Crew of Two and that the Captain is omitting him out of shame, but that’s unlikely. You see, Fiona is in the room with the Captain while he is listing these people. If he had “forgotten” to name Fernald, she would have corrected him immediately. But no, the list appears to be correct in Fiona’s own assessment. For some reason, Fernald was NEVER considered a member of the Crew of Two, even though he was old enough and had the qualifications. The Captain immediately replaced Mrs. Widdershins with Jacques Snicket.

And that’s really telling, because we know Jacques was occupying this position at a time where Fernald was already part of Count Olaf’s troupe. Here’s a passage from a letter which Jacques sent Lemony from the Queequeg. At that point in time, Fernald was probably starring in Olaf’s play “One last warning to those who try to stand in my way”:

Under normal circumstances, new volunteers like ourselves would not receive disguise training until our years of apprenticeship were finished, but we have not been under normal circumstances for quite some time. For instance, currently I am under sixty feet of water, rather than under normal circumstances. [Lemony Snicket’s un-Authorized Autobiography, p.96]

The two actresses playing the Defenders of Liberty now have their faces painted a ghastly white color, and the part of the Little Snicket Lad, once played by the young actor pictured here, has been replaced by a sinister-looking person far too old for the part (also pictured here). [Lemony Snicket’s un-Authorized Autobiography, p.78] [NB: The picture in question depicts a young man in a fedora who looks eerily similar to the way Brett Helquist draws Fernald in the official illustrations of the original editions]

And that means something very significant: that Fernald left the Queequeg a short time after his mother’s death, to the point that he was never considered a second in the Crew of Two. As we know, Fiona is barely older than Violet even though she was born before Lemony’s and Beatrice’s break-up (that is, before Jacques became a secon-in-command in the Crew of Two).

So we've established, chronologically, that the fire at Anwhistle Aquatics and Mrs. Widdershins' demise are part of the same debacle. Is there a reason for a second in the Queequeg's Crew of Two to be involved in Gregor Anwhistle's research?

Potentially yes. Anwhistle Aquatics, for some reason, was built upon a subterranean grotto which could only be accessed by deep-sea divers. You'd need a submarine to get there. The grotto was arranged to conceal specimens of the Medusoid Mycellium securely: the spores can't travel by water, so making sure that only deep-sea divers can access it makes complete sense. Shortly after they visit the grotto, Violet and Klaus are able to safely contain the infestation in a submarine helmet. It's probably the only way safe for the fungus to be handled. Therefore, in order to make his experiments on the Medusoid Mycelium securely, Gregor Anwhistle would need constant access to a V.F.D. submarine and its crew, making long trips from the research center to the grotto.

This is why we need to understand what truly happened during the fire. The Queequeg's crew didn't just have access to Gregor Anwhistle's research center: they were heavily involved in it. They knew exactly what he was doing and the Widdershins family perhaps even had a hand in it.

So let's imagine that Mrs Widdershins wasn't just a submarine operator. She was a scholar. She was one of Gregor Anwhistle's assistants, and, more importantly, one of his accomplices. Gregor Anwhistle took the photograph of the Widdershins family.

"I think the ruby ring is very in," Esmé purred. "It would look wonderful with my flame-imitating dress." "That was my mother's," Fiona said quietly. "She would have wanted me to have it Esmé said quickly. "We were close friends at school." [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Thirteen]

And if you think that's doubtful, ask yourself this: why is Fiona a mycologist? And why does the Queequeg's library contains so much information on mushrooms in general and the Medusoid Mycellium in particular? This library is a legacy of Mrs Widdershin's works on the Medusoid Mycellium. She knew everything. And that is exactly why Kit Snicket targetted the Widdershins family when she reached a disagreement with Gregor Anwhistle. Kit definitely had Gregor Anwhistle murdered. The reason she specifically asked the Captain and Fernald to commit this crime is because they had easy access to Anwhistle Aquatics (through their submarine) and to Gregor (through Mrs Widdershins).

Violet smiled. "Precisely," she said. "A Hobson 's choice is something that's not a choice at all. It's an expression our mother used to use. She'd say, 'I'll give you a Hobson's choice, Violet – you can clean your room or I will stand in the doorway and sing your least favorite song over and over.' "  Fiona grinned. "What was your least favorite song?" she asked. " 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat,' " Violet said. "I hate the part about life being but a dream." "She'd offer me the Hobson's choice of doing the dishes or reading the poetry of Edgar Guest," Klaus said. "He's my absolute least favorite poet." "Bath or pink dress," Sunny said. "Did your mother always joke around like that?" Fiona asked. "Mine used to get awfully mad if I didn't clean my room." "Our mother would get mad, too," Klaus said. "Remember, Violet, when we left the window of the library open, and that night it rained?" [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Seven]

We may never know what truly happened at Anwhistle Aquatics that terrible night. We can only makes hypotheses. But here's our proposition.

Kit Snicket eventually realized Gregor wouldn't listen to reason. In order to stop his bioweapon project, she needed to come up with a way to burn down Anwhistle Aquatics and murder Gregor. That way, the research would be lost forever. Kit then reached out to the Captain, who had both access to the research center and a wife who was part of Gregor's inner circle. The Captain accepted the mission and even enlisted the help of his stepson. He told Fernald that his mother was under a corrupting influence and that she had been brainwashed by Gregor. She needed to be saved from herself.

