#wonder if this will bring any assholes out of the woodwork

[unforth]

A few days back I read this post in which you explained how you found out your daughter's gender and I just wanted to express to you how amazing it is that you listened to her.

I keep hearing people talking about how it's wrong to let children "decide what gender they want to be" (.........) because they are "too young to really understand what they're saying" (again, .........) so it's nice to see that someone actually LISTENS. Kids need adults, especially their parents, to listen to them when they are telling them who they are.

So thank you for listening and for stressing how important this is!

❤❤❤

For us as a couple it was a no brainer. We're both queer (we’re two married cis women) and we have a lot of genderqueer friends. All the evidence and research on children this young is that they understand gender as early as 2 and can know they’re not cis at that point (the little was about 26 months when she told us, and is 2 3/4 now) and that the best thing we can do as parents is to affirm her. We did have concerns about how some of our family might react and for the most part things went okay but we did have one big conflict with my MIL which has resulted in us seeing her much less, and she's not allowed to be alone with the kids. Her reaction to, "so the little told us she’s a girl...so she’s a girl," was, "at that age my brother thought he was a school bus." (To emulate you... ................) She also blamed me for dressing 'him' that way - "who picks out the little's clothes?” (she knew I did the clothes shopping) “Dressing that way doesn't make the little a girl!" which was the stupidest fucking thing to say...like...the little herself picked out those clothes when I took her thrift storing with me. I just bought what she liked. I literally have a picture of her hoarding two dresses and a skirt that she’d picked out, hugging them to her face while she sat in the cart, from a few months before she told us. She would pitch fits when she’d find something she’d like and I’d be like...little you’re a size 2t and that’s a size 7, we’re not buying it cause it won’t fit you...and she dressed in tutus and dresses for almost six months before she learned how to talk enough to share the gender thing...and we still called her by her birth gender because obviously wearing dresses doesn't make someone a girl. Hell we have lots of pictures of our older kid in a dress when he was that little (I bought like a year+ worth of clothes at thrift shops before I knew the gender of the kid I was pregnant with, since we didn’t find out ‘til he was born), and he never said he was a girl and is at the age of almost 5 very confident he's a boy (so much so that he doesn't want to do "things that girls do" except like his rubrics for deciding what are girl things are hilarious he went on this whole spiel about how Glitter Force is a girl show...while he was watching the Equestria HS spin off of MLP...and asking for sparkles on top of his blue nail polish please...anyway tangent sorry.)

What "made" the little a girl was that *she told us she's a girl* like I can't fathom why people think this is complicated? It’s not like she magically transformed one day, she was always a girl, she just couldn’t tell us. No one knows her better than she knows herself. I'm positive she knew all along, her language skills just hadn't developed enough to communicate. After she was able to tell us, and we started using the right pronouns, her behavior improved a lot. The most memorable thing - a few days after she told us she and I were sitting in the master bedroom while my wife was taking her meds. She did something cute, and I said, “awww, my sweet girl!” and she just lit up, “yes, girl!” So I asked her “does it make you happy when I call you a girl?” and she said, “yes, was sad.” (remember, she’s barely over two when this happened, so, like, not so much on sentences) and so I clarified, “you were sad before?” and she nodded and said, “yes...now happy!” 

It was mindblowing. She was so clear about how she felt and what she wanted. I can’t believe anyone, even my MIL, could have heard that conversation and not recognized that this child knew who she was. (I wrote the conversation down, for obvious reasons...we did show it to my MIL, and, well...sigh). My wife told me that she also started telling a lot of stories at bedtime about her stuffed toys feeling broken, but starting to feel better now... (my wife does the little’s bedtime, I do the big’s.)

Other than pronouns and gender id she's the same kid she's always been, her favorite colors are pink and purple, she loves dresses and skirts and rainbows (and Glitter Force, lol) and also loves trains and stuff...because she's a *kid* ffs. And if at some point she does come think this is the wrong thing for her, no harm done, we'll listen. By listening now, we've proven that. She knows she can trust us, and we'll support her and encourage her. I really don't see a losing side to this.

I saw a theory that what freaks people out is they think we're gonna give, like, hormones to a two year old? Which of course not. But if she still feels this way in a decade or so of course medical intervention will start to be a topic...but by then she'll have felt this way for years so what's the problem? It’d be cruel to force her, a girl, to go through male puberty, and anyone thinks that an eleven or twelve year old doesn’t understand enough to make that decision has never met an eleven or twelve year old, like, ever.

I can only assume that the adults like you mention can't remember what it felt like to be a kid. By the time I was the age my big is my parents had gotten divorced and I thought I was a very big, mature girl, and if anyone had tried to dismiss me the way I see many adults dismiss kids I would have been livid. I guess I was lucky, the adults in my life mostly took me seriously (and now those same adults - my parents - have been great toward the little, especially my mom, which proves its not an age or race thing since my dad is a 79 year old straight white god fearing literally runs his church's services once a month dude, and my step mom and mom are both 76 and also white, and they've all been super accepting.) To me it seems stupidly obvious, like...my kids may not know some stuff but they know themselves and I learn more just by listening to them than I'd ever figure out on my own.

My job as their mom is to help them figure out who they are, not force them to be who I think they should be. And I hate that more parents aren't like that, sigh, but I think more are now than ever before, and things will slowly but surely get better. I have to believe that...

(Sorry this got long, by necessity I've thought about this a lot...we're very lucky, family, friends and community the only person who got really weird on us was my MIL, and even she really is trying now...)

[bookofmirth]

Hello! This is a bit different from your usual gwynriel/elucien asks, so I hope you don’t mind, but it’s something that’s been bothering me lately and I wonder if anyone else has noticed.

I’m not sure if it’s because if the upsurge in popularity of acotar on tiktok/twitter with a younger audience reading it, or if I’ve just been lucky and not noticed it before, but I’ve seen so many Tamlin stans coming out of the woodwork and it honestly bothers me.

I definitely do agree that Tamlin is a complex character and of course, it’s fine that people are interested in him (I really don’t care about him, but to each their own)! But lately there have been so many people in the fandom arguing that he’s a victim of PTSD who deserves better, often villainizing Feyre/Lucien because of this.

I‘ve seen takes that Feyre was gaslighting Tamlin when she told him she was happy with Rhys because Rhys still had the whole night court persona going on?? And that Lucien and Feyre were a horrible support system because they wouldn’t stand up to him (completely ignoring that when they did Tamlin … ya know … physically hurt both of them)? And that somehow Feyre spying in the Spring Court in ACOWAR was also abusive and manipulative towards Tamlin?

I just genuinely don’t understand where all of this is coming from. I try to be critical of SJM’s writing because I understand that it can be flawed, especially since I have problems with how Feysand was written after ACOWAR, Azriel’s issues with women, the IC’s treatment of Nesta, etc. But I just can’t seem to get behind these interpretations and I’m not sure if I’m just missing something (or ‘biased’ by Feyre’s POV as some claim).

Wooooooo boy, so I didn't know that this was a thing happening but lemme break down how wrong these people are with some of these arguments! This is going to get long.

(I definitely don't mind, I appreciate any ask that's not just about ship wars!)

So I'm going to lay out the claims people are making and talk about them one at a time.

Tamlin has PTSD:

Probably yes. In the beginning of acomaf, Feyre mentions that he has trouble sleeping, just like she does, and I believe he gets up at night, and this is when their relationship really deteriorates. I can't say for sure what he was experiencing, but it seems like he had a lot of anxiety and fears left over from Amarantha and watching Feyre die. The things he was experiencing emotionally are 1000% understandable and valid, even if it wasn't diagnosable PTSD.

But you know who else likely has PTSD? Lucien and Feyre.

Say it with me everyone: emotions do not always justify behaviors.

Feyre is gaslighting Tamlin:

Hell fucking no.

People need to learn what gaslighting is. Gaslighting is not just "lying". Gaslighting is not "disagreeing". Gaslighting is a very specific tactic used to make someone question their memory, their reality, to twist the truth.

Rhys definitely had a persona. That was a calculated decision. But when Feyre tells Tamlin that she is happy, she is not lying at all. Her telling Tamlin that she is happy has nothing to do with whatever lies or manipulations that Rhys did in the past. Why? Because even if Rhys was a super asshole dark dude, Feyre saying she is happy with him is still the truth. Feyre isn't lying, let alone gaslighting Tamlin, that idea is completely laughable.

The only way that people could say that Feyre is gaslighting Tamlin is to say that she is responsible for Rhysand's Dark persona, that she is the one who created it with the intention of making people question what they thought was true. Which she isn't. That isn't even the reason that Rhys created the persona. He created it to obscure the truth in the first place.

And even his persona isn't gaslighting? He isn't trying to make people question their reality. He isn't trying to make people question themselves. He is trying to make himself look scary. And so when he drops that persona, he is telling the truth. He isn't gaslighting people, he is saying "hey I wasn't being honest before but now I am".

And i think that's a big, big difference that people are failing to understand. Gaslighting is about trying to change other people's reality. Rhys's persona was about him. Feyre saying she was happy was about her. Neither of those things were about trying to make people feel like they were crazy.

So there has to be this reality. Let's say Rhys was spotted being menacing. Person A is like "hey, you look scary!" And he's like "noice, my evil plan is working." Then later on Rhys is like "hey you know what, I wasn't being honest before, I'm actually a Super Cool Dude." Person A might be confused for a minute because what they thought was true wasn't true, but they'll get there.

If it were gaslighting, on the other hand, it would go more like: Rhys: *is nice*. Person A: "hey, I thought you were scary though?" Rhys: "nah, that was my good twin, Rhysnaldo. I've never been nice a day in my life. You must be confused." Person A: *questioning everything they thought they just witnessed".

So yeah anyway, people gotta stop using that term if they don't know what it means.

Feyre manipulating Tamlin:

Personally, I agree with the argument that she manipulated Tamlin in the beginning of acowar. I don't think that's even a matter of interpretation, she went to Spring with the intention of burning shit down.

Feyre was not abusive towards Tamlin. She knew his weaknesses and exploited them. I don't care that she did that to him, I think that she deserved a bit of vengeance. However, personally I cannot stand the fact that in doing so she caused a lot of collateral damage and did not gaf. Deal with your abusive ex however you need to, Feyre. Don't knowingly, intentionally bring harm to other people in doing so.

Feyre and Lucien failing as a support system:

NO.

Feyre literally saved Tamlin's life by killing and dying for him. Lucien was also tortured by Amarantha because of Tamlin. Neither of them broke and betrayed him. They were incredibly loyal to him throughout acotar. Even now, when Lucien is being emotionally and physically abused by Tamlin, Lucien is still trying to work with him, make sure he is fed, make sure he doesn't completely lose his humanity fae-ness. Lucien is the only reason that the Spring Court hasn't completely collapsed while Tamlin wallows in his beasty feelings.

Any time that either Feyre or Lucien try to stand up to Tamlin, he gets manipulative and abusive. He emotionally manipulates Feyre into feeling guilty for wanting to be able to defend herself. He emotionally abuses Feyre by making her afraid of his anger and afraid of how he will react to anything that she says or does. He glares or shouts down anything the Lucien says.

Also, Tamlin is a High Lord! They can only do so much when it comes to standing up to him.

For real, Feyre and Lucien did literally everything that they possibly could in order to try to support Tamlin, and much of that was to their own detriment. In trying to support Tamlin, they got emotional and physical abuse in return. So no, fuck that. Being supportive does not mean we have to put up with abuse.

Being biased in Feyre's favor:

We are not biased by Feyre's POV in the sense that she is trying to mislead the reader, but we are limited by her POV because she doesn't know everything. She tells us the truth as she knows it. That is very different from a narrator who is intentionally trying to hide things or lie or mislead.

But even if we were biased by Feyre's POV, so fucking what??? Is it so wrong to take the side of a victim of abuse? Why do we need to try so hard to understand Tamlin's side? People can do that, of course, I have myself, especially later on in the story. In acofas I started to feel sorry for him. I've been mad at how Rhys treated him in acofas. But the idea of being biased in Feyre's favor means that we would have to question her, in some way, when she recounts the story of her abuse. That's disgusting, to me. What reason do we have to think she isn't telling her story truthfully?

We might naturally have more empathy towards Feyre because we heard the story from her POV, but again - why is that a bad thing? To hear a story from the victim of abuse and feel empathy for them??? Call me crazy but that's not a problem. I'm going to empathize with Feyre, and I'm going to believe Mor (and Rhys, and Lucien). The end.

A final word

Just something you said in the last paragraph struck me, in regards to Azriel's view of women and how the IC treats Nesta: those are not thing to criticize in sjm's writing, I think. Just because Tamlin is abusive doesn't mean that sjm shouldn't have written him that way, ya know? If there are inconsistencies in characterization or a lack of understanding of abusive dynamics or alcohol abuse or something like that, those are things we can criticize in her writing. But characters do uncomfy things, that's supposed to happen.

What I'm trying to say is that there is a difference between criticizing a character's actions, and criticizing the way they have been written. Pretty much everything above falls under the realm of "analyzing a character or story", not criticizing the author.

[medea10]

Medea’s Worst Year of All-Time Anime/Game Superlative

Nobody saw this year coming…except for maybe Barbara Walters! Who could have predicted that this year would bless us with Australia burning, the entire west coast of the U.S. set on fire, stupid people setting fires because they wanted to reveal a baby’s gender, murder hornets, Ruth Bader Ginsburg dying, an almost war with Iran, serial killer mascots arrested, policemen killing unarmed black folks for having a counterfit $20, policemen killing unarmed black folks for breaking up a fight, policemen killing black folks for holding sandwiches, policemen killing unarmed black folks for fucking sleeping, a wide variety of “Karens” coming out of the woodworks, the end of Bojack, the end of Steven Universe, the end of Empire, and a pandemic so huge it’s killed the economy, canceled fun, and given the U.S. president the dumb-fuck idea of injecting bleach to kill the virus!?

SERIOUSLY, WHO COULD HAVE PREDICTED ALL OF THIS WAS GOING TO FALL IN OUR LAPS LIKE HOT COFFEE ON THE CROTCH?!

At least there was anime this year.

…

At least there was SOME anime this year.

…

Biden won the election and Vickeblanca came out with Black Catcher this year.

Hey internet, it’s Medea here to give you her trashy opinion on this years anime and games that she’s watched or played. Because for some reason, my loser-ass loves to do out-dated as fuck memes! I shouldn’t complain, this shit brings a lot of attention to my page every year when I do this. Yes, 2020 was a complete dumpster fire so large that Domestic Girlfriend is crying foul. Many of us had to go on lockdown and ended up binge-watching the entire 957+ episodes of One Piece. I did no such thing. I am one of those “essential workers” so I didn’t hunker down for 9 months straight. But when I was home, I was watching anime. Actually, I would have done that even without the pandemic. I’m an introvert and find the human race to be deplorable.

You all know how this goes. I go over the best this year had to offer me. I had to search really hard to find the good in this year, especially in the anime world. Many things had to be put on hiatus or were delayed to a later date. Just a reminder, I don’t discriminate in what year the anime or game came out. If something came out in the happier times of 2007, that anime or game counts! Let’s get at it!

First Fandom of 2020: Interspecies Reviewers

Did anyone expect a fan-favorite of 2020 was going to be a hentai? Did anyone have on their batshit 2020 bingo card that a hentai was going to grab everybody’s attention? At the beginning of the year, my mind was set on the Railgun sequel and Eizoken. It wasn’t until licensors, streaming sites, and TV stations in Japan dropped this series that I started to pay attention. And got immediately hooked! It’s about three men going to different brothels and reviewing their time with the ladies. And these ladies are of different species! So with every bang comes possible enlightenment, new kinks, or a night of having your dick sucked off more than humanly possible. This anime blew away all of my skepticism and first impressions right out the window. Maybe it’s because I’m a degenerate and am often curious about sexual content, but this was a guilty pleasure of mine this year.

Favorite Main Character of 2020: Moroha from Yashahime

I know the majority of this story is going to revolve around Towa and Setsuna, but can we please focus a little more energy on the spunky, quarter-demon girl?! I know they’re pitting Moroha as the comic relief, but I’m hopeful that she’s going to surprise us one day. We fans of InuYasha would spend the past decade and some change wondering what InuYasha and Kagome’s daughter would be like. This year, we got our answer with Moroha. She’s got this wild side to her, probably due to the fact that she’s spent her entire life on her own. And while she’s silly at times, she can get down to business in a pinch. She has her father’s sense of smell. She has a sword. She’s able to shoot sacred arrows much like her mother. And to top it all off, she has this special rouge that if she puts it on, she’s able to unleash that ¼ demon power inside her and become Beniyasha! Yeah, I know the power only lasts a minute, she’s only 14, give her a break! I will gladly go through another week scratching my head at the confusion this story gives me if I get to see one more second of Moroha and her crazy antics or her bad-ass slaying.

Favorite Villain of 2020: The Devil Believers from Black Clover

This was one hell of a year for Black Clover. It would have been an easy choice to pick the devil and possible super devil that appeared during the elf fight. But I’d like to give a nod to the filler arc villains. And you can’t blame this group for wanting the power of the devil. They’re literally the bottom-rung of the Clover Kingdom and ones with little to no power or mana. So I can agree with why they would want the power of the devil. For one thing, they’d have more power. And for another thing, they’d be able to exact revenge on those who have wronged them. On some occasions I agree with exacting revenge and when it comes to the nobles and some characters in Black Clover, some folks do deserve death. I mean, have you met the king of the Clover Kingdom? Plus, this town and many other poorer towns get looked over by the kingdom. Peasant uprise! Anyways, I thought these people were really crafty in their crimes. I mean, they were able to knock Asta out on his ass with specially made poisons. I was actually hooked to this story of Black Clover (despite it being a filler arc). I know we’ll never see them again as they have been exiled, but it did have me semi-rooting for them.

Favorite Video Game Character of 2020: Honey from Pokemon – Sword & Shield (Expansion Pass)

Sorry Raymond from Animal Crossing!

Honey is the saucy wife of Mustard…I did not expect that to come out the way it did, but here we are! She has one hell of a team you can fight once a day. She looks out for her husband, the dojo, and the students of the dojo like they were her own children by providing food, drinks, and others. However that does come at a price as you do have to give up a sizable chunk of your watts that you collect in raid dens. I’m sure a bunch of MILF chasers were more than happy enough to give her all their hard-earned watts just so they can have their one-on-one moment on the beach with Honey.

What won me over was when that one guy from a rival dojo bad-mouthed her husband’s dojo and she…I think she kicked this guy’s ass herself. I don’t think she used any of her pokemon. Game Freak won’t show it, but we all know she kicked this guy’s ass to a point where he’s begging for mercy.

Honey, for the win!

Favorite Game of 2020: Animal Crossing New Horizons

This game was just Zen for me. I know the release of this game came with some controversy like Gamestop saying it’s an essential business and will remain open for people to get their copies of the game. Hell, I was one of those assholes in line waiting to get a copy on March 20th. Did I predict that a pandemic was going to rage out of control when I got a prepay copy of this for Christmas 2019? NO! I only predict political things, not deadly pandemics! The good news, we social distanced, didn’t catch the covid and got the game.

Anyways, this game has been a non-stop calming and fun ride. I can even forgive their botch-up of Bunny Day. They even have events for holidays I never thought they would ever touch. I mean, does anybody know when Museum Day is? Probably not until Animal Crossing had an event for it! I’ve been able to let my freak-flag fly with designing my island. And this goes way beyond New Leaf for the 3DS. I can make a sign post with the words “Fuck Trump” on it and post it in my yard. I can dig up trees and plant them elsewhere. I can poop in a toilet. I can craft furniture and put my own design on it. My furniture can have Tracey Sketchit’s beautiful mug on it. I can sit on Tracey Sketchit’s face. I am a sick fuck and I don’t care. I can give Raymond and Bob maid outfits. Magical time in my game! My hopes for next year…I don’t know, get the Festivale furniture, get Papi and Olivia to join my island, maybe visit Danny Trejo’s island, who knows, sky’s da limit!

Favorite Het Couple of 2020: Nasa and Tsukasa Yuzaki from Tonikawa

This is one of the most unorthodox marriages I’ve ever seen. But in this 90 Day Fiance world we’re living in, I shouldn’t pass judgement on these two getting married in episode one and not knowing much about each other. Nasa meets Tsukasa as he was about to be plowed by a truck. Tsukasa saves his life. Nasa says she’s beautiful. Tsukasa says she’ll be his girlfriend if they get married. He agrees. She disappears. Four years later, Tsukasa appears in front of Nasa’s front door with a marriage registration form. Congratulations buddy, you’ve got yourself a waifu! In some way, this felt like watching Yamato and Takeo from My Love Story. I was fascinated with them progressing through their relationship. The only difference is that Yamato and Takeo took the old-fashioned route. This couple did everything ass-backwards in terms of having a relationship. But I couldn’t take my eyes off Nasa and Tsukasa’s relationship during each episode. I find them cute.

Favorite Yuri Couple of 2020: Karin Asaka x Emma Verde from Love Live Nijigasaki High School Idol Club

AAAAAAAAAH! I’M IN IDOL HELL AGAIN! Yeah, no kidding! I came this close to putting Miu x Nicole from that abomination 22/7. But thank God for Love Live! There’s no telling if any of the girls from the Love Live franchise are confirmed to be lesbians. But fuck it, all of them attend all-girl schools, no males exist anywhere, and Sunshine gave us Kanan x Mari! Yeah, you know Kanan and Mari is canon as fuck, don’t at me. So naturally, I found more third-years to ship in the new Love Live series. Now I know I should have put up Ai x Rina or Ayumu x Yuu. Especially the latter due to recent events! But Emma x Karin is my OTP.