In the final analysis – a phrase which here means "after much thought, and some debate with my colleagues" – Captain Widdershins was wrong about a great many things. He was wrong about his personal philosophy, because there are plenty of times when one should hesitate. He was wrong about his wife's death, because as Fiona suspected, Mrs. Widdershins did not die in a manatee accident. He was wrong to call Phil "Cookie" when it is more polite to call someone by their proper name, and he was wrong to abandon the Queequeg, no matter what he heard from the woman who came to fetch him. Captain Widdershins was wrong to trust his stepson for so many years, and wrong to participate in the destruction of Anwhistle Aquatics, and he was wrong to insist, as he did so many years ago, that a story in The Daily Punctilio was completely true, and to show this article to so many volunteers, including the Baudelaire parents, the Snicket siblings, and the woman I happened to love. But Captain Widdershins was right about one thing. He was right to say that there are secrets in this world too terrible for young people to know, for the simple reason that there are secrets in this world too terrible for anyone to know, whether they are as young as Sunny Baudelaire or as old as Gregor Anwhistle, secrets so terrible that they ought to be kept secret, which is probably how the secrets became secrets in the first place, and one of those secrets is the long, strange shape the Baudelaire orphans saw, first on the Queequeg's sonar, and then as they held the porthole in place and stared out into the waters of the sea. [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Thirteen]

The Captain betrayed his wife's confidence by sneaking into the research center to set a fire while Fernald murdered Gregor. Then they retreated to the safety of the Queequeg. However things didn't go as planned. Instead of fleeing the flames, Mrs Widdershins threw herself into them. She was desperately trying to save Gregor's research in order to duplicate it. In spite of her family's insistence, she never came back to the Queequeg. She died in the fire. Fernald and the Captain agreed to never tell Fiona what had transpired.

"Our stepfather knew Jacques Snicket," Fiona said. "He was a good man, but Count Olaf murdered him. Are you a murderer, too? Did you kill Gregor Anwhistle?" In grim silence, the hook-handed man held his hooks in front of the children. "The last time you saw me," he said to Fiona, "I had two hands, instead of hooks. Our stepfather probably didn't tell you what happened to me – he always said there were secrets in this world too terrible for young people to know. What a fool!" "Our stepfather isn't a fool," Fiona said. "He's a noble man. Aye!" "People aren't either wicked or noble," the hook-handed man said. "They're like chef's salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict." [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Ten]

This is why the relationship between the Captain  and Fernald never recovered. Fernald could never forgive the Captain for starting the fire which killed his mother. Although the Captain certainly never intended for Mrs Widdershins to die, his responsability in his wife's death was inevitable.

Interestingly this tragic death would explain A LOT about Fernald's decision to join Olaf's troupe. After all, one can understand why killing Gregor Anwhistle was necessary. It's morally ambiguous, for sure, but it's not a good enough reason to join a criminal gang. But if you add the trauma of losing a mother on top of this shady assassination, things start to make more sense. You see, Fernald and Olaf had a big thing in common: both lost parental figures in a shady assassination scheme orchestrated by members of V.F.D. The Baudelaire parents killed Olaf's parents at a opera house. Count Olaf used this connection, this proximity in background, to warp Fernald's feelings. He turned him against his stepfather and V.F.D. in general by sharing some aspects of his own backstory.

"Fiona!" the hook-handed man cried. "Is it really you?" "Aye," the mycologist said, taking off her triangular glasses to wipe away her tears. "I never thought I would see you again, Fernald. What happened to your hands?" "Never mind that," the hook-handed man said quickly. "Why are you here? Did you join Count Olaf, too?" [The Grim Grotto, Chapter Ten]

It would also explain why Fernald is reluctant to share some aspects of his past with Fiona (such as the way he lost his hands, for example) even though she knows about the Anwhistle fire. Although she's begun to scratch the surface, there are simply aspects of the murder which are worse than she thinks and which Fernald is not ready to divulge. Indeed Fiona could very much blame both Fernald and the Captain for her mother's death. Her stepbrother fears that. It's likely that the reason he lost his hands has as much to do with their mother than it has to do with Gregor. If we had to guess, we'd say he burned his hands trying to rescue his mother at Anwhistle Aquatics.

What makes this theory credible is the cover story which the Captain used to explain away his wife's disappearance. More specifically, it involves a manatee. And a manatee shows up in another dubious disappearance story :

"Have you lived your whole life on this island?" Klaus said. "Yes," Friday said. "My mother and father took an ocean cruise while she was pregnant, and ran into a terrible storm. My father was devoured by a manatee, and my mother was washed ashore when she was pregnant with me. You'll meet her soon. Now please hurry up and change." [The End, Chapter Three]

"Oh, Ish," he said, his eyes shining bright, "I told you many years ago that I would triumph over you someday, and at last that day has arrived. My associate with the weekday for a name told me that you were still hiding out on this island, and–" "Thursday," Mrs. Caliban said. Olaf frowned, and blinked at the freckled woman. "No," he said. "Monday. She was trying to blackmail an old man who was involved in a political scandal." [The End, Chapter Eleven]

However this story is later proven to be untrue: Miranda Caliban and her husband were on opposite side of the schism which divided the island. Thursday left with the Baudelaire parents, while Miranda remained on the Island with their daughter. She made up the entire story. It's a little too much of a coincidence that two different disappareance cover-up stories share the exact same weird detail about a manatee.

"Have you been here before?" Violet asked. "No," Kit said, "but I've heard about this place. My associates have told me stories of its mechanical wonders, its enormous library, and the gourmet meals the islanders prepare. Why, the day before I met you, Baudelaires, I shared Turkish coffee with an associate who was saying that he'd never had better Oysters Rockefeller than during his time on the island. You must be having a wonderful time here." "Janiceps," Sunny said, restating an earlier opinion. "I think this place has changed since your associate was here," said Klaus. "That's probably true," Kit said thoughtfully. "Thursday did say that the colony had suffered a schism, just as V.F.D. did." "Another schism?" Violet asked. "Countless schisms have divided the world over the years," Kit replied in the darkness. "Do you think the history of V.F.D. is the only story in the world? Bu: let's not talk of the past, Baudelaires. Tell me how you made your way to these shores." [The End, Chapter Eight]

"Occasionally someone leaves," Ishmael said, and looked down at the Incredibly Deadly Viper, who gave him a brief hiss. "Some time ago, two women sailed off with this very snake, and a few years later, a man named Thursday left with a few comrades." "So Thursday is alive," Klaus said, "just like Kit said." "Yes," Ishmael admitted, "but at my suggestion, Miranda told her daughter that he died in a storm, so she wouldn't worry about the schism that divided her parents." "Electra," Sunny said, which meant "A family shouldn't keep such terrible secrets," but Ishmael did not ask for a translation. "Except for those troublemakers," he said, "everyone has stayed here. And why shouldn't they? Most of the castaways are orphans, like me, and like you. [The End, Chapter Ten]

At this point, it seems more likely to be one of those memetic code phrases which V.F.D. likes to use. "Eaten by a manatee" is a slang term that adult volunteers use to hide something horrible from their children. So what does "eaten by a manatee" mean, exactly? Surely it doesn't mean "dead", as Thursday was clearly alive and well when Miranda started spouting those lies. "Eaten by a manatee" is not used to cover up deaths, it's used to cover up betrayals. Instead of telling young volunteers that someone went to the other side of the schism, parents tell them the person was "eaten by a manatee". It's the ultimate way to sever the parental bond. It's common to tell someone who betrayed you: "you're dead to me". V.F.D. takes the expression to its literal extreme.

So when the Captain affirms that his wife was eaten by a manatee, he means that she actually betrayed the organization. It's not obvious because she didn't go to Olaf's side of the schism (as Fernald did later) but rather to the other side of another schism: that is, she chose Gregor's side in his feud against Kit Snicket. There are indeed multiple schisms within the history of V.F.D. The schism between the "noble" and "villainous" side is the first one and the most important one, but the "noble" side suffered other disagreements: Ishmael vs the Baudelaire parents on the Island, Kit vs Gregor, Lemony vs his mentors in "All The Wrong Questions", Dashiell and Theodora vs Gifford and Ghede, etc.

And on that topic, the newspaper clipping which Violet Baudelaire found in the grotto is especially revealing:

" 'VERIFYING FERNALD'S DEFECTION,' " she said, reading the headline out loud, and then continued by reading the byline, a word which here means "name of the person who wrote the article." "By Jacques Snicket. It has now been confirmed that the fire that destroyed Anwhistle Aquatics, and took the life of famed ichnologist Gregor Anwhistle, was set by Fernald Widdershins, the son of the captain of the Queequeg submarine. The Widdershins family's participation in a recent schism has raised several questions regarding..." Violet looked up and met the glare of Olaf's henchman. "The rest of the article is blurry," she said, "but the truth is clear. You defected – you abandoned V.F.D. and joined up with Olaf!" [The Grim Grotto; Chapter Ten]

Violet missed the point of the article entirely. The text clearly mentions a “recent” schism; that is, not the original one which happened while Dewey and Kit were about four years old and which split the organization into two. The “recent” schism is clearly the one which divided the “noble” volunteers into Gregor’s followers and Gregor’s adversaries. And note that this is the “Widdershins family” who is involved in that particular schism; not just Fernald.

"You should have seen the fire," he said quietly. "From a distance, it looked like an enormous black plume of smoke, rising straight out of the water. It was like the entire sea was burning down." "You must have been proud of your handiwork," Fiona said bitterly. "Proud?" the hook-handed man said. "It was the worst day of my life. That plume of smoke was the saddest thing I ever saw." He speared the newspaper with his other hook and ripped the article into shreds. "The Punctilio got everything wrong," he said. "Captain Widdershins isn't my father. Widdershins isn't my last name. And there's much more to the fire than that. You should know that the Daily Punctilio doesn't tell the whole story, Baudelaires. Just as the poison of a deadly fungus can be the source of some wonderful medicines, someone like Jacques Snicket can do something villainous, and someone like Count Olaf can do something noble. Even your parents –" [The Grim Grotto; Chapter Ten]

As Fernald warns the Baudelaire orphans, the newspaper clipping is propaganda meant to disguise the volunteer’s more questionable behaviours. It purposedly fails to mention that the Captain helped start the destruction of Anwhistle Aquatics, for example. So the author clearly wants us to question the official narrative. And for some reason, as Fernald starts defending his own version of the events, he starts spewing unsavory revelations about the Baudelaire parents. Why would he do that? Is he projecting his own family issues on the Baudelaire legacy? That would be fitting. We already know that the Captain did morally questionable things for V.F.D. It’s not a big leap to assume that his wife committed some crimes of her own.

[k-kuja]

which are hirako's most important relationships and why?

Relationship, singular.

I’m joking, but I’m also not joking because every single relationship he did have, he was prepared to sacrifice without hesitation for one (1) tall glass of sad.

He was profoundly affected when Arima told him, “You’re like me, you have that same emptiness,” I imagine for two main reasons: first of all, it was an admission of weakness on Arima’s part (the unstoppable shinagami is human after all!) and a way of bridging a gap in their personal relationship, allowing them to speak openly and honestly about their individual emotional struggles ( —I mean, that never actually happened, but there was at least a foundation there); on top of that, another human being tells Take that they relate to him. Someone he deeply respects, someone from whom he desperately needs validation, someone who he sees as the opposite to himself - charismatic, skilled, useful, with a strong sense of purpose - sees themselves in him.

And then in addition to that, Arima genuinely trusts him. Like, a lot. He trusted him with his blindside, with his past, with his peers (the Garden kids), with his plan… Arima sort of provides for him posthumously in a sense too, at least in Take’s mind, by offering him an objective and… kind of a surrogate family.

For the record, I’m aware that that’s a little bit of a stretch but (!) I do think it’s an interesting thought when you consider his decision to appoint Akira (who was always coded as cold and distant) as a ‘parent’ to Haise, esp after losing Kureo, Seidou and Amon. She developed more maternal characteristics and formed genuine, positive relationships with him and the Qs; I like the idea that he wanted both Hirako and the Garden kids to experience a similar sense of family, and it’s super sad that that never materialised.