Now Emma is an exchange student from Switzerland and in coming to Nijigasaki, she first meets Karin and they became instant friends. When Emma said she wants to become an idol, Karin helped her quite a bit. Even though Karin had no interest in being an idol as her modeling career is starting up, Karin would occasionally help Emma out. And surprise, surprise, Karin ends up fascinated with the idol world and Emma helps her come to the light to be herself there. Okay, I’m totally reading this in some fragmented way, but I’m currently playing Love Live School Idol Festival All Stars and the app game has a lot more stuff involving stuff the anime has yet to talk about. Confirmed or not, Karin x Emma for the win!

Favorite Yaoi Couple of 2020: Eiji Okumura x Ash Lynx from Banana Fish

It took me a while to get here, but I finally made it to 2018’s overlooked gem. Forgive me for not being fully caught up, but from what I’m watching at the moment, I’m sticking to my guns and supporting the hell out of this. I mean, I could have mentioned The Titan’s Bride here…but fuck no, I ain’t goin’ down that mess! Ash has gone through a lot, I mean a helluva lot in his past. His cute boy looks have made him a target on the streets of New York, with mafia dons, and with prison inmates. But dude can kill if you mess with him. Then you have Eiji, who is just a literal example of a “pure cinnamon roll (until episode 8)”. These two are as opposite as you can possibly get. Ash is from New York and Eiji is from Japan. Ash likes hot dogs with everything on it. Eiji likes grilled fish and natto. Ash spent the majority of his life killing on the streets. Eiji was a track superstar. You get my meaning. But when we got these two together it’s quite adorable. Ash is really able to change when he’s around Eiji. Ash isn’t some heartless killer on the street about to kill a thug with prosthetic fingers. When he’s with Eiji, he’s a joker that can easily get scared of pumpkins. And even in later episodes, you got these two acting like a husband and wife.

Fandom That You Didn’t Expect to Get Into: Les Miserables – A Girl Named Cosette

Let me explain a little something. Les Mis! I have never seen the play, watched the movie, or read the novel prior to picking up this anime. Not a single one of those! And that’s a bit of a head-scratcher when you realize I was a bit of a musical theater nut in my teenage years. But one thing I do like is when Japan does an anime based on plays or historical events (like Romeo x Juliet or Rose of Versailles). The second I popped in Les Miserables the anime, I wanted to binge watch the whole 52 episode series. It is by no means a perfect adaptation of the Victor Hugo novel. Several key players end up surviving all the way up to the end of the story! But because this was my very first viewing of anything Les Mis, I took to the story of Cosette and was eager to see what was going to happen next in her tale. Unlike the movies and play, Cosette was the main focus of the story besides Jean Valjean and Javert. And thanks to watching the unfortunate stories of Cosette, Jean Valjean, the Thenadiers, Javert, Marius, and the rest, I thought it was time to watch the OTHER adaptations to Les Mis.

…

Russell Crowe sucks.

Fandom That Made An Unexpected Comeback: Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni

Higurashi or When They Cry is one of my favorite fandoms of all time! So naturally when we heard that it was making a comeback, I was excited. It was also very odd that Higurashi was given this sequel or reboot. Ahem! There’s another franchise that needs a face-lift. Umineko still deserves a better treatment. Plus, now that this series was out of the faulty hands of Studio Deen, Higurashi will get the special care it deserves. Believe it or not, it wasn’t just the anime that made a comeback for me, but the manga as well. Since 2009, I’ve read several volumes (out of order) and would every now and then come back to read the story. Back to the anime, this reboot or sequel…you know what, I’m gonna call it a “rebooqual”! This rebooqual sucked me back to the town of Hinamizawa and all the murders. Every week, I find myself comparing the current episode to one from the 2006 version. But then the fourth episode of each arc seems to catch me off guard.

Where are they going with this story and these twist endings to our favorite arcs? I did not expect Rena to turn a simple attempted murder into the end of School Days! I didn’t expect Rika to die in the most disgusting fashion they could think of. Could someone kill Teppei fucking Hojo? I will pay ¥5000 for someone to do that job. So yeah, because I know how much of this plays out and who does what, I’m usually watching and reading while making wise-ass remarks. But I still have fun with it.

Fandom That Inspired the Most Crack: Konosuba

In a year where I caught up with the popular Isekais like Shield Hero and Re:Zero, I found the wacky misadventures of Kazuma Satou to be amusing as all get-out. From the first 5 minutes, I found myself laughing at Kazuma’s misfortune. Seriously, how the fuck do you mistake a tractor for a car, have a heart attack, piss yourself, and fucking die in the first couple minutes to the series? You can only get away with this shit in gag animes! But it’s not just Kazuma’s dumbass, there’s a mage who only does explosions, but loses all her energy after one blow-up. Then there’s a busty, blonde who gets turned on by getting hurt and can’t strike anything with her sword. Anime’s biggest masochist or Cheryl Tunt incarnate, I haven’t decided which one to believe! Then you have this loud, crazy goddess chick named Aqua. She’s also useless about 86% of the time! Watching their unfortunate missions is all the crack that I need to get through this year. Seriously, Darkness is just all kinds of fucked up, but we love her.

Last Fandom of 2020: Yashahime

That’s right, the InuYasha sequel gets top spot here! Even though week after week I find myself asking more questions than when the episode started, I’m still hooked. If you’re like me, you watched and fell in love with the series InuYasha. So if they’re doing a sequel, you’re expecting to see all of your favorite characters from the prequel like InuYasha, Kagome, Miroku, Sango, Sesshomaru, Koga, Rin, and the rest. Actually, no! Quite the opposite! We’ve got Sesshomaru’s daughters, but no Sesshomaru. Rin is sleeping in a tree we think! We’ve got InuYasha and Kagome’s daughter, but they’re M.I.A. None of the girls even know a thing about their birth parents.

Now are these new characters a catch like the ones from the previous series? Some are! The three main girls, yes! Especially Moroha! I’ve already praised her name earlier in the superlative. Towa and Setsuna do take on some personality traits from their parents. Setsuna is definitely serious like Sesshomaru and Towa sometimes has a carefree yet loyal aura to her like Rin. I know I’m always skeptical when a series gives us a sequel featuring the offspring of the main characters. Especially when you’ve got some lame examples like Boruto and Eureka Seven AO (I might retract my diss on Boruto later)! As each week gives us a new episode, we’re unraveling new clues into a lot of things involving our old favorite characters, as well as the new ones. So I have high hopes for Yashahime for the time being!

[ihatetaxes99]

THE YAKUZA AND THE PHOENIX - A BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA FANFICTION

"See, the problem with people like you," Commented the cool, sanitised yet utterly terrifying voice of Kai Chisaki as he kneeled down just in the very corner of the hero's peripheral vision. "Is that you relied far too much on that disgusting disease that plagues every last vein in your Godforsaken body. Maybe if you had just thought ahead a little… Has this illness robbed you of your senses, too? Left you as useless as a newborn? Not that it matters. It's far too late by now for any part of you to begin thinking about what could have been. I mean, just take a look around." He raised one hand to adjust his mask, while using the other to gesture to the scene around the two, one filled with flame and destruction. "If you had thought to bring police, tried to corner me with rifles, well you might have had some sort of success. I'm not stupid enough to resist against live bullets. But no. Your sickening Quirk has left you with such delusions that you thought you could stand to take me on alone."

The young woman's eyes filled with nothing but pure steel as she looked up at him. There was no fear to be found in the glare she delivered the man known as Overhaul, in spite of the terror bubbling in the pits of her stomach, constantly threatening to rise to the top. But she would not let it. Not in front of this Chisaki bastard, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he had won.

"No words?" The man sighed, poking her lightly in the head as if to provoke a reaction. "Like a kid who doesn't get their way. Stubborn to the end. What a pain you are. The worst kinds of people are the ones who don't realize they're infected. They have no true redemption in their future. It's kind of weird when you think about it. What a shame… Not that it's any of my concern. I'm more interested in just why you and your ridiculous headgear have been following me around all day. Do you have an answer for that?" He grabbed her by the back of the hair, and pulled her face up to look at his. "I'd prefer an answer as soon as possible, so I can minimise the amount of contact made with your disgusting body."

There was only one way the woman knew she could respond to this and that way landed directly on the suspected Yakuza's forehead. "Why would I tell you anything, asshole? You won't get anything out of the Phoenix."

The man actually audibly growled, like a feral wolf, as he slammed her head into the asphalt. She felt her nose break as blood streamed from it onto the road. It was probably one of the lesser injuries she had incurred that day. Chisaki got to his feet and produced a spotless handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face of the hero's saliva. "How childish." His voice was full of pure, deep contempt. "How filthy. Were you never taught manners? Are you mentally deficient? Hmph. Not that I should expect any more from a hero who calls themselves the Phoenix. How cliché." With that, he returned to his kneeling position over her limp body, she practically felt his shadow drop over her as the smell of burning embers filled her nose. Were those sirens she heard? They were faint, but what else could they be? Were they coming in her direction? One ear was completely busted up, so she couldn't tell. Looking up to the man who supposedly went by Overhaul, her peripheral vision severely limited by her complete and total lack of a right eye, she found her mind drifting away to the beginning of the day. When things had seemed oh so simple. When she still had all her limbs and when life had generally been more preferable when contrasted against her current predicament.

When had it all gone so wrong?

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

"So, all I have to do is follow the bugger?" Twenty-three year old Misa Kawajiri enquired into her phone as she took small, meticulous sips from her large Coke, sitting atop a rooftop in the very heart of the city, occasionally reaching into the bag next to her to dig out a fry or two and jam them into her mouth. This was the life, no doubt about it. The young woman, who went by the heroic moniker of the Phoenix, was elated whenever she was sent on surveillance patrols by her agency. Most other pro heroes would consider such work to be beneath them, it mostly consisted of hounding tax evaders, low-rent rank-and-file grunts and conmen, there was almost certainly never a tang of excitement to be found. This was the reason most heroes preferred more interesting work and it was the reason why Kawajiri adored such jobs. For her, it was a chance to slow down, chill out and enjoy life at a bit of a slower pace than usual. She definitely was not above having time to unwind and take things at a more reasonable pace. Of course, today's surveillance was already beginning to sound more interesting. It had started out with monitoring some basement-dwelling Otaku who shared anti-hero sentiments on internet forums, so not exactly a thrill ride there, as evidenced by the fact that Misa had left halfway through to get herself a McDonald's. But her new target, as assigned to her by her employers at the agency…

"His name's Kai Chisaki." Rang the cool, clerical voice of Phoenix's supervisor. "Mid to late twenties, germaphobe. He isn't often seen out and about, instead residing largely in the Shie Hassaikai's compound."

"Hassaiaki?" The hero of the sky's ears perked up at that. "He's Yakuza?"

"As far as we know, yes. We can't trace back any records of a family, except for Kazama Chisaki, his uncle, who was also associated with the organization before his death, although not as a full member."

"Interesting…" The girl pondered. "So, why are we following him, then? The Hassaikai have a good reputation, right?" Her words were slightly muffled as she jammed more fries in her mouth at that moment than was probably reasonable.

"That they do, Phoenix. They're underground. There have been search warrants on the premises before, but nothing suspicious was turned up. They're a Yakuza group in name only right now, nothing worth worrying about. But Chisaki? He's different. You're going to be following him for reasons unrelated to his activity within the clan."

"Oh?" Misa cupped her free ear with her hand so that she could better hear the man on the other end of the phone.

"In short, we have reasons to believe he's been peddling Trigger behind the backs of his bosses. Obviously, I don't need to tell you about that."

She nodded, although that was a tad redundant, considering the voice on the other end could not see her. The experimental drug known for its Quirk-bolstering properties was nothing to trifle with, and it had only grown more popular in recent time. "Why do you think he's doing so?"

"Money, probably. Who knows with these criminal types? The point remains that we have reason to believe he's out and about today. I've sent you an image of him on your phone. Follow him, see what he's up to. When a hermit like him comes out of the woodwork, it can never be good. Not for anybody." And with that, her superior hung up, leaving Misa to her own thoughts. In being left this way, she dug her knees up tucked under her chin and sulked for a bit, confident that nobody could see her act in such a childish manner, taking the odd glance at the image. He was a shockingly handsome young fellow, with sharp yellow eyes, ruffled brown hair and a suit, he looked the part of any well-meaning businessman. The only weird aspect was the steampunk-esque plague doctor mask clamped around his mouth. She shrugged it off as probably having something to do with his Quirk, whatever that was.

"This sucks." She groaned as she reached for her helmet, which mostly served as a fancy shell to hold the visor that shielded her eyes from the wind. "I don't wanna have to pursue Yakuza drug dealers, it's just no good. Give me a fat, tinfoil hat loser ranting about conspiracies any day. Surveillance is supposed to be a break from the hard stuff. But nooo, it just has to be more of it, doesn't it?" She sighed, the air whistling over her lips, as she tossed aside her empty bag. Stretching upwards, allowing her skintight suit to hug her body, she felt her wings extend from her body. It was always a glorious sensation to be felt, the pure rush of it all. She adored it beyond belief, the best part of the job. With a cheeky grin, the young hero spread her arms…

… And let herself fall from the building's roof.

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

Filthy. The very lot of them, surrounded by filth and dirt and all manner of unpleasantries. It was enough to break young Kai Chisaki out in hives, it truly was. Absolutely repulsive. How horrendous to have to walk amongst the common people, all of them no doubt inflicted with that despicable illness. As he made his way down the crowded high street, bumping into the occasional commuter, he felt the irresistible urge to lift up the sleeve of his green coat and scratch at the lumps on his arm. Urgh. The very lot of them, disgusting. He was rapidly remembering why he vastly preferred to remain indoors. And yet, he had to do this. He couldn't entrust mere goons with carrying out the mission, not even the Eight Precepts of Death. This had to be done by him and him alone. He felt the cold metal rub against his stomach from the inside pocket of his coat. What depraved things that guns were. Alas, they were a necessary evil, and still far better than Quirks. As he walked, he had no clue of the eyes following him as he did so. Misa Kawajiri worked fast and had found him in mere minutes. Was he aware of this, he would almost have applauded her.

Key word: Almost.

"He's carrying some sort of briefcase..." The girl noted to herself as she watched him. Luckily, his mask made him very distinctive for anyone who may be looking for him, so she had not had much trouble. "Is that relevant to whatever he's up to?" The questions were racing through her head in spite of her better judgement. She couldn't help but wonder about the good-looking, well-dressed young fellow with Yakuza ties. It was all so odd to her, and new. She didn't often run into anything so… exciting, was probably the word. And normally, Phoenix abhorred exciting. But something about it just seemed alluring. Maybe it was more the man than the danger, who really knew? Certainly not her.

…

DAMN.

Wrapped up in her own little thoughts, Kawajiri had lost Chisaki. He had seeped into the crowd. That wasn't good, not good at all. Not even wasting a second, Misa once again extended her wings and took off into the air, in search of the fellow she was shadowing. Stupid Misa, she cursed herself. How had she been so stupid? She really needed to focus more. Her eyes scanned the surroundings as she flew over an alleyway that served as a gap between two buildings.

And in that very alleyway, Kai Chisaki now stood, facing a triage. They were common street thugs, Overhaul had done his research. Nothing big, they were unheard of, just worthless druggies with not a thing to their names and a whole heap of desperation for power, power that they had no clue what to do with. In other words, the perfect suckers to lure in.

"Gentlemen." The distinguished Yakuza bowed. The goons showed no such respect in return. Was it really so hard to show the baseline politeness required of a person? These kinds of people pissed him off the most. Fortunately, the mask obstructed his grimace as he set the silver case on the ground and entered in a combination. A few seconds passed and then it clicked open. "Here's your bloody Trigger. Ten vials, enough to give the three of you a bolster in your path- In your Quirks for up to forty-eight hours. If you have any questions, I would advise you ask now."

The thugs all shared looks with one another. They appeared satisfied at the very least, yet the one in the middle, a big guy with muscles to rival All Might- Well, the former All Might- seemed incredulous to some degree. 

"So, what yer tellin' us, Chisaki-"

"I would prefer if you called me Overhaul."

"-Right. Sorry." His accent was just thick enough to get under the Yakuza's skin. "Yer sayin' that we don' hafta pay for any of this?"

To this, Kai shrugged. "Consider it a first-time buyer's guarantee. If you want more later down the line, that's when you'll have to start paying me. Otherwise, take it." He kicked the briefcase, sending it sliding towards the men. "It's all yours." For a moment, it seemed like the huge guy was about to protest, but at looking at the vials, his greed got the better of him, and he allowed a wide grin to overcome his face, no doubt imagining what his improved Quirk would be like. Disgusting animal.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya, Mr. Overhaul." He gloated as he picked up the case, his cronies hovering around him as they sneaked looks at the drug. Now was probably the best time to strike, while they were blinded by their own pathetic delusions of grandeur.

"Likewise." Chisaki responded, reaching into his coat, as if trying to find a cigarette. "Say, you three, have you ever wondered what society would be like without Quirks? How far we could have advanced by now if we hadn't had to restart everything to accommodate the idea of superpowers?" The men stared at him like he was mad, which was to be expected. "It's just something I've been thinking about." He admitted as he pulled the gun from his coat and aimed it squarely at the large man's head. "Let's test it out. You'll survive, of course."

"What the fuck?" The scumbag growled as he dropped the case in shock. "You pullin' a gun on us? Guess what, you skinny prick? It's three on one. Shoulda thought about that before pullin' a betrayal!"

"Probably." Kai noted nonchalantly as he took aim and fired.

The bullet ricocheted up against a wall in the alley as the metallic weapon was knocked from his hand by a kick. And not a kick from one of the steroided-up goons. No, one aimed from above.

"Looks like I caught you boys in the act." Phoenix grinned as she stood, legs firmly apart, eying up Kai. "Trying to betray the dudes you're selling drugs to really isn't a great idea, I must add." 

…

Filthy…

Sickening….

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE??!!" Kai Chisaki screamed, his voice carrying high up into the sky as he stared down the hero, his pupils small and mad in their sockets. "HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME??!! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU??!!" He was completely enraged, sweat pouring from his forehead as he grasped at his hair. "DISGUSTING, DISGUSTING, DISGUSTING!!" He appeared to be on the receiving end of a full-on breakdown. All this over being kicked in the hand? No, it couldn't just be that. Already, the receivers of the Trigger had fled, stolen briefcase in hand. It really had been their lucky day.

"Woah, calm down, Chisaki-"

"Who gave you the right to call me that?!" He demanded, his voice slightly softer now. "And do you have any idea how difficult those bullets were to manufacture? I simply cannot afford to waste them!" Turning his back on Kawajiri, he picked up the gun, examining it for damages, and then wiped it clean with his white surgical gloves.

"Hey, creep! Stay right where you are!" Misa was petrified. She truly was. Something about this guy just was not right at all. She had been told he was a major germaphobe, but was it this bad? Enough to push him into insanity at a moment's touch? "You're under arrest for possession distribution of illegal narcotics." She was basically reading off the rulebook, saying what she was supposed to say in such situations. But nothing about this felt normal. Why was he so focused on the gun? "Stand down and await for police transport."

"You think I would heed such commands from a filthy piece of scum like yourself?" Suddenly, Kai was cool, clinical, yet again as he calmly pointed the gun in her direction. Phoenix nearly felt her heart stop. "Maybe you'll make a better test subject." His finger tightened on the trigger of the handgun. Misa had no time to think, no time to plan.

She simply ran forwards, charging the villain as he steadied his aim. Another loud bang echoed from the gun. She felt it tear her suit as it whizzed past her, but she managed to just barely evade it. Now, she was too full of adrenaline to stop, as she ploughed towards Chisaki. As she drew closer, she reached out, grabbing for his arm… She had to restrain him and fast.

"DON'T LAY YOUR FILTH-ENCRUSTED FINGERS ON ME FOR EVEN A SECOND!!" Overhaul yelled, back to unconcealed rage, as he slammed his hand down onto the ground. From nowhere, burst large columns of rock from beneath the concrete, sending the heroine flying back a few inches and separating the two. 

"Woah..." Was this his Quirk? She hadn't seen anything like it before. The rock wall stretched all the way up, totally shielding the Yakuza from her. It twisted up into the blue sky, as far as the eye could see. And then, she heard his voice, once again calm, from the other side.

"You made me use my Quirk." The man stated. "I hate this thing, but you left me with no other option. For that, I truly do feel some sort of hatred for you. So, I suppose I really feel no guilt in using you as my little guinea pig." Then, he fell silent again, as Phoenix paced around, trying to look for some sort of opening in the wall. Suddenly, she heard a rush of wind behind her and snapped around her head just fast enough to see Overhaul rushing at her. Now, Kawajiri had no clue just what his Quirk did yet, but she figured letting him touch her was a bad idea, so she took off into the air, hovering out of his reach.

"So, a flight Quirk, eh?" Chisaki sighed. His hair was ruffled, the purple fur on his coat torn in places and his bleach white tie flicking wildly with the motion from his rapid movements. "I must admit, I've never been great with moving targets." Once again, the pistol was out, pointed at her. No, she shouldn't panic. Judging from earlier, whatever bullets he loaded the thing with were very precious and so, he wouldn't waste them unless he knew there was a guaranteed chance of hitting her. She was safe for now.

She realized she had been foolish to think that even as the spiked column of rock dug itself up from the ground and impaled her right through the stomach, sending her back, right out of the alley and into the streets outside. She heard a scream as she slammed into a car, feeling the metal crunch behind her. Her vision was hazy, like that of a drunk, but she could still make out the suited villain walking slowly towards her as civilians fled the area. Well, all except for one man, who clearly realized that Kai was up to no good and tried to charge him. Without even looking in his direction, his gaze fixed on Misa, Overhaul's arm made contact with the brave man's chest and he exploded into nothingness.

"What the hell?!" Phoenix yelled. She felt like throwing up at the man's remains splattered the asphalt So this Quirk… It could erect pillars of rock, reduce humans to nothing, what was it exactly? She couldn't even think straight in her current state to try to decipher the answer.