So whatever sense of purpose he eventually finds comes from his relationship with Arima, and the trust Arima places in him. We’re never given any real glimpse into his personal life but, in terms of work, he doesn’t care about promotion (it seems that both he and Arima actively tried to remain paired for as long as possible), he doesn’t care about CCG protocol (he challenges his superior officer, Hachi, twice) and he isn’t particularly interested in killing ghouls either (he suggests imprisoning Irimi rather than killing her and, when Haise says he wants to apologise to Hirako for letting Orochi escape, Arima straight up says, “I don’t think Take cares.”)

There’s a reason why he never wrestles with his decision to defect like, say, Akira does - his loyalty was never to the CCG. It was solely to Kishou.

To be clear though, he’s loyal to a fault and it’s a big part of what negatively affects his contribution to Goat/the Dragon War. 

Aside from Arima, I think the relationship that’s most important to him is with Koori, and forgive my incredible laziness here but I’m gonna direct people to this great meta by @linkspooky because it perfectly explains how the two foil each other in their pursuit of Arima’s legacy. They share a mutual respect for one another and they’re established as equals, but for competing reasons.

His relationship with Kuramoto is really interesting bc Kuramoto kind of inherits two of Take’s biggest weaknesses: (1) he believes he’s only useful as a follower and doesn’t believe he’s capable of assuming a position of leadership (a fear that’s immediately realised when he loses almost his entire squad during his first mission as Sq Leader). Obviously Take does assume leadership of S0, but he constantly defers - even after Arima’s death, he describes himself as “merely an underling”; any 'decision’ he does make is just an earlier command from Arima, and, other than that, he simply responds to Kaneki’s directions rather than co-operating with him to make more practical decisions.

Anyway, Kuramoto’s lack of self-belief is the result of (2) never having received the validation he requires from his superior (sounds familiar wow), to the point where he becomes depressed after Take’s defection and seems to blame himself for some reason (”I thought he believed in me”). In spite of that, Kuramoto remains as steadfastly loyal to Hirako as the latter does to Arima; there’s never a conversation about how hurt or confused Kuramoto was. He makes a few friendly jibes but he happily accepts Take back and re assumes his position as subordinate without any issue.

It’s proof of Hirako’s painful lack of self-awareness, as well as his inability to understand the needs of anyone around him other than Arima, I think. Where Arima consciously distances himself from his subordinates and deliberately withholds praise (or whatever) from others in spite of their need for it, Take is completely oblivious to those needs.

I also think the relationship between Take and Renji is kind of rewarding, even if it is really brief. [Yeah, I know, yawn, Áine likes Homo.]

First of all, it underlines once again that Hirako doesn’t have any deep-rooted hatred for ghouls and, in fact, he’s quite comfortable talking to one as an equal. He’s friendly and complimentary, even. It makes me wonder a lot more about his past and why he enrolled in the Academy in the first place.

Their conversation in the café is… super muddy, and it’s both good and bad in a way that reflects the moral grey that carries through to the end of the manga imo. Hirako listens to Renji as he explains why he’s hurt and angry and struggling to come to terms with this new alliance. Cool. And then responds by basically saying “what’s done is done, your sister’s dead, my boyfriend’s friend’s dead, we just have to forget about it and blindly move forward based on our single commonality”, which is... not really very productive, and absolutely not Good Détente, like that’s… not how conflict resolution works. But it’s something I guess, and an uneasy alliance that they both agree too, which it’s indicative of how the ghoul/non-ghoul conflict is handled (or not handled) right up until the end of the story..

I think there’s a general perception that Take buries his thoughts/feelings and doesn’t speak because he’s repressing them, so I think it’s refreshing and interesting to see him communicate very openly and directly with a total stranger about lacking a sense of purpose in life, desperately seeking validation, honestly admitting to now knowing where to go from here...

As someone who is incredibly open about pretty much everything but uncomfortable putting themselves at the centre of a conversation, and also needs space to actually gather whatever thoughts need to be expressed before being able to actually communicate them to others, it was weirdly relatable to see him suddenly so comfortable and frank. It’s more of a personal reading I guess, I think a lot of people prob read that as a little out of character.

[snowbellewells]

Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)

I’m sorry it’s edging towards nine o’clock at night, but I did make my designated day again this week.  They don’t have merely Gold to contend with anymore, and things between Emma and Killian continue to heat up... I hope you’ll enjoy Chapter Three!!

As always, so many thanks to @wingedlioness for the breathtaking banner, and the art that is yet to appear (I can’t wait for you to see it!)

~ by: @snowbellewells

 chapter three ~ rumblings of real trouble

           Despite the blatant innuendo Killian Jones was dropping, even as he remained placidly behind bars, and Emma’s flustered and heated reaction (which both of her friends could certainly pick up as well), Graham did grudgingly turn to head out, mumbling to his new inmate that he had better behave himself and not give Deputy Swan any trouble.  Emma could practically hear Ruby’s eyes roll dramatically in reaction to her brother’s overprotective warning, without even looking at her friend’s face, before Ruby did turn to follow his lead.

           To Jones’ credit, he didn’t fight the sheriff’s edict or respond challengingly at all.  Instead, he offered an almost respectful nod of deference to the other man.  His softly murmured response was genuine when he answered, “Of course, Sheriff.  I wouldn’t think of doing otherwise.”

           The sincere reply seemed to stop Graham’s stalking exit short, his wiry frame practically vibrating with tension, but his shoulders lowering as well before he also bowed his head and let out a breath.  Looking back over his shoulder, eyes stormy but voice calmer and more genial than it had been.  “Thank you,” he stated simply.  “I appreciate that…truly.”

           He then spoke to Emma, clearly deciding he owed her a bit more explanation as well.  “As I’ve thought on it more, I may remember a prisoner named Belle in Regina’s castle back our land.  If she is the same person Gold seeks, I might have an idea where she could be.  I’ll admit that my memories seem to be coming back in pieces instead of all at once, and fuzzily at that.  Maybe because I wasn’t always fully myself when they were made? I don’t know really….but if we find her there, not only will we have found her and have our gambit to offer him, but Gold certainly can’t ask us to hold Mr. Jones on those grounds any longer. If I’m right, he’ll be hunting Mayor Mills instead.”

           Emma nodded her understanding, and Ruby looked galvanized by the lead as well – ready to head off to the rescue and into action.  Moments later, the two of them were gone, and Emma found herself alone in the station with the devastatingly handsome, and more and more irresistible, Killian Jones.  For a few awkward minutes, she attempted to elude his searching, heated gaze.  She could feel it on the back of her head, tingling at the base of her neck, but she was avoiding him, more than a little embarrassed at her obvious attraction being picked up on, and that she knew she couldn’t hide it if she got close to him, let his eyes draw her in once more. Pretending to straighten the mess of her desk, check the phone for messages, and see that more coffee was brewing could all only take so long however.  When Killian’s voice once more reached out to her from across the large, open room, caressing her ear with its low, warm timbre, Emma had little choice but to turn and meet his heated stare head on.

           “Come now, Swan,” he coaxed, beguiling smile on his lips, “don’t ignore me. Interrogate me, punish me for my malfeasance if you must…” at that his eyes glittered with truly salacious temptation and a licking of his chops that did indeed make him look wolfish, “but don’t kill me with boredom.”

           She found herself smirking back, moving closer to his cell in spite of her own resolve, and about to challenge the innuendo he tossed out with a saucy comeback of her own, when suddenly a low rumble vibrated through the building around them; the actual ground beneath her feet rocking unsteadily.  Unsettled to say the least, her heart pounding and eyes seeking out some sort of cause, Emma stumbled forward and grasped the bars of Killian’s cell before her for balance.  Still confused and more than a bit worried, she couldn’t help noting that his hand closed over hers on the metal bar comfortingly; lending her assurance, even as the floor seemed to shift and tremble under her, and it began to look as though the brick outer wall of the station was wobbling and rearranging as well.

           Her eyes finally flew to meet Jones’ intent gaze, hoping he could perhaps explain what was happening.

A dark look crossed his features making him look distinctly foreboding. Emma had the definite sense that he did at least have some suspicion or idea what might be occurring, but before she could gather her voice to ask him, her eyes widened in genuine trepidation as the bricks in the wall nearby did indeed begin to not just shift but fall away.  It was as if, as she watched, stunned, the wall crumbled in the shape of a wide archway, opening the station to the street outside.

           She felt Killian go rigid next to her, again making her almost certain that he knew exactly who or what was coming for them, and that he was absolutely dreading the confrontation.  Already nervous, his reaction made her mouth go totally dry, turning her hand within his grip up to twine her fingers with his in search of a bit more courage with which to steel herself.

           Mere seconds later, two swirling funnels of purple smoke appeared in the opening, clearing gradually to reveal Regina Mills in one of her perfect, sharp skirt suit ensembles and an older, similarly dark-haired, dark-eyed woman beside her dressed in an opulent gown that Emma could only assume was more reminiscent of this other realm everyone else seemed to hail from; it certainly didn’t look like anything she’d ever seen in modern day New England.  Both were cool, composed, and completely unruffled, despite the unbelievable and sudden appearance.  They stepped through the now obviously magic-created gap and with a single gesture of the older woman’s hand, the continued rolling beneath their feet abruptly ceased.

           “Cora,” Emma heard Killian growl angrily at her back, low and under his breath, but indicating to her clearly his wariness and a previous acquaintance that was less than pleasant.  She recalled his recent brief confession to Graham, that this woman was both a powerful sorceress and Regina’s mother, and also the way he himself had reached Storybrooke.

           Reacting almost without thought, and while still clutching his hand, Emma stepped in front of Jones subtly, as if to shield him from direct attack.  Not that she could do much against magic, but this was partially her jail after all.  She wasn’t having someone hurt on her watch; not if she could help it. Beyond that, something fiercely defensive rose inside her.  This man – she didn’t yet know him well – but she sensed a pull, a tie between them that she didn’t want severed.  Though he seemed ruggedly able to care for himself – if he had been alone as long as it seemed, he clearly could – she didn’t want him to stand alone against two dangerous witches.  There wasn’t even a question; she didn’t know exactly why, but what he had shared of his past with Gold made it clear he’d been hurt with magic before, and she wouldn’t merely stand by to let it happen again without trying to help.

           Pressing her mouth into a thin line and planting her feet, even as Killian hissed at her shoulder, tugging at her arm, urging her to step aside, reasoning that if they were there for him he didn’t want her to take his place, Emma focused on staring the two women down resolutely, hoping not to give away any of her doubt or fear.

           The older woman, her dark hair up in some elaborate twist, practically simpered in self-satisfaction at them, her voice a sickening coo, a deceptively sweet warning hidden in friendly greeting.  “Well, Captain, what have we here?  I wondered where my traveling companion had gotten to.  You don’t look as though you’ve done all that well for yourself.”  Her wide, pearly smile seemed polite and magnanimous, but beneath it showed her teeth in an eerily chilling grin.

           Emma scrunched her face up in confusion, not understanding the ‘Captain’ title or her teasingly condescending manner.  Killian however, though she could feel his tension through the bars that separated them, appeared outwardly unconcerned and nonchalant to the woman’s barbs and her veiled threat.  His voice was cool and silky as ever when he responded, “Well, I see that unencumbered by my dissention you’ve found and teamed up with your daughter, as you desired. So it certainly hasn’t held you back any, your Majesty.”

           Emma found herself thrown even more and further confused by the royal honorific Jones offered the woman before them, but before she could question anyone on the finer points of who she was or what was going on, Cora nodded back to them, a light chuckle leaving her that somehow made the hair on Emma’s arms stand on end.