"Isn't it kind of weird how people always try to act the hero? I've noticed that. I swear, this world has been poisoned beyond belief. Can I even cure it? Is that possible?" She felt cold metal as the bastard jammed the gun into her gaping mouth. "All I know is that I can try my very best. Starting here. You'll be my first patient, my girl. The first to be cured."

"Bite me." She hissed as she aimed a kick at his side, which somehow connected, winding the Yakuza just long enough for Misa to stagger to her feet. It felt like she had multiple broken ribs. Those could wait. "I think I get your shtick now. You think Quirks are disgusting or something, right? Yeah, just like any of those Creature Rejection Clan nutjobs. But you think you can bring an end to them, right?" She coughed up some blood onto her fist as she held Chisaki's gaze. "Well, think again, dickwad. You really think that you're some great saviour. I dunno what you have planned, but it sure as hell won't be anything that won't see you crushed like the pathetic little man you are!" And with that, she took flight again, aiming a kick at his head.

Before she even knew it, another column had travelled right through her left eye with a fleshy squealtch, blood coating the rock as she hurtled backwards, her fall stopped by a large vehicle that the rock pinned her to.

"Jesus… That it?" She spat, as Kai approached her yet again, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Then, he stepped backwards. Then again. Then, he spun around and started walking away. Misa was completely taken aback. "What?! You just leaving, you limp-dicked bastard? That ain't how a saviour acts, is it? Running away from a fight?" Her attempts at provocation did nothing to stop him and when the young woman tilted her head just a little, she saw why.

"Ah-" She started, before the oil tanker she had been pinned to exploded. The shockwave could be felt for blocks to come, glass shattered from the skyscrapers above as the world was thrown upside down. Everything went white for Misa Kawajiri, then black.

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

Damn. That really had escalated quickly. And now, the pro hero lay, amongst the rubble, with one eye, a busted ear, no legs and a stump of an arm. The Yakuza stood above her. 

"I'll be willing to overlook your blatant lack of manners." Overhaul growled as he resumed his kneeling position. "In fact, I'll let you be saved. I'll be the one to save you. Isn't that something? A sickening power-infected freak like you, given a second chance by a humble Yakuza. And after everything you've done to me. You have been one hell of an annoyance. But, I guess you'll have started to make it up to me if Eri's little bullets end up working." The girl felt metal press into her side. Why was he so eager to shoot her? It must have something to do with whatever he was planning. The last thing Misa Kawajiri heard was the crack of a gunshot, the last thing she felt was the pain of the bullet entering her body, and then, she fell still. A second or two passed before Kai hovered his hand over her head.

"All going well, you have been deprived of your filthy Quirk." He noted, more to himself as the hero was now deeply unconscious. "Now, just to fix you up." He pushed his hand down on her and the woman's body blew apart in a spectacular show of blood and gore. Just a few seconds later, it reassembled, all limbs, eyes and anything else re-attached. With a satisfied nod, the man got to his feet.

"You'll live peacefully for the rest of your days." He told her, turning his back on her and walking away from the destruction that lay sprawled out like the play area of a particularly deranged and angry child, as if it had just been another day at the office, adjusting his tie. "No Quirk, no heroics, no excitement. I hope you're cut out for a desk job, Phoenix. It's all you have in your future. You're welcome."

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: For the first time since I started this whole writing adventure, my posting schedule has caught up with my writing and I’m currently working on part 8, with a possible part 9.  The end is in sight, y’all.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]  [PART 6]  [PART 7]

Part 8 

Beg for Forgiveness

The great thing about telling people you aren’t available for a whole week was that no one will come looking for you when you want to be alone.  That meant that Evie could stay home and let herself cry without having to pretend everything was okay around her co-workers or anyone else.  It also meant she could ignore her phone and keep it turned off.  As a person who wore her emotions on her sleeves, she just wanted time to work through this without interruption.

There was a part of her that hated that she, a woman in her late thirties, was crying over a man like a simpering college co-ed. That she was feeling so broken hearted over Maxwell Lord of all people, a man she wasn’t even dating!  At least not dating in the traditional sense.  And they had only known each other the better part of three months.

Her brain kept screaming at her that he called her a whore, a bitch in heat.  He had been unnecessarily vicious to her, even manhandled her to the point that she was bruised.  Her fingers brushed her upper arm and she could feel the tears forming again.  She ought to hate him with her whole being.

But she didn’t.

Yes, it had only be about three months, but she felt everything so deeply and rather quickly, too.  And she had thought he felt it as well based on how he acted most of the time.  She always found herself thinking that everything about what they did together felt right to her, like she was supposed to be laying next to him, talking about their day.  That when she had been at the zoo, she couldn’t help but think a gorgeous hand carved wooden lion would have made a perfect addition to his desk. Those little things people who care for one another do for each other.

She dated periodically over the years and had a few serious relationships. Her last one ended when she found him in bed with a woman she never met before.  That relationship had been almost four years and yet the sadness she felt now was miles beyond what she had felt then.  It’s why she let herself have these long moments in bed and let herself cry.  

She laid in bed for hours before she forced herself up and into the shower.  As she let the warm water cascade over her exhausted body, she forced the last words out of Maxwell’s mouth from her mind.  She’d allow herself another day to mull over this before she formed a game plan. Although, she couldn’t be sure what that game plan was quite yet.

---***---

You get a taste of the high life and then just go running around, throwing yourself at people like some common whore?!”

“I saw you throwing yourself at Eric!  Rubbing up against him like some bitch in heat!”

The stubble along Maxwell’s jaw and cheeks was itchy, but the whiskey he had been drinking continuously since Thursday numbed him to any sensation but his self-hatred as his words continued to echo in his brain.  It was Sunday morning and he had been trying for almost three days to get ahold of Evie, but her phone went directly to voicemail and she never answered her texts.

He had been out of his mind with worry but the folio on his desk told him she was safe at home and exactly where that home was.  He stared at it, almost as if he could, through some weird psychic connection, will Evie to call him.  He knew that wasn’t possible, of course and he had sat on the information since Friday.  

Maxwell debated with himself on whether he should go to see her or not, but every time he thought he should, he held back.  For the first time in a long time, he was scared.  Scared that she’d hate him, but a small part of him was scared that she would be willing to forgive him because he felt unworthy of her love no matter how badly he craved it.

He pulled himself out of the chair in his study and wandered into the kitchen.  Marnie had left him something to eat, but he had no appetite.  Instead, he stood there, staring aimless out the window while leaning against the counter.  Things felt off-kilter since she left and if he was being deeply honest with himself, it probably was before she entered his world.  Instead, she had been this force that seemed to just pull everything together and it had been so impactful over the last few months that if she never came back, he wasn’t sure what his life was going to look like without her.

Looking at the clock, he realized that if he was going to do something, he had to decide now.  Stop being a damn chicken shit and go see her, that voice inside his head screamed at him.  He pushed himself off the counter and went upstairs to shower.  If he was going to see Evie, he wasn’t going to smell like a bar or look like death.

She deserved better.

---***---

Evie sighed as she stood in her kitchen, the fridge wide open. Nothing stood out to her and she wasn’t very hungry anyway.  With a groan, she closed the door and wandered into the living room.  From the large windows, she could see her dog, George, running around the yard, chasing the birds and she smiled briefly.  

She debated getting him from the kennel early, not wanting to talk with the chatty lady who owns it, but she needed his puppy love right now.  He had been excited to see her, as always, and he snuggled against her as she laid in bed crying the last two days.  But the beautiful fall day was too much, and he bounced out of the doggie door to do his patrol around the yard, leaving Evie alone inside.

She still felt restless and she wandered through the house, not really looking at anything.  Her home was on the outskirts of the city, located on the Hudson River, and she called it her haven for nearly a decade now.  It was a small, two-bedroom clapboard home with large windows and all its original woodwork meticulously restored by Evie and her father.

But today, this cozy space felt less of a haven and more like a cage. As she continued to pace, she debated joining George outside and doing some raking, hoping the physical exhaustion would overwhelm the emotional.  But before she could do anything, she watched as George paused and began barking, running towards the side fence.

Just as the dog began his vocalizations, she heard a car door slam outside.  Knowing that no one knew she was home yet, she walked to the hall closet and dragged out her trusty baseball bat.  As she turned around, a knock sounded on the door and she stopped, confused.  What burglar knocks on the door?  When she heard the knock again, she walked over to look out the side window.  Her jaw dropped when she saw Maxwell standing on her porch.

He was here.

And she was relieved.

She yanked open the door and stood there gawking at him, the surprised look on her face hard to hide.  Prim and proper suit-wearing Maxwell Lord was standing on her porch wearing jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt.  She had never seen him so casual and she stayed with him for four days.  He was clean shaven, though, and later she would be a little sad not to see his beard once she learned of it.  She could see hints of exhaustion around his eyes, his laugh lines deeper than usual.

He stood there, looking sheepish and unsure of himself as Evie looked at him.  But he smartly kept his mouth shut and patiently waited for her to tell him to go or to stay. Despite everything, there was nothing particularly awkward about their silence and after a beat, Evie jump and opened the screen door, waving him in.  He saw the bat in her hands as he stepped inside and raised an eyebrow when he looked at her face.

“I’m a single woman living on my own.”  She shrugged before propping it against the wall to be put back later.

“I’m glad you have it.”  That deep voice she loved so much seemed to seep through her and Evie felt a little shiver skitter across her skin.  She closed the door behind him as he stood in her living room, looking around.  It was quaint, filled with books and photos of friends and family.  He noted she loved textile art as he continued to take it all in.  Everything about it felt warm and inviting, making Maxwell feel like he could sit in here, next to her, forever.  He then spotted George through the window and smiled.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”  He walked closer to the window.  George had gone back to his patrols after the weird man disappeared.  As they looked out, they watched him as he stood, staring through the fence as a boat lazily passed by on the river.  “Why didn’t you bring him with you?  I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Yeah, that’s my baby.”  She walked up beside him and tapped on the window.  The dog jerked his head up and looked towards the house, his curled tail wagging.  “I didn’t want to impose, not everyone likes dogs in their personal spaces.  Besides, he has a best friend at the kennel, and I felt they could use some time together.”

“What is he?”

“The shelter said he was a shar-pei mix.  But he’s pure-bred dumbass most days.”  They watched as he turned towards the house, running straight into a tree. They both started to laugh, and the dog backed up and walked around before bounding across the yard and in through the doggie door.  

George ran up immediately to Maxwell and began sniffing him, the tail still wagging.  He bent down to pet the dog and was rewarded with several licks to the face.  He laughed and kept petting George before the dog decided he needed a nap and ran to the bedroom.

“I’m assuming you’re here to talk.”  Evie’s voice was low, and Maxwell grew serious again as he stood up.  He towered over her and something about it sent little quivers to her belly.  He nodded and she nodded back before waving at him to follow her into the kitchen.

He sat at the table and watched as she moved comfortably through the space, putting together drinks and food before setting them down.  She sat across from him and he could see how worn she was, and it cut through his heart, compounding his guilt and sadness even more.  She didn’t deserve that, and he didn’t deserve her.  They sat there for a moment; hands wrapped around steaming mugs of tea. She spoked first.

“Why would you even think that let alone say it?”  Evie sat back as she crossed her arms and looked at him.  She saw him wince and his head dropped lower as his shoulders curled in.  She was surprised to see him so. . . beaten down.  This man, who exuded power and confidence, sat across from her looking and sounding worn out.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You got that right.”  She sipped her tea as he nodded.  He looked up and she could see how haunted his eyes were, her heart clenching because she knew that same look was in her eyes, too.  His body language told her that he was sorry, but she needed to hear it from his mouth.  He sighed deeply.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for hurting you.”  His eyes flickered down to the bruise on her arm, exposed thanks to her short-sleeved shirt.  “I acted like a jackass and treated you terribly.  You didn’t deserve it.  And I’m sorry.  I’m so fucking sorry, Evie.  I’m so fucking sorry.”

The rawness of his voice carried the wetness of tears and she could see him looking up at the ceiling, trying to will them away.  She could feel a lump growing in her own throat at the scene. Before she could say anything else, he kept going.

“I don’t know why I did it, why I felt so jealous.  But the idea of you being with someone else when I want you all to myself gets me twisted inside. I’m pretty sure I love you, Evie.”  Her jaw dropped and she nearly did the same thing with her mug had it not been for the table.  He rushed on.  “I know that’s no excuse for the way I behaved!  I’m not excusing that!  But I had to tell you.  I needed you to hear it.  I don’t expect you to love me back, which would probably kill me, but I really need for you to know that I’m sorry, that I love you, and that I want you in my life.”

Maxwell looked down at his hands and noticed they were shaking, although he wasn’t sure which of the eight hundred emotions running through him was causing it.  He clasped them together, hoping to still them as the silence from Evie dragged on. It was so quiet; he could hear George snoring in the bedroom and the clock in the living room ticking away. He so desperately wanted to look up at Evie, but something told him to keep looking down until she said something.

Evie stared at the blond hairs on the top of Maxwell’s head, almost glimmering in the afternoon sun.  She was sure he could hear her heart hammering in her chest.  He loved her.  He loved her.  He loved her.  It was like her brain stopped processing everything after he said those words and her heart clenched painfully in her chest.  He fucking loved her.

She slowly got up from the table and walked around to him, getting on her knees.  His head was still bowed, and his eyes closed, as if bracing himself for bad news. When she placed her hands on his, he still didn’t open them.  She had never seen him so emotional and it crept into her heart.

“Max.  I love you, too.”

[bitchesgetriches]

Hi, Kitty and Piggy! My manager N has had some instances of being not-so-nice and I'm wondering how I should address the issues. N's yelled at me in front of coworkers, put their hands on my lower back to 'guide' me out of their way (and once while I was bent over), and most recently acted rude and dismissive to my partner J when N was dropping off some project supplies at my house (all J did was greet N...) How should I address N's behavior? Not sure that I want to risk losing my job (1/2)

if N gets upset by me bringing things up with him directly (nor do I want N to yell at me about it either.) Would going to N's boss be better? We're at a fairly small business and I've interact with N's boss weekly. I am planning on leaving this job at some point, so would it be best to just wait, put in a 2 weeks notice, and cite all of this as part of the reasons why I'll be leaving? I also might just be overly sensitive to N's behavior. any guidance would be appreciated, thank you! (2/2)

If you’re afraid of being punished, or just intimidated, by N, then I think it’s perfectly ok to avoid confronting them directly and go to their boss instead. Even if you’re planning to leave the company, putting something on record with N’s boss will be important should they seek disciplinary action now and in the future. 

N put their hands on you in a totally inappropriate way. That is not ok. They’re bullying you. And yeah, maybe you are sensitive! But it’s ok to be sensitive, and being sensitive doesn’t mean you have to put up with being intimidated and made uncomfortable in your place of work.

One of the things that strikes me about so many cases of workplace harassment is how when the harasser or bully faces consequences... it’s like a dam breaks. Coworkers come out of the woodwork to talk about how they were harassed or bullied by the exact same person. And often they were too scared to speak up, which allowed the bully to get away with their shitty behavior for even longer. N doesn’t WANT you to make a complaint. N KNOWS it’ll be hard for you. But you owe it to yourself and your coworkers to make a formal complaint with their supervisor so they have it on record that N is a fucking asshole. 

Good luck, sweet pea. Take care of yourself!

Are You Working on the Next Fyre Festival?: Identifying a Toxic Workplace 

[magic-marvel]

I Love to Hate You

Chapter 8

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Pairing: Peter Parker/Spider-man x Reader

Summary: You don’t know what it is, but seeing him breathe makes you want to punch him in the throat.

Word Count: 1280 (sorry its short ive had such bad writers block)

A/N: im a hot mess yall but i got a surprise coming along with this chapter

WARNING: talks of parental death

“So you gonna give me your evil backstory or what?”

You were strapped back onto the bedpost of the expensive looking bed. Even more so strange, you were bleeding and sweating all over a very expensive looking duvet. The people periodically taking care of you didn’t seem to mind you dirtying the sheets, let alone really caring how frantically you pushed and shoved the wooden post. Scratches and splinters littered the finely polished finish, making a once beautiful peace of woodwork look like something out of a high school woodshop class.

The man in the white suit, which you dubbed “The Voice” since he has yet to give you his real name, was in your room. He sat in an armchair at the corner of the room with his legs crossed and his hand on his chin. He had turned the chair towards you, keeping a scrutinizing glaze on you through his metal framed glasses.

“Oh no, no no.” He kept nodding his head, driving his point further. “This isn’t up to me.”

The Voice waved his hands in the air, signifying the entire situation is not his doing. It was odd, seeing as that he seemingly ordered the men around here. He even walked around the place as if he owned it, so who exactly is really behind this?

“But, my dear, I’ll tell you this,” He pauses, getting up and walking uncomfortably close to your side. He smiles down at you with a much too wide grin, the yellow of his teeth peeking through artificial whitening. “I do enjoy seeing your father suffer.”

He suddenly grabs onto your face, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces your jaw open. You squirm, kicking as far up as you can reach but fall short of actually hitting him.

“You know, you are a spitting image of your mother.” He turns your face, eyeing different angels as you shout and spasm. None of this deterring him in the slightest.

You began to kick more, forcing your back and legs into uncomfortable positions to even graze him with the toe end of your shoe. You hated how loosely he talked about your mother, as if he knew her.

“You know, despite everything that’s happening, I’m not a complete asshole.” He released your face, backing away before you can flail at him once more. He no longer smiled as he spoke, merely focusing his gaze out the tall window next to the bed. “Your mother was a wonderful woman, shame what happened to her.”

You said nothing.

It hurt, hearing this man tore into your father’s character over and over again, only to have a sudden soft spot for your mother. What she went through was horrendous, a public debacle that ruined your childhood and all memories you had left of her. The person you are now is different than who you would have grown up to be had your mother still been alive. And here this man is, talking so casually about a woman as if he is going you a favor.

He is a complete asshole.

“Well, time is almost up. Let’s hope your father doesn’t make the same mistake twice. It’d really be something if he lost both of you due to his own incompetence.”

He left the room, simply whispering a quick “two hours” to one of his henchmen before closing the door. The sound of the lock clicking was enough to send all the tears falling, choked sobs finally forced themselves out as you attempted to create a now hazy picture of your mother in your head. You couldn’t remember how her nose contoured, how thick or thin her eyebrows were. You barely remembered the curve of her lips, remembering vividly the red of her lipstick.

You were alone, losing the very memory of your mother’s image. It hurt more than any punch or kick you received while under The Voice’s care. Almost hurt as much as losing her that day.

Almost.

--

“I can’t risk it, Rogers. That’s my kid in there.”

Peter stood by Tony, listening to all the Avengers plan out how they are going to deal with the hostage situation. Everyone was suited up and ready to go in a moments notice, not a single zipper unzipped or lace untied.

Except, for Tony.

“We don’t know what they want with you, what if they kill you!” Steve argued, hoping to change Tony’s mind.

“And what if they kill her.”

The room was silent. No one wanted to consider that outcome, especially with the severity of your physical state in the video. It was a very real possibility and no one in the room wanted to voice it.

Peter had said nothing so far, only listening to everyone argue about what to do. It was very unlike of them to be so divided in their plan of action, especially since they worked so well together that planning never really took more than an hour or so, merely to go over formalities.

But as of right now, everyone has been up and running for 10 hours straight trying to come up with anything that everyone can agree on. The frustration was really beginning to show, especially on Steve’s face. For being team captain, no one really cared for his ranking for who’s plan is best.

The only thing everyone could agree on, however, was that Tony should wear his armor.

He did not agree with that sentiment.

“Listen, I get you want her out the safest way possible, but how are we expected to trust some guy to promise to keep her safe. He hit her on camera without a second thought and yet ‘promised’ her safety? It doesn’t add up.” Natasha chimed in, trying to convince Tony that he shouldn’t keep up his end if they aren’t keeping up theirs.

Peter tapped at his thigh; the metal gauntlet of his Iron Spider suit made a quiet tick tick tick noise against his leg. He didn’t even notice the noise, but then again, no one in the room noticed much when there was a much more pressing matter on their hands.

“I’ll get her out, I’ll even bring out some heads for you to bowl with later.” Bucky spoke up, full war getup. The tick of his upper lip and deep furrow of his brow was a tell that he was holding him back immensely, but Bucky Barnes was willing to let The Winter Soldier out if it meant that you would get home safely.

“That’s a hard no from me, Barnes. We got no info on the inside or security measures. If you go in alone, you might not come back out.” Sam reasoned, reminding the group that there was safety in numbers.

“I need to be the one to go alone, get my girl out and we can go from there.” Tony tried once more to convince the group, but various groans of disapproval shut him down quickly.

Peter was tired. He heard enough from everyone trying to solve this with little to show for it. He felt as if the only way to actually get anything done was to have one person go in quietly and get you out. No one finds out you even left, and no one gets sacrificed.

So, Peter got up from his seat and left the room without turning a single head. F.R.I.D.A.Y. inquired as to why he was leaving the building, but he had Karen hold her off as he set off into the first rooftop. He memorized the address and had a GPS route mapped onto his HUD.

He’ll get you back before they even finish arguing.

Chapter 9

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[feelingsdusk-writes]

Fides

Three thousand years later... ^^; Thanks so much @esamastation for letting me play with your idea of a terrarium filled with fairies!

---

Fides: (noun, latin) faith, trust, confidence, loyalty, promise of protection.

---

Chapter 1

Stiles Stilinski is a pariah, a loser, a freak and an outcast, and he’s proud of it.

It’s been like that ever since his mother lost it and Evan Richards -big brother by one year to Jonathan (Stiles' classmate) and son to Mary, who was his doctor. All of them trash, because who shares a child's medical history like that, huh? So trash family to its fullest. Trash mother (Stiles has never liked her), trash father (he has never met him, but nothing but trash can produce such trash) and trash sons. They should make a musical a la The Sound of Music, it would be a hit for sure!- spread a lot of rumors about him sharing the same sickness and being a total psycho. Suddenly, everyone had always suspected, friends had the prefix former attached to that title, no one wanted him around. He always did this and that, didn’t you see? He had to take some kind of medication every day, didn’t you see? He was too strange, didn’t you see? What kind of boy wanted to know that much (if anything at all!) about male circumcision, huh? It wasn’t normal, didn’t you see? Blah, blah, blah. Yadda, yadda, yadda. And then, no one in Lost Hills School wanted to touch that (him) with a ten foot pole.

Stiles, after two horrific weeks of shunning and jeers and coming back to an empty home because the sheriff was god knows where, decided to prove them right and fought back by being as crazy as he could… without getting caught, of course, he's not an idiot. The final balance? No one wanted to be his friend, sure, but no one wanted to be his enemy either.

Stiles is a vicious, cunning, vengeful and grudge-holding asshole, and he’s proud of that too.

He doesn’t need anyone. He hasn’t needed anyone ever since he was eight and he had to start cleaning up the fridge and going grocery shopping and tidying up the house and doing the laundry and mending his ripped clothes and… All in all, ever since he finally acknowledged that his father wasn’t going to get away from the bottle long enough to take care of him like he should.

(His stance was proven right when his dad did get away from the bottle (changing his mere alcoholic status to functional alcoholic) enough to relaunch his cop career into being named Kern County’s sheriff. Which pretty much changed nothing for Stiles, who still had to take care of himself, but now had to cook for one instead of two, more often than not. He got really creative with his cooking, that's for sure. Now he understands why people say that cooking for one is such a pain. He has also learned that a recipe found on the internet is like walking on a minefield: it may turn out alright or blow up in your face spectacularly.)

So he doesn’t need anyone, indeed, but he’s twelve, alone, with no means of transportation out of town to see anything new (unless he wants to bike his way out), some pocket money that he’ll most likely need to spend on groceries when his father inevitably forgets about him, and the entire summer vacation ahead of him and no activities to fill it with. The Internet, for once, is not cutting it at all, and hacking into his peers’ computers to plant viruses in them seems to have lost its charm and isn’t working either. And hacking the teachers'j room’s printer to have it spit pages with Mr. Jones’ porn sporadically isn’t funny with no one there to see it. Summer work, finished. Everything is clean. Laundry is done. He has the meals for the entire week prepared already.

In other words, he’s bored as hell and about to climb the walls in frustration.

He sighs and looks to the ceiling of the living room, as if the couple of stains above him are going to give him an answer to his dilemma. He’s been sprawled like a starfish since half an hour ago, ever since he let himself fall off the couch dramatically after checking all the channels on the TV. Thrice. He contemplates the idea of binge watching Star Wars again and dismisses it almost instantly, because he did that yesterday and, he loves them, he really does, but it would be too much even for him.

He wiggles in place almost in agony after going over all the possibilities again in his head and finding none suitable. The backyard catches his eye and he thinks of getting the inflatable pool to at least stop being an asphyxiated starfish and soak for a while, escaping the almost unbearable heat.

He dismisses the idea again because he hasn’t liked spending time there ever since his dad took a look at the mess his mother’s garden had turned into and took care of it. Definitely. Stiles had tried, he really had, but he didn’t seem to have his mom’s green thumb and also he had more than enough on his plate without having to despair over the gardenias.

(Seeing the empty spaces where the flower beds used to be always made his heart constrict, so he stopped looking.)

He looks again, raising up from his sprawled position. He misses her garden and the aroma that would drift through the window in spring. She never won any contest, but it was beautiful.

And now there isn’t a single plant in the house.

Stiles suddenly wants one. The memory of her garden is a good one, along with the smiles she would throw over her shoulder at him, with dirty hands and sometimes even face, when she would forget and scratch her nose. And Stiles, unlike his dad, is past the point where he avoids all memories of her and he tries to cherish the good ones. Even though the tools she used still give him nightmares sometimes (if he ever sees the little trowel with the light green handle and the matching hand fork it will be too soon), he still wants a plant. Or many. So that's it, he's getting some.

But...

But he doesn’t want to kill it, he had enough of that with the gardenias, thank you very much. So research it is. He’s going to research the hell out of it to start easy.

He nods to himself and, somehow, three hours later, the initial idea of getting a hardy cactus, which evolved to planting lavender or snapdragons, has in turn led him to inside moss terrariums and now he’s hooked. Because, apart from the awesome plant-only creations, some even put little houses un them… and there are Star Wars terrariums. Star Wars. And now he has decided he’s going to make an entire Ewok village. Not a dupe one, but an entirely functional one with even that cage elevator they had. And the bridges. And all the furniture. And… it’s going to last.

Decision made, he makes a list of what he needs and then, he plans. The container, he has, because they never got rid of uncle Celestyn’s big as hell fish tank. The glue gun, woodworking tools and materials, gloves and pebbles, he has too. Wood he can get from the broken juniper table his dad bought to fix and then never did, and moss he can easily find. He’s missing the peat moss soil and the hygrolon. The first he knows he can find at home depot, the second, he’s not so sure. True, he could make the terrarium without it, but he wants moss to cover the walls too. If he doesn’t find it or can’t afford it (there's no way he’s going to spend all his just-in-case money), he’ll make do with what he has, though.

---

The soil he has no problem getting, but the hygrolon he finds out is only sold online and it’s pretty expensive to boot. He mourns for a moment and then moves on, already making plans on how to shape the landscape of the terrarium.

He needs to cut the table to make the fake trees for the houses and he doubts he can do that without injuring himself. Not only does he not have that kind of heavy machinery, but he wouldn’t dare to use it. Then, he remembers his father’s former partner, Anderson, who likes woodworking and, more importantly, Stiles.

“Is everything okay, kiddo?”

He’s also the one he’s supposed to call in case of an immediate emergency when his father is out of town. Besides the one time he caught a stomach bug from his classmates and couldn’t go to school, he’s never done it. Not because he doesn’t like him (nothing farther from the truth, actually) but because he’s used to always dealing with problems himself.

“Sure!” he chirps. “I was just wondering if you could help me with a project?”

“You’re supposed to do those by yourself, Stiles,” the man laughs, obviously amused.

“It’s not for school!” he protests indignant and then explains what he needs. “Do you think you can help me with the trees and making the sheets of wood for the houses?“

There’s silence from the other side of the line and Stiles can picture easily what the man is thinking. He knows that Stiles is going to do it one way or another, that his father is on the other side of the county so it’s not like he’s going to be there to stop him, that it’s better if he takes on the more dangerous parts himself and instructs Stiles on how to make the others without hurting himself. In other words, he’s thinking about danger prevention and damage control. Stiles hears a sigh and makes a silent triumphant dance.

“Well,” he grumbles and Stiles snickers, “it’s not like I have anything better to do. Damn the retirement. Time of your life, my ass. I’ll be there in an hour, kiddo. Don’t you dare start without me there, you hear me? I don’t want to have to explain to your dad why you’re missing some fingers.”

“Yes, sir,” he salutes, still snickering.

When he arrives, he brings with him a portable grinding machine, a piece of fallen wood from his own garden and sealant. “I imagine you don’t want the moss to reach the trees and the houses, do you?” He explains and Stiles grins, delighted.

(Stiles really, really likes Anderson.)

About three hours later, Anderson has made a structure that will ensure that the trees don’t fall. There is one big tree and three clusters of trees joined each by various platforms at different levels, with spaces where the houses will sit. He even went as far as to shape them as if they are made out of wooden boards (instead of flat) and to hollow the thickest of the trees at that platform level. Stiles also had the idea of making the top of each tree hollow too to put a potted plant inside, so that it won’t look bare and strange. All in all, they are ready to start the setup.

“So,” the man looks at him intently. “Where are you going to put it?”

“I want it in my room,” he answers, “near the window. On the floor.”

“The floor?”

“Don’t wanna have to take the ladder every time I have to water it.”

“Fair enough,” Anderson snickers and Stiles pouts. “But you know you’re going to have to wait to finish the house to set the terrarium, right? Unless you want to do that kind of detailed work from above and with an awkward angle to boot,” he explains and then laughs at his despairing face. “Take it easy, kiddo. Call me when you want to do it and I’ll help you, ok? How about this, if you promise to be careful and not do anything careless, I’ll make a waterfall for your terrarium.“

“I can’t…” he starts protesting.

“It will be an early Christmas present. Deal?”

“There’s no waterfall in the Ewok Village…” Stiles grumbles, “but deal.”

And they shake on it.

All in all, even if he’s a little peeved about having to wait, Stiles is happy with the progress. He still hasn’t gotten the moss, so it’s not as if waiting for a bit is going to hurt… and he got a waterfall out of it. He grins, waving at Anderson as he leaves the drive. It’s going to be awesome.

—

Once he starts, he can’t stop, focused in a way that’s unusual for him.

The bridges are easy enough so long as he follows the measurements he’s made, because he only has to shape the steps, make a hole on each side of them, use the rope to secure them and then braid the whole thing. He uses the glue gun for good measure, to make sure it’s sturdy enough.

The houses are a little more complicated because they are rounded. He ends up getting round objects to support the wood while the glue dries. There are a couple of instances when they get stuck to the object he’s using and he has to start anew, but he learns how to avoid that pretty quickly. The windows and the doors are a pain in the ass in themselves. He destroys a couple of houses trying to cut them until he finds another method for that too. He precuts the wood and uses cardboard to fill in the space while it dries and it works like a charm. As it is, he has now seven vaguely house-looking semicircles with two levels (joined by a little staircase) and even some shelves inside, that he has to stick to the main structure to be able to finish the roof. He leaves that for later, because once he does that it will be a nightmare to put the furniture inside.

He struggles for a while with the tables, seats and any other detailed work he remembers from the movie, because working at that scale, even with the tweezers, is hard. Again, he’s nothing if not stubborn and he works out a method to do those too. The shelves are easy enough because it’s just a matter of measuring, cutting the actual boards of the shelves with a c shape to fit the circular walls and gluing them, both between them and to the walls. The table, the seats and the beds are easy after that, again just taking care to measure well and struggling to not have his hands tremble when he assembles them all. He even uses one of his dad’s old furry sweaters for the beddings and old t-shirts for other things like that, carefully sewing the edges to make them look more like the ones in the movie. The drawers and the wardrobes are a pain in the ass to make and he regrets even trying almost from the very first time he tries to put the drawer in its place and it doesn’t fit and then, after trying to fix it, it gets stuck. He perseveres, though, and it gets easier the more he makes. As for its door, he follows the same method he’s going to use with the doors to the house (with holes and string, because making hinges at this scale is beyond his capabilities and he has accepted that) and it ends up looking pretty neat.

(In the middle of all this, his father comes and goes but, even if he makes sure to come by Stiles’ room every night, he doesn’t seem to notice what has his own son so busy, always too concentrated on some case or another and the room too dark to actually see anything. They make small talk and he pats his head some mornings. Stiles is kind of indifferent. He loves his dad, he really does, but he’s tired of having to be always the one who tries to make a connection.)

The day when he can finally start gluing it all to the main structure comes, and he ends up not doing it after all, because he takes a look at the houses and finds them empty. Two days later, after hours of research on how to do the cutlery and the pottery, some failed attempts and a trip to the mall, he finds himself shaping them out of polymer clay, preheated oven beside him. If that wasn’t enough, after having rows upon rows of glasses, containers and different types of plates and bowls, he adds pans and pots to the collection until he’s satisfied.

Finally, nearly four weeks after he started, he starts gluing the houses in place and securing them with extra pillars that he pins to the main structure. He makes the roofs by shaping little sticks and gluing them in place, copying the ones from the movie. They’re not exactly like them, but it’s as close as he’s going to get with his current skill level. He then sticks the stairs that connect each level and the bridges between the three clusters and the lone bigger tree, where he has attached the biggest house too. As the final touches, he decorates the main area with rustic wooden benches and stumps, all around the setup for a fire, and attaches the polymer clay pulley with the cage (which has a working door, of course) at the far end of it. He then reapplies the sealant just in case and breathes, feeling deeply accomplished.

He waits a couple of days for everything to settle before he calls Anderson again. The man sounds like he has had fun with the waterfall project and like he feels pretty accomplished too. Stiles can’t wait to see it and to show him what he’s done too. Anderson tells him he’ll come by the next day and Stiles takes the opportunity to go to collect the moss and buy the plants for the tree tops.

At the home depot, he debates between the Pothos and the Heart-Leaf Philodendron. In the end, the Pothos is an easy choice, because not only is it very easy maintenance and purifies the air, but it’s also on sale and he spends much less than what he was expecting on them. He doesn’t have much pocket money left, but his allowance day is in three days, so he’s not as wary about it as he would normally be.

He feels a little silly about having to make two trips to take the six little plants home, but nothing breaks, so all is good. He checks the space for the potted plants at the top of the trees and they fit perfectly. He cheers and dances around the room like a dork for a while before going moss hunting. By the time dinner time rolls around, he has everything in place and having to eat dinner alone again doesn’t even sting like it normally does.

---

Anderson comes pretty early in the morning and whistles in appreciation at what he sees, making him beam and grin proudly. Then he takes out of his car a waterfall as tall as the whole tank and Stiles gapes astonished. The man snickers at his face, reaching to mess up his hair, and goes inside the house again.

After placing the tank in Stiles’ room, first they install the waterfall. It fits perfectly in a corner of the fish tank, going a little above its edge to disguise the wire and the flow’s setting very cleverly. The man has also made it so that Stiles can change the water inside using a little tube or refill it from outside, without having to take the whole thing out.

After that, they place the tree structure and then they cover all the spaces and the root part of the trees with pebbles. To the ones near the waterfall they apply a layer of sealant to prevent the moss eating the poor thing alive and over the rest they put a good layer of wet peat moss soil, making sure it doesn’t lay flat. Over that, they place the moss they’ve previously trimmed to fit and parts of the fallen wood to make it look more realistic. Finally, Stiles puts the Pothos at the tree tops, fills the waterfall and turns it on.

He has his Ewok Village like he said he would. His mom would have loved it because she loved gardening just as much as she loved Star Wars. Specifically, she loved the Ewoks. She had a lot of figurines and even made an Ewok onesie (furry hat included) for him when he was a baby. There’s photographic evidence of that in one of the dusty albums in the storage room. They feature Stiles in that onesie playing with the figurines and his mom in the background laughing.

(And now he wants to cry.)

(He waits until Anderson leaves.)

---

When school starts again, the moss is growing nicely and the Pothos are still alive. Stiles is also seriously considering either braving the storage room in search of those Ewok figurines or setting some of his allowance money aside to buy them, to put them in the village.

(His dad finally takes notice of the giant terrarium in his room. First he berates him for doing dangerous things and then, sighing exasperated, he congratulates him.)

(Stiles could have done without the lecture.)

—

There are two new kids at school that have transferred from New York of all places, which means they have climbed the social ladder ridiculously fast. Stiles hopes he’s wrong about the twins, but if things go as they normally do, he thinks he’s going to have to set some boundaries soon. He’s already caught others whispering to them about crazy Stiles that is a total nutjob that will destroy your life if you cross him and, while it somehow brings him a kind of vindictive glee and pride, it also can mean three different things for him. One, they think him a bully and try to teach him a lesson; two, they try to take him down to establish themselves as top dog for bragging rights; three, they don’t dare mess with him and avoid him like the plague. Okay, there could be a fourth and they could try to find if all those rumors are true for themselves, but yeah, right.

(Is it bad that out of those four choices he’s hoping for the third?)

Well, time will tell, he supposes.

(He has to resist the strong temptation of making a pre-emptive strike quite bad, though.)

—

About a month into the school year, the newcomers seem to have settled into a mixture of the three first options, leaning mostly towards the third after Stiles manipulated things into having them banned for the rest of the year from lacrosse in retaliation for a failed attempt at teaching him a lesson. Of course, no one can prove it was him, but they know .

It’s a rainy Friday afternoon in which he’s bored out of his mind, so Stiles finally decides to search for the Ewok figurines and to do a deep clean-up of the storage room while he’s at it.

After nearly one hour full of coughs, sneezes and watering eyes due to the ridiculous amount of dust, he decides that his plans of action are flawed and that he has to change them if he wants to come out of this experience alive and with his body intact.

(The giant spider that he’s pretty sure is actually the last dinosaur on Earth may or may not have helped force him into a hasty retreat.)

Half an hour and a trip to the store later, he tries to tackle the mission impossible again. With a facemask, the longest gloves he could find, his father’s protective glasses and his head covered with an old towel, no dinosaur is going to beat him. He also has long sleeves and has changed his shorts for pants, tucking them inside his socks for good measure, so that nothing crawls up there. He shudders just thinking about it. He just can’t stand spiders.

He decides to divide it into sections. First he organizes and cleans the things in those sections, making piles outside the room, then he tidies the spot superficially before tackling another section. And rinse and repeat. When he has the whole room mostly empty (there is some furniture he can’t move), he starts cleaning it thoroughly. Afterwards, he puts the organized piles (photo albums, books, music…) inside again neatly, filling drawers and shelves. He doesn’t dare to throw anything away but, except for some toys that hold a big sentimental value to him, he does set aside some things he never uses to donate them.

Six hours after he started, he hears his father’s cruiser pulling into the drive and he debates about what to do. He’s almost done but he hasn’t touched his mom’s things yet, having left them for last. His dad still won’t talk about her and all her things have been hidden in the storage room ever since he let go of the bottle, because the sight of them made him want to track the nearest liquor store and send them into bankruptcy after leaving them out of stock.

Stiles doesn’t want to be the one to pull him into that downward spiral again. He sighs, looking mournfully at the three boxes with his mother’s things. Maybe he’ll sneak in after dinner to at least get the figurines and set them in his terrarium, when his dad has gone to bed. He frowns when he hears him talking to the neighbor. Maybe…

In the end, with his heart beating wildly in his ribcage, he opens the boxes hastily, hoping that the figurines are in first sight. And they are. He rushes to his bathroom beaming but still jittery with nerves, and cleans them under the spray of water as fast as he can. When his father calls, they are already placed inside the terrarium.

He completely forgets about his battle attire and blinks in confusion for a moment when his dad asks about it, his eyebrow raised.

“Spring cleaning,” he chirps brightly, too happy about his success to care about resentment. “Er… Autumn cleaning?”

His dad snorts and pats his head fondly, only to pull his hand back with a grimace at the amount of dust settled there.

(The next day, by the time he finishes checking, cleaning and organizing his mom’s things, he’s not crying, dammit, it’s just that he forgot to put on the facemask and the dust is irritating his eyes.)

(He squirrels away the picture of himself in all his ewok onesie glory with his laughing mother and plastifies it, hiding it inside the biggest house of the terrarium so that if you crouch and you know where to look, you can see it.)

(He's the happiest he's been in a long time, and nothing can ruin what he's accomplished. Nothing.)

—

(Or maybe something can, because really, what the hell???)

Stiles wants to know what the hell has he ever done to deserve this. Or, if that’s a thing, in any of his past lives for that matter. Did he kill puppies or kitties for fun? Or babies? Was he Hitler? Because destroying the increasingly aggressive twins’ impeccable (or not so much now, but that was the point) record can’t possibly warrant this bad karma, right? Right?

It’s not his fault, ok? He did notice something was wrong, but who would have thought about this as an explanation? He did notice that the water of the waterfall went down too fast to be normal, but he thought it was maybe because of the heat wave! And of course he noticed that sometimes the ewok figurines were slightly out of place, but he thought that maybe his dad…

Seriously.

He calls a big WTF.

Fairies.

He can’t even…

No, seriously, he can’t.

He can’t because they somehow have made the Pothos grow meters in mere seconds and he’s plastered against the wall. Upside down. Stiles feels somehow betrayed because he’s their daddy, he’s been lovingly taking care of them since they were little babies and they have attacked him after all he has done for them…

He’s not being ridiculous, thank you very much. There are fairies in his room. There are fairies in his room pointing sharp looking little things at his face and he’s so completely out of his depth that he can’t stop talking. And there’s a little one (well, smaller that the rest, that is) that sneaked around the guards (or that’s at least what Stiles assumes them to be) about three minutes ago that wants to know where did all the hair go and he’s for some reason babbling about onesies and what ewoks are and the guards keep threatening him and…

“… what the hell?” he finally snaps, fed-up. “This is my house, my room, and the terrarium you’re accusing me of invading and all that shit? It’s mine too. I built it with my own two hands, and paid for the materials, and… I call bullshit here. You’re the ones trespassing here! I should be the one demanding explanations and not the other way round. And for the last time, I don’t know any glint or beam or spark or whatever the hell you’re talking about, ok?!”

The fairies go silent. They look at each other and then back at Stiles.

And it turns out that Stiles does know a spark… and quite well at that. Because he is one. Surprise, enter confetti and crackers. And the reason he has a fairy infestation in his room? Their colony was destroyed back in August and they were left wandering for a while, until the beckoning magic that Stiles had placed in the terrarium to mark it as a safe place for passing fairies called to them.

(His what now????)

Except they haven’t been able to find a suitable place to rebuild yet, and their manpower was reduced to a sixth (if that) of what it used to be when the colony fell, and there are members that are still healing, and their ruling pair is gone (which apparently means that their power has been reduced to a facsimile of what it should be), and…

In other words, they are desperate and grasping at straws and completely at loss about what to do right now. Well, it’s not like they say it outright (in fact they actually try to cover their obvious despair at the whole situation), but Stiles is quite adept at reading between the lines and he knows desperation when he sees it.

(He has intimate knowledge of it, after all.)

So, even though he’s still plastered to the wall with his feet nearly touching the ceiling, which places his head at an intimidating height from the ground and he’s definitely not happy about that, Stiles caves in. Kind of.