           She inclined her head toward Killian in a subtle gesture of agreement before adding, “You are correct.  Certainly your defection has hardly stopped me.  However,” and here she pursed her lips, clearly taking in both the people who stood before her: their stances, their closeness, and quite possibly even their strong but undefined connection, then cutting briefly to her daughter, who looked cruelly pleased and expectant for what would happen next. “Though I do not take slights or betrayals lightly, you are not the one I’ve come to deal with at present.”

           Though it was Emma who had been lost up to this point, now Killian seemed equally puzzled by his former cohort’s words.  “Pardon me, Love,” he smirked deviously, just as able to simper back at her as she was to put on false charm, “but I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

           “Oh no?” the older woman tutted mockingly.  “Well, you see, I came to this little hamlet to make amends with my daughter, which you well remember, Captain.  As it turns out, our family reconciliation is nearly complete.”  She shrugged, looking for all the world as if she had not a care, merely one tiny little chore to accomplish and all of her plans would be achieved.

           Killian, however, knew better than most just how deceptive her pleasant smile could truly be.  He had first met the woman on a mission from Regina to Wonderland – where he had been sent to kill Cora.  Instead, he had nearly lost his own life, felt those clawed fingers squeezing within his chest, and knew that in the case of this mother and daughter, the evil apple had not fallen far at all from the poisonous tree.  Having his life spared by the deceptive and powerful Queen of Hearts had left him with something of a presumed debt, and a knowledge from just enough time spent with her as a compatriot, of how truly dangerous the woman was.  Not for a second did he believe her answer would be anything pleasant, he feigned nonchalance to toss back a casual, “Oh yes? And what is it that two accomplished sorceresses such as yourselves could still need?”

           Unfortunately, Cora Mills seemed to snap instantaneously into deadly seriousness; her coy, teasing manner vanishing from her face.  She suddenly stood right before them, almost nose-to-nose with Emma, sparing merely one more glance with a frightening gleam in her dark eyes for Killian.  “Just a little gift, mind you…a token really…to show my sweet Regina how sincere I am in my desire to make things right – to know her again and be her mother.”

           Something about the woman’s tone of voice, the fiercely capable but also unhinged look on her face made Killian freeze.  He attempted to raise both eyebrows in challenge, as if to ask doubtfully what sort of gift that could possibly be, but he could already tell that she was coiled, ready to strike, and in that instant, he couldn’t force out the words to push her any further.  He could see as clear as day that she was about to make a bold move, and Regina’s smug expression as she watched from the background with sadistic glee only made the inner warning bells of foreboding ring with more intensity.

           Emma was without the benefit of previous dealings and experience with the elder Mills, and so had no such compunction in dealing with their sinister opponent.  Instead, she narrowed her eyes, practically growling back, “Oh yeah?  Well then go for it, Lady,” in a defiant dare that made Killian’s blood run cold at danger it invited.

           Even so, he couldn’t have been prepared for the rapid way Cora’s hand shot straight forward, somehow penetrating Emma’s chest with sudden violence, and causing Swan to cry out in stunned pain despite her former toughness. Delving about within the golden siren’s body before him with a terrifying purpose he knew all too well, Killian barely choked back his own desperate protest, not wanting to make the witch savor her task any more than she already did.

           “Thank you, my dear,” Cora said mockingly to Emma, her hand looking to at last close around the desired organ as Swan began to gape for air.  “You see, you’re in my daughter’s way.  Getting between her and her son.  She wanted you removed from the picture, without implicating herself.”  She smiled a jagged, horrifying grin, “And I am only too happy to oblige.”

           Emma actually snarled, regardless of her precarious position and Cora’s literal grasp on her very life. Killian knew then and there that he had never been so impressed, so enthralled with anyone before.  “You’ll get to Henry over my dead body,” Emma vowed through clenched teeth, glaring at Regina with a fire that was intimidating even with the Queen of Heart’s arm engulfed in her torso.

           Cora merely laughed aloud at Emma’s words, readying to pull her arm free with the deputy’s heart in her grip.  “I’m sorry to tell you this, my dear, but that is precisely what is about to happen.” She tried to withdraw, but instead of emerging with the organ in her hand, the vile woman seemed stuck.  She jerked harder, actually moving Emma awkwardly along with her arm, but neither her hand nor the heart left Emma’s body.

           “What is the meaning of this?!” Cora snapped, yanking her arm back toward herself in earnest now, or attempting it at least; her puzzled frustration growing as she pulled to no avail.

           Killian was equally stunned, gaping at Emma who had begun to glow so brilliantly he had to squint to look at her fully, even as her face turned toward him to ask the same question herself.  Then, to both their surprise, Cora was flung away from them, across the room with a force so massive it blew Regina off her feet as well – both villainesses careening into the far wall where they lay for the moment, unmoving and still.

           In the intensity of the last several minutes, Killian had forgotten his own strength; the unnatural power that did at least come along with the trials and alienation of who (and what) he was.  He had been watching passively, his worry for Emma almost paralyzing him; forgetting that he was capable of freeing himself and coming to her aid.  Once that seeming trance had broken, Killian’s lupine protectiveness and dominance forcibly made themselves known; a low whine escaping his throat as he saw Emma fall back against the bars behind her, slumping at the energy which must have fled her body, and her lithe form visibly trembling. The beast within could remain contained and idly watching no longer, no matter how he had endeavored to up to that point to follow their commands and adhere to Emma and her sheriff’s wishes.

           Gripping the bars at either side of himself firmly in his large, roughened hands, Killian began to push firmly, slowly but surely bending the bars of his cage outward with his beyond human strength to where he could easily step free of confinement.  In doing so, Emma lost the support she had been leaning on and practically collapsed against his solid chest.

           Killian’s arms came up to hold and encircle her of their own accord; his step forward readying him to catch her when she toppled, even as Emma looked up at him over her shoulder, blinking in confusion and dazed half-awareness at the sudden shift in position and their now close proximity.  There was still a definite shaking to her limbs that Killian could feel as he gathered her closer to his considerable warmth – another trait of his dual nature, that he might have chuckled at in a lighter moment as Emma seemed to almost unconsciously snuggle nearer to him – unable to resist holding her while he had the chance.  Her sweet, cupid’s bow lips parted slightly in surprise as she attempted to catch her breath, and he could no more help the awed, enamored smile he gave her than he could help embracing her for as long as possible.