“We don’t have enough dishes and stuff,“ he grumbles with a sigh. When he receives no response, clearly having thrown them off kilter, he just continues. “Dishes and glasses and all that stuff, we don’t have enough. Because you’re about twenty people, that I can see, and I only made eight or ten of each, if I remember well.”

“We’ve been sharing?” the guard with his spear-like thing nearly up Stiles’ nose squeaks finally. Squeaks, yes, because all of them have high voices, man or woman, that he has to strain to listen to. He vaguely wonders about it, because there's no way he should be able to listen to them at this distance, but he dismisses it for now, chalking it up to some kind of fairy magic or whatever, because he has more pressing matters to worry about at the moment.

Stiles is going to regret all this, he just knows it. But he’s an incorrigible softie at heart just as much as he’s a vengeful asshole. He sighs again. “Come on, let me down before my brain leaks through my nostrils. I still have some polymer clay.”

So fairies are a thing.

He knows others in his situation would never believe what’s in front of their very own eyes, but Stiles has always been able to roll with whatever life throws at him, no matter what that is. Besides, thinking logically, he has taken no drugs or drank any alcohol that could impair his senses or make him hallucinate and, although he could be starting to develop the same dementia as his mother (and it is a possibility)… well, he pinched himself not a minute ago and yep, he was still hanging upside-down, plastered to his bedroom wall by the Pothos. The only thing left for him to do on that front is to somehow buy a pregnancy test to check if it turns positive, so until he manages to do that, fairies are a thing.

And he’s a wizard.

Or a spark, whatever. What matters is that that’s a thing too. A thing that is exciting and terrifying at the same time, because what other creatures exist too then? Elves? Vampires? Werewolves? Nymphs? Are those real too? Which myths are real and which not? As a spark, which are his powers? Can he do magic? Spells? Rituals? What can he do?

He wants answers, he’s not letting them stay out of the goodness of his… well, he is, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get something out of it, right? Admittedly, if they refuse to give him answers, he’s not going to kick them out. He’ll just have to find those answers by himself, that’s all. He’s pretty self-sufficient, so if push comes to shove, he’ll do it without help, like he always does. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to try to convince them, though.

His ears ring when he’s finally let down. He sits on the rug, holding his head as he waits for the dizziness to pass and for his vision to clear. He doesn’t appreciate the wet and cold sensation at all. Well, at least they didn’t just let go to see him brain himself with the free fall, so that’s definitely a sign of goodwill... right?

He eyes the overgrown Pothos warily, thinking of a way to manage it without having to chop the whole plant off. Then he decides that it’s not his mess, so he’s not going to take care of it. “You better leave these the way they were before,” he states firmly, pointing at the plant. “I’m not gonna explain that to my dad. My house, my rules and all that jazz.”

Up until now, Stiles has never let anyone walk over him and he’s not going to start with some fairies.

Next ⭐

[kirinda-ondo]

Rant/tell me about Cobalt and why u love him so much??

Ok so this is probably going to get very long, and very, very cheesy, and I hope y’all are ready for this.

Cobalt is a very special character to me and is absolutely my favorite character of all time, from anything in the history of ever. It doesn’t matter what other fandom I’m hyperfixated on or what character I’m saying is my son at the moment, if you bring him up at any time, in any context I will be there.

So you’re probably wondering how I got here.

Once upon a time, it was 2009 and I was a young weeaboo, constantly absorbing everything anime or manga I could. I had just come out from the Astro Boy movie, and I immediately wanted to watch the source material. I’d already seen a bit of it on adult swim when they were running an Astro Boy marathon, but I had to go to bed at 11:30 then so I didn’t get to see much. So this time, I went to youtube and I found all the (dubbed) episodes of the 60s series. (Sadly you can’t find them all there anymore and it’s a crying shame).

I basically marathoned them, but over in the sidebar where the recommendations were, I kept seeing the thumbnail for part 2 or 3 (this was back when youtube only let you post 10 minute videos and you had to watch anime in 3 parts) of the episode “Brother Jetto.” You could plainly see him, and so it was clear this was supposed to be Astro’s brother. I thought it was neat that Astro even had a brother, as I’d only known about Uran before. I wanted to know more, but I promised myself I wouldn’t skip ahead. Though it was very tempting at times, I stuck to my guns and watched all 83 episodes up to that point.

However, it was not actually love at first sight. When I finally got to this episode 84, I wasn’t really impressed. “Wow, he’s kind of annoying, what’s the point?” I had thought like a fool, but I was still willing to accept him as part of the canon, as I figured I’d be seeing a lot more of him now that he had been introduced. After all, that’s what they did with Uran! But then…. that pretty much didn’t happen at all, which I thought was kind of weird. After all, why introduce a new sibling if he’s not going to show up again?

But then I got to the episode “A Deep, Deep Secret” about 6 episodes later, and I found myself a little relieved that he wasn’t completely canned. Upon watching that episode, I’d found that he’d started to grow on me a bit, but he still wasn’t my favorite. However, the trend of him being gone for several episodes only to show up once in a blue moon continued until I’d run out of episodes. I moved on to the 80s series next (and then the 2003 series) having learned that Cobalt had been replaced by Atlas as Astro’s brother. While I enjoyed those series (the 80s one a bit moreso than the 2003 one), I found myself kind of missing Astro’s dingus brother that had barely seemed to get a chance. After marathoning all the series (at the time), I started doing some googling and found out he had a slightly better run in the undubbed Japanese episodes (which was also how I discovered AB-O! Hi fandom!) and I’d learned a lot more about him. But the most important thing I’d learned was that I was in fact very emotionally invested in this character now and I was in deep.

Mind you at this time the undubbed Japanese episodes were nearly impossible to find without purchasing the complete DVD set and a player that could play them (on account of the fact that the set was region locked from western DVD players) so for years I sat wondering more about what those Japanese episodes were like, as the forums only had plot summaries with a handful of screencaps to go off of. Nowadays you can watch all the undubbed (and sadly unsubbed) episodes here but 13 year old me did not have the knowledge to do foreign language googling at the time.

But still, my Cobalt-loving heart wanted more, so I scoured the English speaking internet for whatever I could find, official or fanmade. Official content was virtually nonexistent, and the amount of fanmade content, I could count on one hand. The general fan consensus at the time seemed to be “Who the hell is Cobalt” or “Eh, whatever,” which was a far cry from how it is now. But being horribly deprived back then, I did the only thing I could: I combed through the dub for every episode he was in, coming up with a whopping total of…..four (well technically five but in that one he’s literally only in the last five seconds with no animation or lines), and I watched them religiously. I could pretty much quote Cobalt’s debut episode by heart. (For the record I can no longer do this to the extent I used to, but should the opportunity arise, I can still quote large chunks of it).

As I did this and learned more about him in my desperate googling, I started developing jokes for what would become my first silly comics, for which I am known in this fandom for. The art and writing for these was….. painful, to say the least, so I don’t even like to think about it, but as I’d already had a decently sized following from drawing silly (read: bad) Sonic comics, they caught on decently well, and I’d even managed to drag my friend and son down with me into Cobalt Hell™. Together, we made a group for Cobalt fans on deviantart (which is still up, but I no longer run it, as I deactivated the account that modded it without transferring ownership, so now it’s likely a wild west hellscape that I’m a little scared to look at).

This seemed to help do the trick though, as Cobalt fans were slowly coming out of the woodwork and appreciating this good boy. On and off I’d spread my yelling about Cobalt (and my silly drawings) to different platforms like the Astro Boy forums and tumblr, and even as I got into different things, after awhile, things kinda grew without me. Now I’m not gonna be out here claiming I built this city myself with my own two hands, as a lot of people got dragged into this hell of their own accord, but I do like to think my, umm….passion at least helped generate some interest, and I can’t help but be proud of how far this fandom has come from “Who the hell is Cobalt” to “Look at this good boy, I love him” and literally all the other Cobalt fans I’ve met have been the coolest people (in general, not just because of their good taste).

I think what really changed my life though was when AprilSeven, a mod on the Astro Boy forum and also probably the original Cobalt fan, as she’d seen the 60s version back when it was originally airing, finally got a hold of the undubbed Japanese episodes, and graciously allowed me and a few of the other big-name Cobalt fans get in on that action, and boy howdy, the screenshots and plot summaries really did not do these episodes justice (at least in terms of Cobalt content). My understanding of him as a character expanded like tenfold, and my appreciation of him expanded even more than that.

…Which brings me into a nice segue in which I shift more into just exactly why I like Cobalt so much. Yes, there’s more. I warned y'all, this was gonna be a Pandora’s Box that could not be closed once it was opened.

I honestly just find him a joy to watch. A lot of what made him grow on me was just how funny he is. I’m a sucker for comic relief characters in general, and he has a personality that lends itself to comedy. In the anime version, he’s literally introduced right out the gate as being kind of a dingus. He’s naive, he’s way too trusting of obviously suspicious people, he’s easily confused, he’s easily distracted, he’s a klutz, and he just… regularly destroys the laws of physics and/or the fourth wall just because. Sometimes he also gets weird ideas in his head to do things that could have been done a completely different, easier way and weirdly enough, it actually kind of winds up working? It’s so fun to watch him approach problems because he’s just… so far out there sometimes.

But beyond being absolutely weird and hilarious, he’s just a really sweet kid. He doesn’t like to fight, he wants to make friends with everyone and everything, he will drop literally anything he’s doing, no matter how important it is, to help someone in need, he’s good with babies and small children and puppies (sometimes), he would fight (and sacrifice himself) for his family, and just means well even if he tends to bungle things up and make them worse sometimes. Honestly, and this is gonna sound dumb, but he helped me be a better person. I used to be an absolute asshole when I was younger, but once I’d gotten into Cobalt Hell™, I was like “I wanna be that sweet and good (but with a better sense of stranger danger)” and I made that effort and did that shit.

That being said though, he’s not perfect, and I wouldn’t want him to be. His flaws, though they kind of give him the short end of the stick in life, are a lot of why I find him so endearing. All the naivety and confusion and general lack of coordination I mentioned before aside, he’s honestly just really relatable. He’ll say jokes so bad that Uran wants to punch him, he’ll opt out of the plot because he doesn’t want to get out of bed, he’ll fight with his siblings over silly petty things, he’ll get frustrated if he tries something and it doesn’t go his way, he’ll absolutely partake in his siblings’ mischief (if not start it sometimes), and just so much more. He just feels like a kid you would know (or maybe a kid that you were at one point) and I really appreciate that about him.

Unfortunately, the canon was not kind to Cobalt, and I think a lot of that comes from Osamu Tezuka just… not knowing what to do with him after making him? Like in the manga, he was just kind of created as a really rushed contingency plan because they thought Astro was missing. Sure, he was taken in as part of the family afterward, but not many appearances later, he was killed off in a firey explosion… Until Tezuka decided to change his mind and let him live in the end. His grave’s still there though. He gets to see it. I know it’s a framing device to explain the circumstances of Cobalt’s retconned death but it’s kind of fucked up to let a boy see his own grave..

Even being brought back, Cobalt didn’t get to do very much. He’d get some good scenes with Uran, but a lot of the time, he was sort of just relegated to filling up space in the background, provided he actually survived til the end of the chapter. When he wasn’t getting forgotten by the plot and thusly zapped out of existence, he would wind up sacrificing himself in some way that wouldn’t allow him to continue to take part in the plot anymore (be it parts, energy, etc.) The most painfully egregious example of this is in the chapter “Youth Gas.” Astro and Cobalt are convinced to fight each other to the “death.” They’re not really dead, but Ochanomizu says they are and can’t be repaired. At first, there’s mourning for “two of the world’s greatest robots,” but then we see a funeral service in which only Astro’s body is shown and his parents are only mourning him, completely forgetting Cobalt exists. He’s never seen again for the rest of the chapter. Now I would assume this is just a writing mistake, but it really does make it look like Cobalt’s own parents wouldn’t even bat an eye if he died, so there’s that.

The anime isn’t quite as horrible, and it is kind enough to give Cobalt a more prominent role once he finally shows up (even getting a handful of focus episodes!), but he doesn’t go unscathed either. In this version, he has the misfortune of being created by Dr. Umataro “Father of the Year” Tenma before Astro was made and was scrapped because, to quote dub!Ochan, “his electronic brain wasn’t as perfect as Dr. [Tenma] wanted.” (read: he thought Cobalt was a dumbass). Cobalt is eventually found and brought into the family, but because he still winds up not being relevant to the plot a lot of the time, he is once again zapped out of the existence and looks like a victim of child neglect. As a result, he gets left out of family vacations and holidays, even in favor of Chi-tan, who is usually even higher on the scale of irrelevant Astro Boy characters. Unlike Astro, Cobalt doesn’t have any consistent friends to even remotely justify what he could possibly be doing offscreen by himself, so it just kind of implies a very sad and lonely existence in-universe.

And of course, the final, meta blow that literally every fan of Cobalt is still despairing about to this day: basically being yeeted out of the canon. After the 60s series, he disappeared off the face of the earth until 2015 when some lovely soul decided to bring him back for Peeping Life TV: Season 1?? (The question marks are part of the title). He’d be referenced again a couple years later in Atom: The Beginning, and will be here for the game Eshigami no Kizuna sometime in 2019 as a… moe anime girl. That’s a little weird, but I’m hoping these sorts of weird appearances will mean a trend toward putting him back in the canon (and hopefully being treated better).

It just hurts my heart to see such a good character get treated like this by canon. He deserves way better and it just seems really clear to me that Tezuka didn’t really know what to do with him. I feel like he has a lot of potential as a character, though. Regardless of what origin you pick for him, Cobalt is essentially existing as a worse version of Astro. I feel like you could have some good character development regarding how he would feel about himself in relation to Astro in sort of a parallel to how Astro might feel about himself in relation to Tobio, the person he was based off of. You could go some neat places with these sort of questions about identity and expectations, I think. Or if you want to just do something funny because your character arcs are getting too real now, you can just let Cobalt do some silly shit. He’s a versatile character!

I’ve done all this rambling and now I’m not really sure how to wrap all this up, so umm

Cobalt is a good boy and deserves better, please hire me Tezuka Productions, and thank you for coming to my TED Talk

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 14

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2800+

FLUFFY AF. Also angsty. Warnings for death and the likes. Thanks to @trevorcollumns for being here in person to nag me to start posting shit. I’m going to try and schedule everything weekly. October will hopefully be a productive period for Numb writing. 

Date posted: 30 Sept 2018

By the time you’re preparing for the long journey to the airport to collect your lodgemates Trevor and Alfredo, 2 more weeks have already passed.

In the snowy mountains nothing seems affected by time. A world trapped in a white shock of stagnancy. Not that you mind - having rather enjoyed the small pocket of domestic life you’ve found yourself in. The calendar in the kitchen is littered with small blue stars that mark off every storm, every few days seeing another blotch on the corner of a date. There hadn’t been many recently, with everyone in town commenting on the expected silence that comes just before the worst of winter. The world was simply giving Motbury a few days to bunker down before the weather well and truly hits. Sure, snow had fallen, but the wind hadn’t howled.

Still, the date on the calendar stares at you, their names scrawled across the small square. The smile stretching across your face at the thought of having your home filled again follows you out the front door and into the crisp morning, dancing with the sunrays that accompany the well traversed path to Hay Woodworks. The banks smaller than usual and almost free of snow, green grass struggling towards the light.

You’re at the shop every day that Ryan will let you, which is practically whenever you’d like. Each time he greets you with a beam so bright it’s blinding, arms holding you against him in a tight and warm embrace that you never want to leave. Today is no different. He waits for you on the front steps, smile so wide that you can see it as soon as the building comes into view. He’s always there now. Waiting with a cup in one hand and knife in the other, small hunk of wood stable on his knees. A blotch of colour against the crystal white brought in by the occasional heavy night of snow. Every day you wonder just how many plaid shirts he owns.

“Hey there,” Ryan greets, placing his tools down and standing with a groan, “you look happy this morning.”

“Hey,” you smile into his shoulder, slipping comfortably into his arms. As his hand comes to rest on the small of your back, you suppress the urge to sigh. “Am I not allowed to look happy?”

He laughs, the chuckle an easy rumble against the ear pressed to his chest. His other arm winds around you, the cup coming into view. “No one’s this happy in the morning. It’s suspicious.”

You don’t respond, eyes locked on the drink. “Is that cup of tea for me?”

“Maybe,” he toys, letting you go and bringing the cup to his lips. “But maybe I made it for me.”

“Nice try, asshole.” You snatch it away before he can take a sip, grinning and hurriedly disappearing into the shop. “You don’t even like tea.”

“You get back here young lady!”

“No!”

“Y/N!”

You can't help the giggles, joy tumbling from your lips and threatening to trip you with every object and corner you veer around. Not chancing a look back for fear of falling, you abandon the cup where you can, the heavy foot falls still rushing after you. The back room is in sight, an unspoken safe zone that you power towards with more speed than you've mustered in years. It catches him off guard, but a dark chuckle that sends shivers up your back is all you hear before the ground disappears from beneath you.

With your arms crushed to your side, your struggles do absolutely nothing against Ryan's hold. His laugh is warm beside your ear, tickling hairs and sending shots of electricity across your skin while he carries you the rest of the way. “C'mon Ryan,” you wheeze, “this is cheating!”

“This is being?”

He’s smirking, and you can feel it burning into your back as you wriggle.  Your hands can’t find purchase, and every time you think you’ve broken the hold his arms hug you tighter. “This is you using your glorious lumberjack arms to keep me from running rampant.”

“Glorious?” He turns the word over, wandering towards the back room and shifting through the sawdust.

“Rampant,” you repeat over the uncomfortable blush making your flirtatious joke a little more honest than you're willing to admit, the smell of wood filling your lungs. “Rampant through the streets!”

He’s not letting it go, tone more nervous than teasing. “Did you just call your boss glorious?”

"Ryan," you huff, ignoring the flip of your stomach as he draws to a stop and still doesn’t put you down, “You're missing the point. You're clearly cheating and withholding me from my true potential.”

“With my lumberjack arms?”

“Yes.”

“That you think are glorious.”

“What? Y-yes? I guess, but that isn’t important.”

The floor is a shock against your soles, so sudden that your knees bend. Ryan’s languishing in your comment, eyes searching your face once you’re able to look up at him. Though his grip loosens, you don’t step away, lost in the blue lakes that trace across your expression. A breathy laugh sees the corner of his lips quirk upward, but only slightly. “That’s a little inappropriate for the workplace,” he murmurs. His hands have moved to your waist, palms radiating a heat that works its way into the pit of your stomach. “Don’t you think?”

You can’t help leaning into him, palms coming to rest lightly against his chest. His heart thumps in your hands. “Oh no,” you breathe, “you’re not going to report me to head office, are you?”

“I am head office,” he reminds around a thick smile, looking down at you through long lashes. He’s getting closer, forehead inches from perching against yours. You take a step forward, having to rise up on your tiptoes to get your bodies flush together. He closes the gap. “But I’m certain we can come to some kind of disciplinary arrangement.”

“I really hope so,” you manage, hands gliding up his torso and looping behind his neck. “Because I really do love my job.”

“We’re very lucky to have you on the team.”

“You bet your ass you are.”

The words barely get past your lips before Ryan’s pressing his against them, soft and warm. You melt instantly, and at the touch of his thumb against your jaw you’re completely smitten. Your fingers wind a little too roughly into his hair, but rather than a yelp you receive a moan that has your skin tingling. His tongue meets yours enthusiastically, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathing around each other, caught in the moment and surrounded in saw dust.

At first you don’t hear it, but eventually the steady demand of your phone sees you breaking reluctantly away. Smiling apologetically, you quickly slip from his arms, body stinging in the newfound cold as you check the screen. Your stomach drops. Any fire that had been roaring quickly extinguished with the name. Casting a glance back to Ryan, who looks rather unravelled while he busies himself with something, anything, to hide the blush adorning his cheeks, you collect your stuff.

“I’m sorry Rybread, I’ve gotta go.”

“What?” The question is short. Like a pop of surprise as he turns completely to watch you leave. “Are you alright? Did I overstep a boundary-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you call, breaking into a jog and exiting the building before he can ask anything else. “I’ll call you tomorrow!”

-

The station is quiet, building mourning and sorrow slipping through the halls. The stairs have never been so difficult. Each step sees your knees beg to lock or buckle. A palm pushes open the door, and Michael’s grim expression greets the knots in your stomach. He isn’t behind the reception this time, instead leaning against the desk with his arms folded. He’s shaken. Eyes lined red and nose a delicate pink.

You find your voice, but it’s alien in the abandoned cold room. “How long ago did you find the body?”

“A few hours ago,” Michael replies, standing up and coming to stand in front of you. Your feet have rooted themselves to the carpet. He places a careful hand on your shoulder, urging you on. “If that. We haven’t told the family yet. Jeremy wanted to have the coroner check it all out before we went to the parents. And, well…”

“He wanted me to see her, too.”

“Pretty much.” he sighs, a noisy exhale that rattles across the floor. “C’mon, she’s in the back.”

-

“We took a while to dig her up.”

“We’re lucky the snow acted to preserve her,” you reply, looking across the pale, bloated body and toward the man opposite. Jeremy doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy burying himself in his notes. “2 weeks is long enough for a body to degrade past recognition. We’ve really caught a break.”

“Have we?” His tone is a little sharper than you’re used too, but you don’t rise to the challenge you know isn’t there. Jeremy seems to realise his mistake, mumbling an apology in between excuses of exhaustion. “Just, it’s been a rough day.”

“No worries.” You draw closer, hands clammy in the gloves. “We better get started, then.”

“Yup.” He finally puts his files down, looking to the small girl between you two. His grimace is obvious, as are the pangs of sadness playing through his chest. “Okay. So. This is Laura, the one I came to you about a few weeks ago.”

“Where did you find her?”

“Behind your house. Near… hold on.” He checks the papers on the table. “Found in the same vicinity of victims 1, 2 and 4. She was buried pretty deep under a snow bank. But with the storms subsiding for the moment she was easier to find.”

“Okay, so at least we’ve got a pattern. 7, 1, 2 and 4 have been found in the same place, and 3, 5 and 6 are also grouped together. Weird selection of numbers, but at least it’s something to work with. Number 8 will most likely be found with the second grouping? Looks like the killer is a creature of habit, after all.”

He doesn’t look up. “If there’s a number 8.”

You don’t acknowledge the comment. “No sign of the skull, I’m guessing?”

“None.”

“And was she found in the same position as the others? Curled up on her side?” You’re taking the body between your gloved fingers, folding over her hand and peering at her palms.

“Yeah.”

“She didn’t put up a fight.”

This surprises him enough to look at you, eyebrows pulling together. “What makes you say that?”

“Her hands.” You check the other one and it’s as smooth as the first. “There’s no signs of resistance, and nothing under her fingernails.”

“What are these then?” He peers closer, finger tracing shallow grazes adorning her fingers.

You place her hands down, removing a glove and shoving your palm under Jeremy’s watchful eye. “They’re the same as mine. Small grazes from working with material I reckon. Look. Mine are a few days old, too. When the report gets back I’m certain we’ll find that she got them playing with sticks in the backyard. Or...” Your try not to gulp too loudly. “Or at the community garden. I think I remember seeing her there a few times, but I wasn’t around often enough.” You put a fresh glove on. “Besides, fighting against whatever left these gashes would do far more damage than what she’s got.”

“No, no that makes sense.” Jeremy is pacing, circling his side of the medical table with a pen thoughtfully resting against his chin. “Okay, so let’s run with the idea of her not fighting the attacker.”

“Do we know what killed her?”

“No,” he replies hollowly, “we can’t tell for sure without the head. Could be blunt force trauma, or it could be some of the wounds across her torso. That doesn’t really seem possible, though. They likely occurred post death, due to the slow blood flow and lack of struggle or tearing.”

Taking in the large gashes lacing her tiny body, you’re surprised she’s still holding together. Against your better judgement, you get closer, examining the wounds as best you can. Though excessive, they don’t appear very deep. Instead they’re long slashes, as though they were made with quick, repetitive movements. Tracing the line of one that resides against her ribcage, the blackened, curled skin remains hard beneath your touch. “What explanation do we have for the burns?”

“Frost bite,” is his only response. Glancing up, he reluctantly gives in. “Yeah, it doesn’t make sense. The lacerations aren’t swollen, and if it were frostbite the whole area would be black.”

“I see what you mean,” you murmur, voice growing stronger with the next breath. “What did the others die of? The earlier ones, I mean. Didn’t number 1 and 2 have trauma to the skulls, and an attempted removal?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, returning to the files and flicking through them. “Yeah, they did. They had lacerations on the back on the head.”

“Help me roll her over.”

“What?” He looks sick, paling with your request.

“You heard me. Come here and help me roll her on to her front.”

“We can just look at the pictures-”

“Jeremy.” Reluctantly he takes up a position, helping you ease her over. It’s not difficult, her weight barely anything, but she’s delicate. Like her skin will peel away as soon as you retract your hands. Once completed he stands back, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “J, are you alright?”

He nods stiffly, jaw setting and hands balling into fists. “Why did we turn her over?”

“I want to check something.” You lean in again, this time getting close enough for the subtle smell of damp rotting and spoiled egg to invade your nose. It doesn’t bother you, not once you find what you’re looking for. “It’s the same method.”

“What are you talking about?” He’s interested now, weak stomach settling with his peaking curiosity. Jeremy peers at where you point, taking in the small dip in the back of the body’s neck. Barely noticeable, it looks like a small tear that extends further than any of the other rips around the severing point.  

“See?” You follow the line with a finger, movement too straight to be an unintentional result. “It looks like the incision point on the first 2. Hand me their files? - Yes! Here, look. It’s the same line and it extends to the same area. Do the others have this line, too?”

Jeremy rushes through their case files, locating their photos and lining them up beside the body. “Holy fuck, Y/N,” he practically chokes, a mixture of hope and distress clogging his throat. “You’re right. That means that, if this was the same guy, he’s been killing them the same way every time.”

“Killers don’t stray from their style, simply for comfort and confidence sake,” you respond, smiling despite yourself. “Would it be safe to say that all of the victims could have been killed by blunt force trauma before their skulls were removed? Even if we don’t have some of the skulls?”

“Yes! It explains the incision, and the fact number 7 didn’t fight back. A bludgeon would kill a child instantly with enough force.”

“Especially from behind like the pictures suggest.”

You’re both grinning, the macabre situation not putting a damper on your excitement for a new lead. Jeremy’s scribbling on a pad in an instant, grip on the pen turning his knuckles white.

Shaking yourself free from the moment, a few close up photos are taken on your phone, red lines circling the locations of interest. “Does the lab have any ideas on the murder weapon?”

At this his face falls, chest deflating. “No, the wounds were too messy, especially with the attempted removal of the skull. It’s shifted too much around. All they can tell is that it's a heavy and relatively wide object. Sharp maybe? Does more bludgeoning damage than anything.”

“Have they tried looking at the livestock?” Jeremy’s eyes go wide at your suggestion, and you can almost see him vibrating. “If we’ve still got some of their skulls around we could match the fracture patterns to specific objects.”

“You are a fucking genius. If we can figure it out, we might be able to trace the murder weapon! I’ll have to check with evidence, but I’m certain we’ll have some of the sheep skulls lying around, same with the fragments.”

“And once we know what weapon we’re looking for we can find out who has access to it. You know, I have a sneaking suspicion that the victims know who it was so if we focus locally we might have more luck.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Look at how they’re all lying. They weren't arranged like that, the reports tell us that much. What with the blood found at the scenes, and concentration of lacerations on specific sides. They were comfortable enough to curl in the snow with whoever it was that killed them.”

[pc-doodle]

A Little Health PSA

I want to apologize to any of my mutuals or followers who see the occasional anti-vaxx stupidity on my main blog here because I know it’s a touchy subject to people... but I need to say my piece for why I think anti-vaxx people are kinda dumb and why I’m scared of them.

No, I’m not here for debates or anti-vaxxers to come out of the woodwork thinking I’m attacking specifically them: I made this post on a whim and because it’s a subject that is intimately close to me.

My ethos/credibility is sprinkled down below as I delve into my own personal stories--I just beg that you can endure my rambling until then to understand why this means so much to me and why I have a say!

To start things off as clearly as possible: I am autistic. 

No, I am not your stereotypical self-diagnosed-but-never-went-past-that-because-I-just-wanted-online-ammunition-for-fights special snowflake. In fact, those were the types that made me wary of being lumped together with their clique so I had viciously pretended to be ‘normal’ all my life. It was only due to past friends and observations from strangers that I started to wonder if I was... in fact... not ‘normal’. And then I went to my doctor... and then to another doctor... and then another doctor! You wouldn’t BELIEVE the result... it’s just how my brain works! All that crippling anxiety and severe panic attacks I have at the first sign of public exposure on any level (presentations, walking into class late, etc) was NORMAL for me and... WAS A DISABILITY! I could have easily avoided the years of stress, hair-ripping, bed-bound illnesses due to the stress, hospital visits, etc. if I had just been diagnosed earlier (and yes, I am on medication now for the anxiety portion)!

No, it’s not as if I wasn’t aware of it... I just had done absolutely everything from bending over backwards and breaking my spine to explain something to just flat-out ignoring it! In fact, I had done this too when friends of mine had come out as transgender in high school... something I admittedly was a little asshole about until I realized I was just angry that they were happy about being able to come out to their friends meanwhile I couldn’t because of my family.

It was then that I smacked my 14-yo self in the face and told them to stop being a little jerk and just be happy for your friend, and then I had the self-realization that I have always been trans ever since I was 3 (yes, I questioned my own gender and sex at the age of 3 and had never stopped, go figure)!

The point to all of that was... I knew these things about myself ever since I could cognizantly think and was self-aware. I was not influenced by anything but my own thoughts and feelings (as media back then was very conservative).

Why am I bringing all of this up? How does it have to do with vaccinations at all?

Well... the most popular and damned accusation about why parents refuse to vaccinate their children is because that it will somehow magically cause them to be gay... be autistic... etc... etc... (All horrifying things to close-minded people!)

Despite the fact there are mountains upon mountains of papers and studies proving otherwise... it just astounds me that people hate LGBT+ and autistic people that much to think it’s the same as being sentenced to death. Actually, it doesn’t just astound me, it sickens me.

There are ACTUAL kids out there with illnesses afflicting their hearts and organs and syndromes that make their immune system weak that CAN’T get vaccines... but no, let’s not focus on them, the non-majority. Let’s just focus on the actually-healthy children who won’t suffer at all from them... let’s just let them contract everything and spread it!

But why do I care? Well, that’s simple...

I actually am one of those few children who spent a majority of their childhood in the hospital! From constant ER overnight and extended stays to being out of school for months at a time because I kept catching illnesses that would kill me!

It actually had gotten so bad, all of my schools I ever attended attempted to file CPS charges against my parents because they assumed that I was being abused at home and that was why I was out so often.

Incorrect! My parents did everything in their power to make sure I didn’t eat rotten food, that everything was cleaned on a regular basis, I took my medication (because yes, I’m now on an oxygen machine and have to take a lot of pills every single day just to breathe easier!), and that I was generally okay at home. The reality though...

I kept catching things from kids at school.

Kids come to school with a cough/rash/anything because our society puts attendance over health, which leads to me being gone with a 105+ fever and whatever they had.

It wasn’t that I was the one transmitting disease... it was that I caught EVERYTHING easier because of my poor health, even with vaccines (and no, fellow cats--I didn’t have friends because I was so “weird”! I caught them AT A DISTANCE!!). I can ONLY imagine if I was a kid in this new generation with something as terrible as mumps going around again among other things... I more than likely wouldn’t even be alive right now to explain why I’m scared of anti-vax people and their platform.

Stars above knows I barely survived this long to 22 with several close calls throughout my life... so it’s not just an exaggeration on my part. California can’t even catch on fire without me going to the ER because I can’t breathe due to the smoke pollution in the air--so please stop resurrecting the dead and introducing new things to kill us.

TL;DR:

I have a lot of things “wrong” with me and barely survived in my generation, so please don’t bury future kids due to easily-avoidable ignorance.

[warriorqueen1991]

Monster (pt.15)

Characters: Werewolf Negan x Melissa (oc)

Warnings: Fluff, Negan being Negan ;)

Notes: if anyone's got any questions or any suggestions regarding this fic, please don't be afraid to send em my way. I absolutely love hearing from you guys ♡

Please Let me know if you'd like to be tagged :)

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

Negan was staring up at the ceiling, the steady sound of Melissa’s breathing fighting to sooth his chaotic mind as he shifted against the thin mattress. His eyes were glowing dimly in the darkness, he knew someone was awake in the lobby but he couldn't pick up who exactly.

This particular scent foreign to him.

After Rick had walked in on them Melissa had suggested they keep it PG while they were here. Negan of course thought that was ridiculous, but he didn't want her to be uncomfortable.

It was frustrating.

He felt... needy.

Every since Melissa had called him her mate he had wanted to be buried within her, to have her scream his name in pleasure for the entire prison to hear.

Fuck he wanted Rick to hear her.

Glancing over at her bunk he growled, his fangs peeking out from under his lips as he pressed his head back against his pillow.

His hands lifted to scrub his face with a rough sigh, he needed to calm down.

His breathing was becoming heavy as he shifted against his thin sheets, his hand resting on his stomach as he let out a haggard breath.

He felt like he was gonna crawl out of damn his skin if he didn't at least touch her.

He needed her hands on him.

To silence his raging beast.

Glancing at her once more as he panted, his claws forming up from his fingers as he let out a light groan.

Fuck he couldn't take this anymore.

Growling softly Negan rolled off his bunk so he landed on his knees on the cold floor.

Shaking his head with a soft grunt he crawled to his mate on all fours, his head nuzzling her hand as he purred against her flesh. His lips sliding over her fingers as his claws dug into the side of the mattress.

Melissa shifted rolling over on her side, her eyes fluttering open before her brow creased in confusion.

“N-Negan?...are you ok?”

He ran his face up her arm with a soft growl before nuzzling into her chest, her fingers running through his hair in a slow soothing motion.

Letting out a deep sigh at her touch he groaned in relief, his voice a rough whisper.

“ I just...needed to feel you...m’sorry”.

Melissa smiled tiredly into his hair as she cradled his head, his large body still kneeling on the floor.

The claws of one hand dug into the side of her mattress as the other hung at his side. His breathing was still slightly labored but he could feel himself calming down. Melissa kissed his hair making him growl in appreciation, pressing his forehead against her chest firmly.

It was like he was touch starved…

But they had only been without contact for a few hours at most.

“Are you sure your ok?” she whispered into his hair, her nails scratching against his skelp gently. He shuddered as a wave of pleasure shot down his spine, the fingers of her right hand sliding down his back.

Relaxing against the side of her bed, he growled softly. His head nodding slowly against her chest, she hugged him closer the best she could with him kneeling before urging him to sit back.

Whimpering in protest, his heart began hammering in his chest at the distance.

Watching as she sat up in her bunk, his eyes instantly fell shut as her hands cupped his face. She didn't quite understand what was happening to him, she just knew he needed her.

Sliding to the floor with him, Melissa wrapped her arms around his neck as he nuzzled against her face.

Scooting back against the wall, he dragged her onto his lap with a growl. Her hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as she draped her legs over his thighs. Pressing her head against his forehead she smiled as he purred closing his eyes.

Caressing his cheek before pressing her lips to his softly, Melissa smiled running her thumb over his bottom lip.

“Ya know, if you had an issue with the sleeping situation...you could've said something?” Her light laugh made him smile exposing his long canines.

Running his clawed hands up and down her arms, he pulled her closer so she could rest her head against his chest. His eyes closing as he laid his cheek against her hair, his breathing returning to normal as he finally drifted to sleep.

****

“When did they get here?”

Daryl chewed on his nail before folding his arms across his chest “dawn”.

Rick scratched his cheek before nodding “ok...i'll get the others”. Daryl grunted in acknowledgement as he watched the group of walkers shambling around the square.

“You gonna bring the new guy?”

Rick sighed “we need all the help we can get”. The younger man nodded looking back out the window “don't trust him”.

Rick chuckled “you don't trust anybody” Daryl growled “I trust you...don't make me regret it”.

Shaking his head Rick moved back to the group of people sitting in a mishaped circle. Andrea was holding her younger sisters hand while Glenn was messing with some walkies he found in the back.

“Anyone seen Negan and Melissa?”

****

“Negan we need to get out there, they're gonna wonder what's wrong with us”

Melissa giggled as his beard scratched against her neck, his teeth biting her shoulder gently as she attempted to tame her hair.

“Hmmm just tell em to fuck off, that always works for me”.

Shaking her head, Melissa pushed his face away with a bubbling laugh “alright, alright down boy!...we're guests remember?”

He growled softly as he buried his nose into the back of her neck, her soft hair clinging to his scruff as his hands slid around her waist. Melissa sighed leaning her head back against him as his mouth found her neck once more “Negan!” she whined as he growled against her skin.

The sound of boots echoing down the hall finally urged Negan to give her sensitive skin a break. Letting out a blissful moan, she ran her fingers up through his hair before righting herself just as Rick rounded the corner.

Negan rested his chin on top of her head, his hands wrapping securely around her waist as he narrowed his eyes at Rick.

The Sheriff eyed the two of them with an uncomfortable shift before clearing his throat “Negan can I talk to you?” The older man raised his eyebrows in question before separating himself from his mate. His alpha swagger on full display as he gave Rick a wide smile, leaning into his personal space “why sure thing Rick”.

Lifting his gaze Rick nodded before looking at Melissa once more, his lips in a straight line as he left the two of them alone once more.

Negan waggled his eyebrows at Melissa as he backed out of the room making her shake her head with a smile “behave!”

He chuckled biting his lip before following Rick down the hall, no way in hell was he making that promise.

Not when it was so fun to rile Rick up.

****

“When did they fucking get here?”

Rick was loading his gun as he eyed the window “arrived with the birds apparently”. Daryl moved from behind Negan with a glare “probably followed ya from the road”.

Negan growled leaning against the window before glancing at the younger man with a deep chuckle “that kinda fuckin logic makes you a special kind of fuckin stupid…”

Daryl glared at him, wrinkling his nose as he went to retort just as Negan raised his finger in silence. “Follow my way of thinking if your hillbilly mind can handle it....”

Rick winced at his barb but remained silent as the older man gestured to the group still in the small lobby “I know you sorry shits ain't the only folks livin here so…” he leaned back gesturing with his arms theatrically “where the fucks everybody else?”

Shaking his head at Rick and Daryl's slightly thoughtful expressions as they shared a look, Negan looked back out the window.

“Hate to bust your nut but these particular dead fucks were already here”.

“Then why they comin outta the damn woodwork now?”

Negan ran his hand down his mouth before eyeing Daryl “probably the gunfire last night”. The younger man snarled “sounds about right you passin the blame”.

“Whoa pitbull, calm the fuck down” Negan growled “I would've done the same damn thing”. Daryl shook his head before moving back beside Rick who sighed, scratching his neck “we need a plan”.

Catching Daryl's glare Negan bristled, he was getting real fucking tired of this assholes fuckin stink eye.

“I got an idea!”

Rick looked at him in question “you do?” Negan smiled before moving to tower over Daryl. “Let's get one thing fuckin straight hillbilly, you don't fucking know me...you wanna judge a man's fuckin merit let's do this shit…”

Rick stepped forward to protest but Negan held his hand up to stop him, his eyes never leaving Daryl's. “Let's go clear those dead fucks…” he grinned running his tongue over his pearly whites “you and me”.

Daryl's jaw ticked but he finally broke from Negan's gaze making the older man's smile widen.

That's right bitch!

Rick nodded “it's a good plan...i'll cover you from the window”.

Negan glanced out the window “only fire if it looks like one of us isn't comin back, we don't need any more of these fuckers comin at us”.

He sighed running his hand through his hair “the less noise we make, the better”.

Rick nodded holstering his gun before moving past Negan “Let's go break the news to the others”. Grabbing him by his elbow, Negan glared down at Rick as Daryl moved back into the lobby.

“Now I'll make sure your precious Daryl gets back to you in one fuckin piece because I'm a stand up guy…” he smiled. His hazel eyes taking in Ricks worried expression, before his smile slid into a snarl “but if you don't pull the fucking leash back on your fucking dog…” he growled “I'll put him in his fucking place Rick...i'm done with his fucking shit ya hear me?”

Rick swallowed thickly before grimacing, his blue eyes narrowing up at Negan “I'll talk to him”.

Negan smiled slowly with a slight nod as he released Ricks arm, the sheriff leaving him by the window as his eyes flashed yellow.

“You do that Prick”

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

☆TAG LIST☆

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[bleedingcoffee42]

Practical Magic- Part 1

For @erzadragonborn my fellow Havocai dumpster mate and fan of this movie.  

This will be a multi-part fic,complete with the smut this ship deserves, but figured I could serve up an appetizer for thanksgiving.  

AN:  Too many Havocai fics end up with a love triangle and that takes something away from the relationship. So Roy is here, but he gets the role of the slutty sister because he is a huge part of Riza's life but Havoc doesn't need to be a backup option when it doesn't work out with him.   Jean Havoc is a blessing. 

xxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 1- Something Wicked

This past week, Riza knew something wasn't right.   Roy was unusually reclusive for this time of the year and Ed and Al were barely interested in their new school supplies or researching the teachers they had this year.   There was something Roy was hiding from her and she foolishly thought he was just brooding over Maes again.   He and the boys simply tucked themselves away in the study and rarely came out.   It wasn't until the new year orientation at school when she saw the three of them turn white as ghosts and look at each other like a lie had finally caught up with them.  Ed and Al getting in trouble was one thing, Roy being involved made her want to turn the other way and tell him to clean up his own mess.

Unfortunately Riza couldn't do that. They were part of her family now, and she couldn't turn her back on them or their mistakes.   She had to wait to find out what that was since she had to do a meet and greet with the teacher, something Roy was neglecting to do as the representative parent.   He was holding a conference in the wooden castle on the playground with his kids,  so she put on her best smile and tried to pretend everything was normal.

In this town, that was impossible. Especially for this family.

“So you're Ed's Mom?” Ms. Thomas asked.

“No, I'm their Aunt.”  Riza said and the young teacher looked around for anyone else resembling an adult that could claim Ed as their own.   She opted to get the awkward first meeting over and done with early.  “They were adopted by my close friend Roy Mustang and his husband Maes Hughes.  Maes died in a freak accident during the Tour 'd Amestris and left Roy a single parent.  He moved back home with the boys to raise them with a family that consists of his Mom, my grandfather, myself and my dog.”

“Oh.”   Ms. Thomas said and thought that over.  Roy Mustang was the name that was passed around the teachers lounge a lot, did they know or care that he was gay?  “So their father, what does he do for a living?”

Riza was tempted to tell her he was an alchemist, or as the townspeople so dully called him, a witch.  “He's a chemist.”

“I'm told that Ed and Al are so excited by science!  That must be why!”

Riza nodded.   They were excited by science but not because Roy had anything to do with it.   Unfortunately science was probably why those three were in the playground fort.   “More than you can possibly imagine.”

“That's wonderful that he plays with them!”   Ms. Thomas said and looked over as Alphonse climbed to the top of the playground for to look around the school grounds.  Then he ran over to the slide, slid down and reported back to his Dad and brother of his findings.  

Play.  Riza thought and glared at Roy as he looked out the door of the fort and over at the group of parents meeting with the principle and his assistant.   The only thing those three did was try to play God.  “He's got an immature streak to him that works well with a couple of prepubescent boys.  If you'll excuse me, I better go tell him it's time to be an adult.”