           “Alright there, Lass?” he finally murmured, right against her ear, his mouth actually brushing the delicate lobe and causing a shiver to run through her all over again.  Practically, he knew he should be making sure that Cora and Regina were truly incapacitated and looking for a way to hold them prisoner, or at least neutralize the danger they presented once they regained consciousness, but neither of the women had stirred in the slightest, and Emma Swan seemed not at all ready to pull away or push him back as he had fully expected.  Holding his breath, he determined not to ruin the moment rather than do anything which would cause her to withdraw.

           “I – I- I think so,” the deputy stammered, wetting her lips and shaking her head rather adorably, somehow looking smaller and less certain than the tough, impenetrable front she had presented until that very moment.  “Wh-what was that?  How did I do… whatever that was?!?”  Her eyes bugged and she gestured expansively as if trying to illustrate the blast that had come from her chest and propelled her attackers away from them.

           “Well, Emma,” Killian hummed gently, his hands – both whole and stunted – rubbing up and down her arms unconsciously, attempting to offer her some sort of soothing comfort, “I don’t mean to upset you, but if I had to venture a guess, I’d wager you used some sort of magic.”

           Swan did shove herself away from him then, eyes darting from her felled enemies to her own hands extended before her, and from his open, earnest expression to the bars bent wide to allow his freedom behind him.  “What? No!” she shook her head in denial, blond mane flying wildly in all directions as she did so.  “That’s not possible.  I don’t have magic.  And I certainly wouldn’t know how to fling people across the room with it, even if I did!”

           Killian’s eyes narrowed at her outburst, his already stirred blood responding to her fire in a primal way he could not quash.  It was all he could do to hold back his instincts just then as they urged him to pull her in and kiss the arguing breath right out of her.  The wolf lurking beneath the surface suddenly rammed itself against his internal barriers, desperate to break free, to devour the delectable woman before him with lips, tongue and teeth, making her indisputably his own.

           Emma of course, though obviously shaken by the events they had just weathered, looked nowhere near backing down; in fact, she appeared to be gathering steam, jabbing a finger toward the warped cell bars and turning her frantic ire on him. “And what is that?!  Are you seriously telling me you could have gotten out of there whenever you wanted?! What were you doing?  Just toying with us?  Why?”

           Dropping his head slightly, Killian had to fight the surge of disappointment that flooded his veins. ‘Always mistrusted, never understood,’ his mind seemed to hauntingly remind him once again as Emma’s wild questions veered ever more toward accusation.  Attempting to mask the hurt her sudden doubt had caused, Killian gathered his ever-effective cloak of flirtatious bravado around him, practically leering at her with devilish baiting in his tone.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he goaded, not wanting to provoke her in truth, but not sure how to answer the question honestly without spooking her and still keeping the howling beast within at bay, even as it hankered, slavered, to flee, to get away and lick its wounds.  How to explain that he had hoped to aid their cause, to gain their trust, regain a bit of his tarnished honor, and maybe, at long last, find a place to belong?  All he knew was that her reaction had forced him to see once again how foolish he was for holding out such hope.

           Her arms crossed over her chest, panting with both exertion and indignation as she faced him down, toe-to-toe, the forms of the two Mills women clearly forgotten behind her.  “Maybe I would,” she shot back, “but I’m not about to start begging for hints.  I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

           Neither of them were prepared to give an inch; that much was crystal clear. And Killian would lay odds that Emma had no more idea how they had gone from practically tangled in each other’s arms to squared off ready to fight in mere seconds, but there they stood, sparks shooting between them, emotions high and ready to boil over at the slightest bit more provocation.

           Again, his quivering muscles warned him of years’ experience at barely holding back the change always on the very edge of his consciousness, warring to be free – his natural state constantly chafing at being held back, but when he had exerted such strength and let his emotions become so agitated, it was all the more close to the surface.  Basically grinding his teeth, both jaw and mobile fist clenched, Killian let his eyes fall closed in a bid to shut Swan and her maddening presence out, to ground himself once more and stave off his shift until he could reach cover and manage it unobserved.

           Both of them paused, chests heaving and at an impasse, until the sound of an alarmed shout, footsteps pounding, and then Graham’s form appeared in the collapsed opening of the station’s outer wall to the street, caused them to break eye contact. The swell of intense emotion that had swept them up dropped them again, and caused deputy and werewolf to fall away from each other.  The sheriff agilely leapt over the pile of bricks to reach them, turning quickly as he regained his footing to offer first his sister, and then a wide-eyed, pale, and silent woman Emma could only assume was the elusive Belle French, his hand in turn to help them clamber over the rubble as well – Ruby quite adeptly, a marked spring in her step at all the action and excitement, and the other woman moving with a stiffness that spoke of lengthy inaction and uncertainty.  

          Even as she reached the inside with the rest of them, she carefully kept herself half hidden behind Ruby and continued to clutch Graham’s steady hand with her own shaking fingers. She did peer out at Emma and Killian with a curious gaze, indicating that she was getting a sense of her new surroundings and wouldn’t remain cowed for long, but still, Emma’s heart went out her. The rather shell-shocked effect pale, thin visage gave left Emma unable to imagine what all she might have been through.  “Belle, I assume?” Emma asked gently, not wanting to startle or push the other woman in any way, but wanting to acknowledge her all the same.

         “Aye,” Graham nodded, his accent think and softer than normal, a reassuring smile down at the petite woman offered as he spoke.  He then looked up to Killian.  “I apologize for taking you in earlier.  You could have made things much more unpleasant than you did.  I appreciate it, and I’m sorry for doubting you. Clearly you and Emma have proven quite a team while we were gone, but the three of us can take it from here. We should be able to sway Gold from his vendetta against you now, knowing it was Regina who was hiding Belle. Still, just in case… you might want to make yourself scarce for a day or two…”

         Killian opened his mouth to argue, not liking the idea of leaving two fellow wolves – and Emma – to face off against his mortal enemy, not to mention the Evil Queen and her manipulative viper of a mother. Nor did he like the way matters remained between he and Emma – raw emotions left unspoken and the electricity that had been zinging between them unfulfilled and set alight.  However, what the other man said made sense.  His gaze turned to Emma, and she nodded shortly, letting him know she agreed with Graham and that he was dismissed.

        Much too determined for that to be the end, Killian knew he would be back to finish what he and Swan had started, but the situation was too volatile and complicated for him to worsen their best chance of defusing at least one of their threats.  They absolutely would not make the desired progress with Gold while dragging Killian along.  He capitulated, merely stating that if they were sure – to which Ruby gave him a toothy grin, reminding him that they were kindred and she and Graham could handle it – he would go for the time being, but he wouldn’t be far.  He could be called back for help if needed. He and Graham shook hands, and Ruby gave him a much friendlier look than he had garnered from her previously…but Emma wouldn’t meet his eye.

        Now wasn’t the time, he scolded himself, moving to the exit and stepping out of the station into the open air, headed for the tree line not far from this edge of town.  Emma had seemed just panicked enough to let him go, despite their earlier closeness, and he kicked himself as he broke into a loping run for wishing once more that she would ask him to stay.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @laschatzi @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @linda8084 @branlovesouat @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @jennjenn615 @capswantrue @kiwistreetswan @allofdafandoms-blog @quicksilvermad

[veliusthewanderer]

Trump vs the US Constitution or Will Congress Actually Grow a Pair and Stop Him?

Its been awhile since my last rant, and obvious a lot has happened since the last rant. Democrats announcing their candidacies, Trump and Kim Jong Un’s bromance in Hanoi, severe weather striking the South, Manafort going to jail, and other things. Of course the biggest story, the one that continues to garner the most attention is the continuing fight between Trump and Congressional Democrats who have only last year managed to do the impossible: win control of the House of Representatives. The battle lines were redrawn, the forces marshaled, yet the main issue remained unchanged. That issue is none other than the border wall a.k.a the Great Wall of America.

At the end of last year, Trump tried to bully the Democrats into accepting his proposal for $750 billion for the border wall. Democrats tried to persuade Trump to accept an alternative which would provide border security in exchange for the renewal of the Dreamer Program and DACA which would protect the children of illegal immigrants who either entered the US with them, or was born in the US shortly after. Trump refused to budge, then in a stunner which surprised many, went on national and foreign television and stated that he would own any government shutdown as a result of the standoff, even assuring Chuck Schumer and Nancy Pelosi that he would not hold them to account. Of course, like everything else Trump has said, it was a lie as not even a full three days later, on one of his many rallies, he placed the blame squarely on Schumer and Pelosi. The shutdown lasted 34 days, which for many federal workers who relied on government funds to sustain them meant that they had to decide between buying a house (or car), paying the bills, and keeping food on the table. For most, Christmas-which fell in this period-was devastating. For them, Christmas didn’t finally come for their families until nearly a month later. Then came the midterm elections and the sudden surge of progressive-and even socialist-Democrats to the House. Despite the fact Republicans managed to hold on to control of the Senate, it was clear the game had changed. 

Knowing that with Democrats in the House, committees that had hitherto been rather passive in the investigations of Trump now fired up by the new blood, Mueller getting closer to finally implicating the entire Trump family, and a wariness on the part of the American people to the prospects of another shutdown, Trump decided to do what Republicans had previously (and falsely) accused President Obama of doing: skirt Congressional power and declare a national emergency. Using records whose veracity is at best dubious, Sarah Huckabee Sanders and Kellyanne Conway as attack-dogs against opposition, and the national guard units of nearly every state in the union to block access across the US-Mexico border, Trump declared to all that he would steal funding going to various military and civilian projects and institutions to collect the $750 billion he would need for his wall. 

Just two days ago, House Democrats-along with 13 Republican defectors-passed a resolution that was designed to block Trump’s emergency declaration. Trump had tried to use the bully-pulpit once more to intimidate the Republicans who eventually defected into remaining loyal to him. This failed, but even epic failure was not enough to deter Trump, who used the power of the veto for the first time to override the Congressional objection. It remains to be seen how Congress will respond to the veto, though it is clear that while the group is still intact, it will still require a 2/3 majority to override a presidential veto. The House, controlled by the Democrats would carry such an override. The problem is within the Senate, still held by Republicans. Mitch McConnell has made it clear that even with support it carries there, he would not allow the measure to be even discussed, let alone voted on. So any hope of stopping the presidential overreach lies now with the courts...and its not likely the courts will be willing or able to stop him.

This brings up a very important question to consider as one makes the decision on who to support in the coming presidential election of 2021. Why doesn’t Congress actually grow a pair of cajones and stand more firmly against Donald Trump? Its primarily because people like McConnell are still too firmly in Trump’s lap (I’m being polite, but you get what I actually mean) to offer a challenge because he and others like him believe Trump is in the right. For other Republicans, its all about their base (no treble) and the need to keep the offices they were elected to. Trump himself had made it clear that should any Republicans attempt to challenge him in Congress, they would rue the day once a more pliant Trump lackey drove them out of office riding a red-capped MAGA wave. Republicans and Democrats are supposed to govern according to the Constitution, and they work for us, not themselves. Yet in the new age of Trump, loyalty to the man is shattering the former loyalty to the party...which it could be argued during the Age of Obama shattered loyalty to the Constitution and country which is the requirement of ALL politicians regardless of their party affiliations. As long as only one party remembers where their true loyalties lie, and one party begins to express loyalty to a man with no political experience and dreams of dictatorship, this country is doomed to fail even though it had survived a Depression and a civil war.