“Oh please don't interrupt, they're having fun.   Would you like some tea and cookies?”  Ms. Thomas asked.

Riza chewed her lip, she'd just deal with them at home.   Part of every school year starting well hinged on her being the diplomatic one who prepared the teacher for the chaos the boys would bring to class.   Roy would only get defensive or get phone numbers of bored housewives hope they could experience his “magic” in bed.   “Sure, let's leave them to play.”

It only took three days for her to regret saying that.

Xxxxxxxx

Three Days Later

Riza could feel the stares of the townspeople as she walked to work.   It was Monday, so it meant that the majority of these people had spent their Sunday in church listening to Father Cornello preach about the sinister things going on in the town.   That was always direct road of blame to their doorstep, where anything bad that happened during the week was left in a stinking pile of bullshit on their porch.   She was the only one who left the house anymore, besides the boys, so it was left to her to deal with it.  Every damned Monday.

So when she reached her bookstore on the corner of  Central and East Ave, she wasn't surprised to see a newspaper article taped to her front door and the words “Witch one was it?” written in red sharpie on the clipping.   She pulled it down and rolled her eyes without reading the headline, then opened the door, turned on the lights and flipped the sign to “Open” to begin business for the day.   Annoying as it was, at least they weren't doing any damage.  

She used her key to open the antique register and then put the clipping on the counter to read what they had done this time.   She wasn't expecting to actually read something viable.   “Resenbool farmhouse burns to the ground”.

What the hell did those boys do?!?  

The bell over the door rang as a customer came in and she looked up to see a stranger to this town, a handsome blond with blue eyes that she couldn't break eye contact with.   He gave her a smile that almost melted her where she stood.   No, this man was not from around here at all.   “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I am looking for Riza Hawkeye?   The proprietor?”  

“That would be me.”  She said and as he walked to the counter he pushed back his jacket to show off his broad chest and what appeared to be a shoulder holster, then the mood was ruined when he flashed a badge at her. “I'm Deputy Jean Havoc with the County Sheriff's Department.   I have a few questions for you regarding the Elric residence....”

It was at that point that he looked down at the article on the counter and she watched those blue eyes flicker up to her with a more scrutinizing purpose.  “The boys are my nephews.”

Jean pulled out a notepad and read through the information he had gathered so far.   “I can't get a hold of their father.”

“Nobody can.” Riza countered.   “Hohenheim left them a few years ago.”

“Their adopted father.”  Jean said.   “Roy Mustang?  He's not answering the phone at his place of residence and I can't seem to get a work phone number from anyone.”

“He works from home.”

Jean nodded.     “You wouldn't happen to know anything about the house burning down Saturday, would you?”

“I didn't know Sheriff' deputies investigated arson.”

“We don't.” Jean replied.  “We investigate murder.”

Riza finally glanced down at the article and quickly read it.   There was no mention of a murder.  

“So, can you tell me where Mr. Mustang was Saturday?”

“No.”  Riza said and narrowed her eyes at him.  He and the boys usually went out on drives on weekends, doing research in libraries around the country.  “Can you tell me why you suspect Roy of burning down his sons childhood home?   Or why you think he killed someone?”

“Ms. Hawkeye, I can't.”  Jean said and looked at his notepad.  “However if he can give me an alibi and a few answers we can clear this up pretty fast.”

Riza looked at the article again and picked it up.   She thrust it out to the cop. “Take this as evidence then,  clearly whoever is harassing me had something to do with whoever called you to try and pin some crime on my family.   This town has been blaming my family for everything from bad weather to deaths in the family for years,  clearly they have crossed a line.”

Jean sighed.   “Look, this isn't some false accusation.    We have witnesses.   We have motive.  We have evidence.”

“What motive?” Riza asked.  “Why would Roy kill someone and burn down some old farmhouse in a town fifty miles from here?”

“The body in the house was a dental record match to Tricia Elric.”  Jean said and watched the woman's face pale.   “So considering her death years ago was reported by neighbors and her buried in a family plot without any official county records and Mr. Mustang and Mr. Hughes appeared out of nowhere to specifically adopt those two boys, we have what we consider suspicious circumstances.”

What the hell did those boys do?     She's protect him with her life but at this point anything she said to this cop would probably do more harm than good. She pulled out her phone and opened it up, preparing to call Roy and let him know to let this deputy in and answer his questions.  Then she thought better of it, he could be a defensive asshole when someone started making accusations about the boys.  This needed to be addressed fast before the town got wind of it.   “I'll just take you up to the house.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“Well well, it's about time you bring a man home.”  

“Not now, grandfather.”  Riza hissed as she walked in the door with Deputy Havoc behind her.   Hayate came over and greeted her.   “He's here to talk to Roy.”

Henry Grumman sighed and waved at the man standing in the foyer as he walked back to the conservatory to tend to his plants.   “Figures.”

Havoc wanted to ask what that meant but then he realized Ms. Hawkeye had already started walking down a hallway and he was definitely being left behind.   This house was absolutely huge and gorgeous.  It was old and the halls were a little small, but he was too busy appreciating the woodwork and charm to care.  “Beautiful old house.”

“It's been in my family for years. “  Riza replied and reached Roy's study and knocked on the door.   “Roy, you have a visitor.”

Jean was expecting to hear the sounds of someone cleaning up or maybe a window opening and the sound of crash into the bushes, but instead he was surprised to hear a 'come in' and the door open in front of him.  He walked in and saw a man sitting at a desk surrounded by paperwork.  

“This is Deputy Jean Havoc, he's here about the Elrics house burning down.” Riza said and could see from how quickly Roy's eyes shot up from his book that he wasn't expecting this.  However, it was a tell only she could see and Deputy Havoc probably didn't catch it.   Roy could always be counted on to hide his emotions when the situation called for it, it's why she didn't mind surprising him with the visit.

“Since when does the Sheriff's department investigate fires?”

Havoc pulled out his notepad and smiled.  “When there is a woman, who was already supposed to be dead, burned inside that house.   I don't suppose you know anything about the reappearance of Tricia Elric, the house fire or have an alibi for Saturday?”

Riza watched Roy as he leaned back in his chair, taking it all in without a sign of distress.   However she wasn't fooled, she knew he didn't have a fast or defensive response because he did know something about this.   Dammit Roy!

“Tricia Elric has been dead for years.”  Roy said and stared down the deputy who wasn't flinching.  “And so help me God if you approach Edward or Alphonse about this I will...”

“Roy.”  Riza snapped before he could threaten the officer of the law.   “Just answer his questions.”

“I was with my family on Saturday and we were working on cleaning up a project the boys had just completed.”  Roy said and leaned forward to lean on his desk.  “So what the hell is going on?”

“Tricia's body was exhumed and placed in that house before it was burned.  However the coroner is baffled by the condition the body was in.  It was mangled beyond recognition and flesh that should have been decomposed was burnt off it.   The only way we could tell it was human was because of the teeth.   Dental records confirm it to be Tricia Elric, who has a death certificate signed by a local doctor who has been missing for years.  A Dr. Marcoh? It's odd that everyone surrounding these kids has gone missing.  Well, except for you.”

Roy pulled out a folder from underneath his pile of paperwork and slid it across to the cop.  “Odd the timing of this all since I have been investigating the murder of my husband, Maes Hughes.  Sounds like someone doesn't want me asking questions about why a man with catlike reflexes was run over by the Amestris Iron Man competition while texting me photos of our kids.”

Havoc narrowed his eyes at him.   Quick change of topic, it was tempting to take the bait but he knew it was a distraction.   This whole ordeal was weird from the beginning and now this?   Now Mustang, who seemed to have the best motive for murder, was now using his own investigation as a reason he could be the target here?   “So, what are you telling me? That you think you're being framed?”

“I'm telling you I was with my kids.”  Roy said.   “I'm also wondering why I'm being targeted and why the murder of Maes Hughes goes unsolved while you're on some witch-hunt trying to solve the murder of a woman who died years ago from the plague.“

Havoc took a deep breath and picked up the file.   When he called in to the local police department for information on Mustang and the Elrics he got an earful.  It lasted the entire drive this morning.   Talk about witchcraft, alchemy and years of these people living in this town doing all kinds of mysterious things.   Mustang's Aunt dabbled in people's love lives and used that to blackmail them, Hawkeye's grandfather Grumman sheltered them all.   Mustang made people drool and spouses furious.   Then he left and got married, adopted some kids, things were quiet.  Until now.  “So this whole witch business....”

“I'm an alchemist.”  Roy said flatly.   “As was Riza's father.   My step-mother prefers to call it witchcraft because she enjoys playing on people's emotions and it's better for her business.  People with problems with their sex lives come to her, she give them advice or herbal Viagra and away they go. ”

“And what about you Ms. Hawkeye?”  Havoc asked curiously.

“Alchemy or magic, whatever you want to call it, comes at a price.” Riza said without hesitation.    “That price is happiness.   I have watched it destroy my father, I watched Roy loose the love of his life.   I watch Madam Christmas mix potions for these people who shun her.   I have chosen to preserve the knowledge but not practice it.  My bookstore specializes in online sales and marketing of alchemy relics and books, my storefront is a normal shop.  I do not antagonize the people of this town.”

Havoc wasn't expecting this.   This was supposed to be a cut and dry investigation.   He handed the folder back to Mustang who, he noted, still wore his wedding ring.  “Tell me then, how a dead woman gets out of her grave and walks back into her house, gets her body reconstructed into something unrecognizable, and then burns the whole place down.”

“Necromancy.” Roy said simply and shrugged.  He saw Riza's eyes grow wide as he stood up.   “I wouldn't hurt my kids by reopening old wounds. Their mother, that house....I'm sure they already know about it. Kids at school are cruel.   If you are done asking questions, I would like to go pick them up so they don't have to go through that for very long.”

“As long as you don't plan on leaving town.”  Havoc said and Mustang shook his head.

“Nope.”  Roy said.  “I have a PTA meeting to go to tonight.”

Havoc took out his card and placed it on the desk and then handed another to Ms. Hawkeye.  “In case you have any other information to give me, I'll be staying at the B&B in town while I investigate this case.”

“No you won't,” Roy said smugly.  “Mrs. Bradley will kill you if she catches you smoking in or around her inn.”

Riza rolled her eyes as Roy walked past them and out the door.  Of course he had to say something about the cop, just to show him he wasn't an idiot. The scent of smoke was coming off Havoc quite strongly, he probably smoked all the way from his office to town this morning.   “Excuse us, we do need to get the boys out of school.  I will text you the address of the Inn in town.   The manager will allow smoking if you pay double.”

Havoc was ready to tell her he would find it, he was competent enough to use Google, but he wanted her number so he just gave her a smile and said “Thanks.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

Riza got in the car as Havoc was driving away and turned to Roy immediately and said “What..the hell did you do!?”

Roy closed his eyes.  “Last weekend the boys told me they had to get something out of their old house.  I took them to Resenbool.   I never thought they'd try it, I thought they knew better.”

“Better than?” Riza demanded.

“To bring back their Mom.”  Roy said softly.   “They got a hold of a necromancy book, that fucking Tringham kid sold it to them, and they were determined to try it.     I thought they needed to come to terms with something, maybe get something they didn't think they wanted to keep out of the house?  I thought they knew better.”

“Roy...”  Riza didn't know what to say.    Roy and Maes had legally adopted the Elric boys, but Roy only agreed to do it because he knew the kids were incredibly talented and powerful alchemists.   They needed direction, they needed protection.  They couldn't end up in foster care, they wouldn't be understood.   Maes, he wanted a family.  The boys only went along with it because Roy laid out for them the terrible things that could happen to alchemists who were not careful or discreet in today's society.   If they wanted to practice their craft, they had to have access to books and a teacher.   They would never see any of that in a foster home, they might even be split up, or worse in an institution or government study.   Maes was not thrilled with Roy's scare tactics, but that was what it took to convince Edward to agree to the situation.   In the eyes of the legal system, the Elrics were adopted sons; in the eyes of the Elrics, they were merely taking advantage of someone feeding them and providing them with the education they wanted.  They played the part in public, but at home Roy and Ed spent more time insulting each other like siblings and Al spent his time taking care of Madam Christmas's cats and helping her with her online sales.  “We knew they were capable. We knew it from their correspondence with me at the bookstore when they were reaching out for books.   We both thought they were older and god I thought they knew better.”

“They dug up their mother.”  Roy said and rubbed his temple.  “Performed a ritual, then they saw for themselves why you can't bring someone back from the dead.   However....”

“However?” Riza asked.

“That was last weekend.   We buried the mess they created and left.”  He sighed. “Then she showed up at school as the principal's assistant.”

“What?”

“Miss Douglas, the secretary in the school office?  She looks a lot like Tricia Elric.”  Roy said.   “And when she looked at the boys, there was this grin on her face that just froze them in place.  They brought her back from the dead, as something else.  Something that looks like their Mom but has no soul.   You can see the emptiness behind those eyes.    Bradley just hired her this week.”

“That's impossible.”

“No, they genuinely figured it all out.  All the missing pieces in the books.   They brought someone back to life, but the element that made her their Mom was missing.  Now it's some human created thing watching them.  Getting close to them.   That's why we staying in that fort during orientation, because we had to figure out what would kill it.  We drove to the house, and the grave was already empty.   All we could think of to do was burn the transmutation circle to try to break the seal itself, hoping it was what teetered that thing to this world.  We were hoping that was what animated it.  Between the three of us we pulled her back to her origin and they held her in place while I set that bitch on fire.”

“You didn't think to bury it again!?”

“We did.”  Roy growled.

“Then how was she in the house when the police got there?”

“I don't know.”

“Roy!”

“Riza, I have no idea what those two did!”  Roy exclaimed, showing his frustration with it all.   “That's why we need to get them the hell out of school because I think that bitch is coming back for them.”

They drove to school and Roy mumbled to himself and looked through documents on his phone.  After digesting the situation, one lingering question remained.   “Are you sure it was that Tringham kid who gave them the book?”

Roy shot her a glare.   “What are you implying, Riza?”

“You know damned well what I'm asking, Roy.”  She said and looked over at him as they stopped at a light.   “Ed and Al aren't the only ones who have a reason to be studying necromancy books.   The Tringhams use plant alchemy, they grow pot for god's sakes!”

“I wasn't trying to bring Maes back.”

“Then why didn't you tell me you thought he was murdered?”  She asked, her voice betraying her hurt.   Roy was like a brother to her, they had grown up together and he was her family.  “You have been looking into his death this entire time?  Why wouldn't you tell me?”

“Because you think I'm capable of forgetting everything I know and trying to bring him back from the dead.”  Roy said.  “I needed you to leave me alone to grieve instead of watch me like a hawk.”

“You mean leave you alone to investigate your husband's murder.”  Riza corrected him.

“Yes.  So I could be focusing on my own problem instead of watching Ed and Al like he would have wanted.”  Roy said and looked away.  “The light is green.”

She looked back to the road and pressed the accelerator.  Of course he was blaming himself for this.   All of it.  “The body.   You buried it after you burned it.”

“Yes.”

“And it crawled out of the grave to frame you for a murder?”

“I have no idea what we're dealing with Riza, I don't.”

“Roy, I'm not criticizing you, I'm asking a question.”  She said.  “Shouldn't she be locked up in the coroner's office then?  Havoc talked about the autopsy.”

“I can only hope a freezer can keep that thing contained.”   Roy put his head in his hand and closed his eyes.  “Shit.  I can't even ask for help on this one without making it known what the boys did.   Every alchemist on the net will immediately know what they tried to do, we have to get what we can from the books.  We can't ask for help.”

“Let's get the boys.”  She said and finally reached the school parking lot and Roy jumped out before she could park.  He ran for the office and she knew she had to follow him, if Ms. Douglas was in there there was no telling what he would do.   She parked and ran after him, he was holding the door to the office when she got there and she saw why.   Standing at the counter with a smile on her face was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Tricia Elric.

Xxxxxxxxxx

“What do you mean the body is missing?”  Havoc had to pull over when he got the call. This was not an ordinary conversation with the coroner.

“It's fucking missing! Not here!”  Dr. Knox screamed over the phone and slide the tray back into the freezer and slammed the door shut.  “You want a picture?”

Havoc sat back in his seat and looked around at the people looking him over.  It was a small town, he wasn't driving a truck they recognized and he was probably parked illegally.   “Did you get the crime scene guys down there to check for prints or evidence?”

“No, Havoc, I called you because your evidence just got up and walked out.” Knox growled.   “I've never lost a body, never.   You find that damned thing and bring it back!”

“What?”  Havoc asked and heard a click as Knox hung up on him.  He looked at his phone to verify that the call ended.   How the hell did a body vanish?  Especially a juicy, roasted mangled one like that?  He looked up and realized he was across the street from the bookstore Hawkeye owned and couldn't help but feel a tingle in his gut that he was on to something here.  Something weird.     His phone buzzed and he looked down at it, it was a text from Breda.   Of course his partner would be following up with him, he could count on him to work the missing person case from back in the office while he worked the field on this.   He opened the text and immediately threw his phone on the seat next to him.  It was a fucking meme!

'One does not simply lose a roasted corpse'

His phone went off again and he grabbed it and realized it was from an unknown number.   He blinked.   It was an address...for the Youswell Inn.   Then another came through with a message, 'talk to Mr. Halling not Mr. Yoki in regards to the non-smoking room.'     He took a moment to add Riza Hawkeye into his contacts before replying 'thank you'.

When he got a chance to sit down and get more details from Breda about his new missing person case,  he was going to have to see if Hawkeye had an alibi for the time frame when the body disappeared.  There was no way one man could get that mess out of the morgue without help.  

[weelittlewain]

Leader Of The Landslide

5.7.2020

I remember the last time I did cocaine. It was at my friend’s house and I was invited into a room hastily. I was not sure what was going on until they said, “Hey alleycat, I have some but don’t tell anyone because everyone will want some. You know how it goes.”

I keep doing it throughout the night and I feel guilty because I did not tell Kelly I was doing it. She had basically said you have to stop partying and doing this to yourself or we will no longer continue dating. Looking back I am sure it was hard for her to see someone she cared about wasting away.

I went to a bathroom in the house that was being renovated and stared at the mirror for a few minutes. I thought about how late it was and how I would even get home. I had work the next morning and there was no way in hell I could stay at this house. I said my goodbyes after a few chained smoked cigarettes and hit the road. Less than a quarter mile from the house a state trooper begins to tail me. I had already decided to take the back roads back to our house because I would panic taking the highway.

Amphetamines pumping through my veins I am checking my rearview mirror about every 5 seconds. That car followed me for about 15 minutes before it took a different turn. I have never in my entire life been afraid of everything falling apart. I envisioned countless scenarios in my head of what would happen once I saw those red and blue lights flicker in my rearview mirror. I thought about my privilege as a white woman and if that would be the only thing that saved me from getting a DUI and completely altering the course of my life. I cried when I pulled into my parking lot. I was shaking and chain-smoked a few more cigarettes before calming down enough to go inside. I cannot remember if I immediately woke Kelly up or not but we talked the next day and I explained everything. I told her that was the last time I was ever doing cocaine and that I needed her support. I apologized for being a complete mess but told her it was my responsibility to handle.

That was almost four years ago. It was right after we started dating. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about how incredibly lucky I am for never getting pulled over while under the influence. Especially in the summer of 2015 – when I was lonely as they come – I would stay up till sunrise because I had no choice. I would go to the prairie and watch as the sun came up and the fog began to lift. Some nights I would ride around town red-eyed smoking a cigarette to my favorite Lana Del Rey songs. Some occasions I rode around with the windows rolled down trying to recreate Ashley, Tessa, Maddie and I in Ashley’s red convertible singing Born To Die off-key. Some nights I wondered how different my life would be if I could just call Tessa. That was not an option though, because Tessa was dead.

I think sobriety has different levels for some people. I know for myself with smoking I had to slowly wean myself off of it. I never went cold turkey, there just came a day where I did not crave another cigarette it was wild. I dreamed about smoking for months after though. Let’s be honest here, cocaine was not my only vice – I loved to drink. When I was no longer popping Klonopin, Codeine, and every other pill designed to put you on your ass – I was still drinking heavily. It could never just be one drink. I am happy that my relationship with alcohol is completely different and no longer dependent.

I think that is why I could never do AA or NA because every time you relapse or have a sip of alcohol the shame that can come with that can be enough to send someone over the edge. The religious overtones make me want to gag. It works for some people I suppose. When I was doing a rehab program they asked me if I was still using drugs. In my streak of honesty I told them I was and they replied, “Why are you doing that?” I explained that I have a lot of trauma and especially going out can randomly trigger me because of my sexual assaults so I feel the need to dispose of those bad feelings. Lack any sort of empathy they replied, “If you continue to use drugs we will have to end your treatment.” I basically told the doctor that he was an asshole and told his assistant to read ‘Chasing The Scream’ because maybe then they would understand what it’s like to be a drug addict. I never went back and from then on I was essentially on my own but I was still in therapy.

I suppose the only part of AA or NA that I understand is steps 8 and 9. Step 8 is making a list of all the people you had harmed and become willing to make amends to them all. Step 9 is making direct amends to them all except if doing so would cause themselves or someone else harm. I did not realize the time spent groveling over making my mistakes and apologizing profusely was apart of my healing. I do believe I was overzealous in my attempts to apologize to others about my behavior. I think because I knew that wasn’t my real character it was hard to have someone with a different narrative in his or her head about me. However, I have done the work and it is none of my business what people think of me – especially after I have done my part to try and fix things. I do believe though sometimes when people still don’t accept you it can be a lesson. The whole purpose of apologizing was to be genuine in the first place and I was not doing someone a favor by making amends. I did feel at times my efforts were in vain but that was on me and my own struggle to work through. No one owes me anything.

The reason I bring up amends is because before I moved to Ireland someone wanted to see me before I left – to say goodbye. I did not have a friendship with this person because it was imperative to my relationship to have this person out of my life completely. We met up and they brought me my favorite iced drink from a coffee shop downtown.

She said to me that it had never occurred to her until I was leaving that she had never processed our relationship and everything that happened. It was a surreal feeling because I remember in the summer of 2015 & 2016 being heartbroken by this person and thinking it would never be okay. She said she could tell that I had put in the work and processed it and that’s why I was better off than she was. I knew she struggled with sobriety and the whole reason I met up with her was because I wanted her to know that I did not hate her.

I knew for myself when I wanted forgiveness and did not receive it – it completely devastated me. I am no saint but I knew how important it was for an addict to make amends so I made the effort to do so. I used to worry all the time my friend Ryan would text me that something happened to her. I told her that if anything ever happened to her I would be beside myself and that above all I forgave her for everything. I could tell there was a wave of relief.

I did a lot of fucked up things that I am not proud of. What I wouldn’t do to go back in time and prevent myself from hurting the people I cared about. I am sure this pandemic is quite lonesome and everyone is coming out of the woodworks. She messaged me, which was surprising because I had her blocked on everything – which I am sure other people have felt the same seeing my handle pop up on their screen.

She was concerned about me and I reassured her everything was fine. She was grateful for the reply and I guess in a way I was grateful to know she was still alive too.

When I first heard this song The Lumineers had not released the album yet. Kelly and I were swaying in the crowd and the lead singer explains his family member is a drug addict. He starts to strum his guitar while telling the backstory. The song is about their woes over the years trying to help this person and it not always going to plan. He has no idea where his homeless family member is. I think about myself being the tumultuous person in various people’s lives and my actions ripping them apart. I think about being in that diner when Tessa called to tell Ashley and I that her boyfriend was beating her. I think about planning my 21st birthday party and then Tessa who was supposed to be there was dead. The song played and I cried the entire time. After it was over I needed a minute and we walked to the next set. It is one of my favorite Lumineers songs of all time now.

The line, “Maybe when she’s dead and gone I’ll get some sleep.” Fuck. Gets me every time.

[petitalbert-blog]

The city gave me a gift today: it took me to the Lord Mayor's Parade, a weird London custom I've hoped to see for years. The Lord Mayor is chief of the ancient city guilds, who now mostly exist as networking and charitable bodies rather than the important role they once held in the medieval city; the Lord Mayor is, for example, not the same as the actual mayor with political power. Today I stumbled upon it, the way you do in London. Once a year, assholes come out of the woodwork to ask "why isn't there a straight pride parade huh?" And friends, I think the Lord Mayor's Show is pretty much what a straight pride parade would look like. IT WAS BONKERS. The Lord Mayor supports all sorts of weird shit like, a donkey charity. All the army units associated with London marched past. Statues of Gog and Magog. There were some people on camels. There was an ill-advised float dedicated to "The Early Pioneers of England's Trade Network" (I'm not sure there is much praiseworthy in Britain's global past). Boy scout band. Lots of vintage vehicles as organisations celebrated their heritage. Someone dressed up as a Beatle. A comedy old woman riding on the back of a powered granny suitcase representing Yorkshire. Bomb disposal unit with their little robot, which the controller was making wave to the audience. Lots of floats. Then the companies: the Worshipful Company of Mercers, of Lightmongers, of Pavoirs, of Information Technicians. Most of them were in historic or traditional dress, making them look a bit like Tim Burton movie people, or the background cast of Wicked or the Grinch film. Then, finally, the Lord Mayor himself in his silly ancient carriage, frilly with gold like a second rate wedding cake. Flanked by a regiment in Civil War era uniforms carrying pikes. They pointed the pikes at the Mayor, and i still can't work out whether it was in obeisance, or something about the Mayor being subject to the will of the army. In any case, the regiment played "Do You Hear The People Sing" of all things, that well known anthem in favour of government power. I felt like a child at Christmas. --- There's a couple of things here. The first is developing magical thinking. I said "the city gave me a gift", but I could easily have said "by sheer coincidence". Magical thinking is making a space for wonder and beauty in the mundane world, and it's good to practice when the stakes are low (if I'm thinking "the gods gave me suicidal depression", that's a high stakes and unhelpful situation for me, although maybe it would work for some people). It's about stepping out of your mundane skin where you eat and go to work and go to sleep, and start trying to crack open reality for the gods to peer through. Another one is "death sent me a familiar" rather than "I adopted a stray animal". It changes how you relate to the world. I stood and watched the parade and felt the power rippling out under my feet. I felt connected to the past and future. I felt a sense of wonder and of miracle. I don't know how far I believe in the supernatural, even now; but those feelings are worth cultivating, and if the best witchcraft can give me is seeing the everyday as incredible then i'll take that. --- The other thing is the importance of witchcraft as experience. Like most people wanting to do a divine practice, I start with research; so when I wanted to connect to the city, I studied Gog and Magog and all this weird old ceremonial stuff. It didn't get me anywhere. Gog is like the Green Man, cultural detritus which seems like it is probably something significant but we have no idea what. After today, I have a vague idea thst one could call on the spirit Alderman of each Worshipful Company in terms similar to angels in ceremonial craft, or saints in Catholicism, with the badges as their sigils. But I think I got more magic by standing and watching this odd parade, with humans performing traditions that no one remembers what they exist for any more, than by trying to learn things from books. Even though i definitely didn't understand half of what I was seeing. Uncertainty is good in religion, I think. By uncertainty I mean that "Freya is the Goddess of fertility" only gets one so far, is a simplification. Maybe it's easier to start with Gog because there is no information or answers or fits-on-an-index-card correspondences, because one is already feeling around in the dark. The ambiguity is important, perhaps, to help you understand a genuine Gog more fully, than you can with the preconceived notions which "Freya is goddess of fertility" brings you. But maybe there's no more to Gog than the magical thinking you bring when you watch his effigy come past, and the way you take that essentially random occurrence and allow it instead to let you feel blessed.

[badonkodank]

A Simple Word So Heavy

ao3

Chapter Five: All The Doubts I’ve Faced

A/N: Only one chapter left to go, folks!

When he says it again, it has to be the hundredth time, yet somehow it hurts more than any of the times before. This time he wants someone to hear him, and no ones does.

Ford was back.

That was probably the only complete sentence his mind would form that entire day. When he’d been punched by the one person he’d been hoping to embrace, when he’d told the kids and Soos his (as Mabel had put it) “tragic backstory”, when he’d been waiting for the government agents to leave, that had been the only thought worthy of paying any attention to.

Ford was back.

So many years spent studying and working had actually payed off. All the money that had been put into the machine had counted for something. All the lying, cheating, and general asshole-ry had amounted to something. Every night spent screaming at scrap metal and crying onto the already stained pages of a single journal, desperately scrambling for any sort of solution or clue, had been worth it.

He’d done it. After thirty long years, he’d done it. He’d brought his brother home.

It had meant lying to his family and potentially risked screwing up the relationship he’d come to form with Dipper and Mabel, but there’d been no way he could’ve stopped after all the progress he’d made. And in the end, while the lies had had caused his niblings lot of unneeded stress by accident, they’d understood and really come through. And, if he would be completely honest, he knew there was no way he could’ve found the other two journals on his own. He still hadn’t figured out how Dipper found the third one, but that could be dealt with later.

Or he would, if they would talk to him. Stan still couldn’t be sure if they trusted him after everything that had happened. Mabel sure seemed alright- in fact she was downright thrilled- but Dipper… Stan hadn’t missed the cold looks the kid had shot him more than once since everything had gone down. Yeah, he’d said he understood why he’d lied to them, and he’d been sorry for not believing him to begin with, by Stan knew all too well that just because someone apologized for their actions and could be aware of why you did something, it didn’t mean the same thing as forgiveness. It certainly didn’t mean trust was re-earned.

For the first time in thirty years, Stan found himself being desperate for something different. Especially since he was quickly realizing his hopes for a proper reunion with his brother had not only been ridiculous, but highly unrealistic.

After so long alone, wanting nothing more than to have his sibling back with him, Stan had forgiven Ford. He couldn’t pinpoint when or why, but after awhile it had just seemed pointless to hold a grudge for something that had happened over a decade back, especially when he was constantly in the process of trying to bring him home. He’d thought Ford would’ve been the same way, but as was his luck, his brother had seemed angrier than ever.

He couldn’t understand it. Sure, he’d screwed up in getting Ford sucked into the portal, but it had been an accident. How was he supposed to have known that there was a vacuum point for the thing when all Ford had done beforehand was explain to him what the thing was- and at the time, he hadn’t even understood that.

Didn’t matter, though, because Ford was still furious, and that was what it came down to. Thirty years of his own life spent on a family member who couldn’t be bothered, even for one second, to acknowledge all the time and effort he’d put into getting them back. There was just no pleasing him, was there? If he wasn’t upset about the dream school he’d missed out on, he was mad about Stan being mad, and when it wasn’t that, apparently it was the accident from thirty fucking years ago.

Stan could’ve laughed at himself for thinking things would ever change between them. How could he have possibly expected Ford to be even the least bit grateful for the sacrifices he’d made in his life, when it was so clear -and always had been, really- that he only ever cared about himself? He’d come to that conclusion before, during his tirade when they’d been younger, but it was only then that Stan realized just how right he’d been.

Maybe he should’ve just told Mabel to press the button after all.

Stan shook his head forcefully to quickly banish that thought. No. No matter how upset he was about Ford’s actions towards him, there was no way he’d wish for the man to be anywhere else, especially if that somewhere else wasn’t earth. Still, it did make him wonder, if he’d never tried to bring Ford back and had decided to permanently assume control of his brother’s identity, would he be happier? Would the pain in his heart go away if he’d just given up and allowed himself to be content with the family he had left?

Probably not.

Even so, he couldn’t deal with it. Not right now. The kids would only be with him a couple more weeks, and then, according to what Ford was saying, he’d be back out on the streets. It would be a hell of a lot harder than it had been in his younger days, especially after he’d grown used to a bed that didn’t kill his back, warmth during the winter, food whenever he wanted it, and a TV, and all those other little pleasures only a home could provide. He knew he could do it. If he had to, he could, but the fact that Ford would kick him to the curb as soon as there were no innocent witnesses to judge him for it was the final clincher that drove home the resounding “yes” in the “Is Ford really an asshole?” game. The fact that as soon as he was able, he would do the same thing Filbrick had done all those years ago hurt more than he’d thought it would.

It was the final straw.

“Cuz as far as I’m concerned, they’re the only family I have left.”

He didn’t wait to hear Ford’s reaction, if he’d had one at all. It felt like an eternity before he got to the top of the stairs, and it took every bit of restraint he possessed to not look back to see if Ford was still standing there. Instead he headed into his bedroom. He could hear Mabel and Dipper talking as he walked passed their door. They sounded like their usual, happy selves, and he smiled sadly. It was good that those two were so close. They always had each other's’ backs.

He could only pray nothing destroyed that bond.

Maybe he’d talk to them about it when morning came around, how no matter what happened in the future, they had to remember how precious their connection was and to never let anything, be it dreams, ambitions, boyfriends or girlfriends, parents, school- whatever, wreck it. Friends and relationships would come and go, parents could disown you or cut you off, but when things got hairy, if you still had them in your life, you could always count on your twin to be there.

Yeah, he’d be sure to tell them that sometime before they left, because the possibility of anything similar to his and Ford’s fallout happening to them… wasn’t anything he wanted want to think about. He knew all too well how much it hurt to love someone who was obviously never going to care enough to love you back, and he didn’t want Mabel and Dipper to ever experience that.

Stan closed the door to his room with a heavy pent up sigh, leaning back against the woodwork briefly as his racing heart slowed. He’d never thought, in all his years, that the one who would finally cut the cord would be him. In fact, he’d never pictured it being cut in the first place. In his delusions of a thankful brother, he’d also come to create some world around that reunion, where they forgave and forgot and spent the rest of their days making up for lost time. Where Ford deigned to amuse him with his oh-so precious time and didn’t have anything better to do than bond with the family he’d missed so very much.

“Ugh,” he groaned as he pushed away from the door and made his way over to the dresser. He didn’t make a habit of smoking with the kids around, but dammit if he didn’t need one right then. He’d crack open the piddly little window or something so it didn’t bother anyone.

As he puffed on the cigar, Stan could feel his anger retreating to be replaced with a numbness that encompassed his entire being. The gravity of what Ford had said to him, and what he’d shot back in return started weighing heavily upon him, drowning him in their finality. It sort of felt like anchors had been tied around his ankles and he was slowly being dragged down into the blackest depths of the ocean, the pressure making his head fuzzy and leaving his eyes feeling like they would pop out of his skull at any given moment.

He sniffed and put the cigar out when the smoke made his eyes burn. He closed the window and took a second to pause and look out at the black outline of forest against the night sky. He hadn’t wanted the night to end this way. He’d wanted to hang outside on the porch with Ford, drinking something a little stronger than Pitt Cola and finding out how his brother had been the past three decades. After a bit, Ford would’ve loosened up and started really getting into what he was saying, and he’d’ve taken on that steely, passionate look he always had when talking about something adventurous and/or scientific. They’d… maybe, discuss the whole “demon possession” thing he’d read about in Dipper’s journal. They’d make up.

He’d wanted to talk until his tongue grew heavy and he leaned against Ford, still outside on the couch beside him, and for the first time in a long time, his words would be heard.

But, as he’d learned time and time again, things rarely went how he wanted them to. He’d known that and still allowed himself to get sentimental and wistful about the idea of a life of normalcy with his best friend. And he regretted it completely.

So, as was likely to be the way for the rest of his life, nobody heard him. Not when his breath hitched while he wiped away a few stray tears, not when he prayed to no one in particular for things to get easier despite the circumstances, and certainly not when he said goodnight.

When he says it again, he’s sure to be quiet and doesn’t know why he’s saying it. The one who wants to hear it doesn’t, and there is no point, but he says it anyway.

He was back.

At first, Ford had thought having family around would be frustrating and awkward, but the more he’d gotten to know the children in the short periods in which he’d been allowed to be around them, the more he’d fallen in love with them. He hadn’t been particularly fond of Stanley’s hovering whenever Mabel and Dipper had struck up conversation, but it couldn’t have been helped. They’d come to an agreement of sorts and so long as he kept to his part, Stanley would keep to his at the end of the summer.

However, he’d found it had become increasingly difficult to stay away from them. Every time he came up from the basement he’d be bombarded with smiles and questions from the excited balls of energy. It was true, if he had actually wanted to avoid them he would’ve been able to with ease, but he hadn’t wanted to.

So when Dipper had crashed into his lab earlier that week and asked if he’d wanted to play his all-time favorite game, of course he’d immediately said yes. It was odd, how quickly he’d warmed to Dipper, considering it had continued to be a challenge getting used to the dimension after so long spent away from it, but he’d decided it had to do with how similar Dipper was to himself. They’d just… clicked.

Granted, things had gone downhill fairly quickly after they’d started that game, but in the end, they’d had a lot of fun and even managed to rope Stanley and Mabel into it, so he could call that one a win. Dipper seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed himself as well once the threat of having his brain eaten had been removed. Of course, he hadn’t been too worried about the predicament, having dealt with worse situations in the past, but it had served as a reminder that Dipper wasn’t wholly like him; he hadn’t experienced half the things he had in his life. Ford had decided then that he’d have to spend more time with the boy, help him reach his full potential as an individual.

The go-ahead to spend more time with him that Dipper had gotten from Stanley had come as a surprise, but the apology he’d given Dipper for making fun of the game had been even more so. Ford remembered how hard it had been to get Stanley to apologize when they’d been young -that and “please” had been like pulling teeth- so hearing him say it so easily then made him pause. He’d almost forgotten that while he’d been growing as a person during his time alone… so had Stanley. His brother had just seemed so similar to his younger, hotheaded and reckless self when they’d first reunited that he hadn’t considered for a second that he might have changed in any way whatsoever.

It almost made him wonder how else Stanley had grown. Almost.

After they’d gotten back home, he’d quickly retreated back downstairs, leaving the others to watch their kid’s show. The twins had asked him to stay, but when he’d seen Mabel getting settled on one side of Stanley and her brother sitting contently on the other, the rest of their small group on the floor, he’d declined. He knew when an invitation was a courtesy and not legitimate desire to have someone there, and he wouldn’t have understood the show that had them all so excited anyway.

Hours later, when the children had been sent to bed, Ford dragged himself back upstairs to clean up the rest of his and Dipper’s game. Stanley told him he didn’t have to, that he was already doing it, but Ford shrugged, stooping down to pick up a handful of graph paper on the side of the room opposite his brother.

“It would be senseless -you cleaning everything in order to bring it down to me- when I’m already here and can take it myself.”

He caught Stanley’s eye roll but decided it best to ignore him for favor of focusing on the task at hand. He hadn’t expected him to actually be picking up after someone else, but apparently that was just one of the other ways his brother had changed over the years. Or maybe it was something he’d been forced to learn when the twins had come into his life. Ford supposed it didn’t much matter when or why Stanley had begun doing it, just that he was. Still, it struck him as strange.

But then, the longer he was around the man, the more he noticed and the more he realized he really didn’t know Stanley at all anymore. So many things he once recognized about him were gone, leaving Ford with someone who might as well have been a stranger- an anomaly to be studied.

The way Stan looked and carried himself wasn’t at all like Ford remembered. He slouched more than he ever had seen him do before, his hair had thinned, and while his face still mirrored his, the lines on his face were more severe than the ones marring his own. Heavy frowns must have been his default expression for a large portion of time.

What struck him the most, though, was the knowledge that he had no idea why age hadn’t been nearly as kind to his brother as it had him. He had no idea what experiences had turned Stanley into whoever he now was, and it was the oddest feeling, being aware you should know something about someone, and yet not having a clue.

He pointedly ignored the familiar scar peeking out from underneath his brother’s wife-beater when a thrill of panic and guilt shot through him. It seemed some things hadn’t changed one bit.

He must have noticed his staring because Stanley looked up from what he was doing abruptly, leaving Ford to drop his attention back to the last couple of papers and pencils strewn about. He could feel the eyes boring into him as he grabbed the last couple pieces from his area. When he straightened up and caught his twin’s eye, he wondered if Stanley was thinking along the same lines as he’d been, or if he was staring just to be annoying.

Ford took his starring as an opportunity to retrieve the items from his brother. Stanley handed them over, clearing his throat as he did, which had Ford raising an eyebrow and shuffling the papers just to give his hands something to do while he waited for him to say something.

“You… ate dinner, right?”

“Oh.” Ford blinked. He didn’t know why, but he’d almost been expecting something different to come out of Stanley’s mouth. He had no idea what it would’ve been, but it wasn’t that. He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “Not yet, but I don’t, uh, really eat food in the traditional sense anymore anyway.”

“Oh,” Stan mumbled, dropping his attention to the black screen of the TV at the far end of the room, “Okay.”

Heavy silence took up the room within seconds, the unfamiliar brand of tension leaving Ford with the option to either continue the pathetic attempt at a conversation or leave. Seeing as it was the first interaction they’d had since he’d come home that hadn’t devolved into an argument, Ford figured it would be best to leave before the environment grew hostile once more. There didn’t seem to be much else he could do, after all.

“I’m going to go.”

The announcement was stiff and awkward, but Stan accepted it graciously enough, giving a short nod. “Alright, have fun.”

Ford hummed and turned away, walking perhaps a touch faster than necessary towards the other room where the vending machine was located. He needed to be back downstairs where everything was blessedly familiar. It was one of the places in the house that hadn’t been changed much... actually it was the only thing in his world that hadn’t been changed in any way, shape, or form. It may have housed the dismantled remains of one of his greatest regrets, but it was one of the most comforting places in the whole of Gravity Falls for him for the time being. He knew he’d grow accustomed to all the changes, but not yet. He’d start small, and he’d made some progress just then with Stanley. At least he thought so.

He’d managed a brief exchange with his brother without wanting to yell at or punch him. He’d considered that minor progress, even if it wasn’t really much in the grand scheme of things. He briefly wondered if his twin felt at all like they’d taken a step towards… something. Tolerance? Maybe.

“Goodnight.”

It was said softly enough that he could’ve easily missed it, but he didn’t. Ford halted in front of the vending machine, his free hand, which had been lifted to punch in the new code he’d given it, dropped as he slowly turned around to face Stanley.

His face must have given away how taken aback he was, because Stan’s expression immediately closed off from view. His eyes gave away all he didn’t show, though, and Ford swallowed hard when he recognized the very same emotions he’d seen in his own eyes at one point or another in life flashing in rapid succession: Fear, uncertainty, hope, anxiety, and after the silence had stretched on between them for a half second longer than it should have, regret.

Stan shrunk back and huffed a quiet laugh. It was a broken up little sound and Ford tensed when he recognized it as the same one he’d utter whenever Filbrick would finish yelling at him. “Uh, a-anyway,” he stuttered, already beginning to retreat in the direction of the front door, “I’ve gotta go, um, make sure Soos went home and ain’t just hangin’ around.”

Stanley ran off before he could react. Part of him wanted to call out, to tell him to come back, but his tongue lay useless in his mouth while the other part of him was glad he’d stayed silent. He didn’t want to get Stan’s hopes up and open that can of worms. Neither of them had forgiven each other, and Ford didn’t know if they ever could. He didn’t know if he could. How could he forgive someone who’d ignored all his warnings and had risked the fate of the universe just to rectify a mistake? He couldn’t see how.

That fact didn’t stop his throat from closing up as he bit the inside of his lip and stared at the door his twin had disappeared behind. It certainly didn’t stop him from opening his mouth as he went back to typing the code in, the smallest of sighs escaping him as he answered, much too late:

“Goodnight, Stanley.”