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#and I hated three houses too but because the units are mounted?

whalehouse1 · 7 months

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Brother: I hate cavalry units, Alfred being the only exception. They’re terrible. Maybe that’s why I hate three houses so much.

Other brother: You’re going to hate Genealogy if you ever play it. You need mounted units in that game.

Brother: But they’re so bad.

Me, in my head: Stahl, Sain, Kent, Kyle, Titania, Oscar, Kieran, Fran’s, Seth, Ferdinand, Priscilla, Mirabelle, Forde, Rath,……

Me, out loud: No cavalry units are good, especially with canto.

Other brother, who has seen me play fire emblem games: You’re not wrong, but you also have a paladin problem.

Me: Not a problem if they keep winning.

#fire emblem #I use almost every mounted unit #Stahl was the first one I used that I liked #Ferdinand grew on me and I hate Sully #but yeah it’s hard for me to hate cavalry units meanwhile Pegasus knights are 50/50 #and I hated three houses too but because the units are mounted?#nuh uh

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deadpresidents · 24 days

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Which President, in your opinion, was the most reluctant to seek the position? Which wound up hating it the most by the end of his term?

I am a strong believer that nobody truly becomes President of the United States "reluctantly". That's not exactly the kind of job that seeks you, especially the modern Presidency.

For a significant slice of American history, many of the people nominated for President acted as if they were being called upon to run when, behind-the-scenes, they were very active in building their campaigns and corralling supporters. Until the 20th Century it was frowned upon to openly run for the Presidency, but almost all of the Presidents wanted the gig.

I'd say that George Washington was probably more reluctant than most of his successors and likely would have preferred retiring to Mount Vernon after the Revolution, but I think he also recognized that he was the guy who needed to be the President that set the precedents. I think Ulysses S. Grant would have been perfectly happy to not be President, but once he was elected in 1868 he also wanted to keep the job. He even tried to run for a third term in 1880.

That 1880 election might have been the one case where the winner -- James Garfield -- genuinely wasn't interested in the Presidency at that point. He had gone to the Republican National Convention to support fellow Ohioan John Sherman (and defeat Grant's hopes for a third term) and gained some major attention after giving a well-received speech placing Sherman's name in nomination. When the candidacies of Sherman and James G. Blaine -- another anti-Grant candidate -- stalled, Garfield became a compromise choice and was eventually nominated on the 36th ballot. Garfield was apparently legitimately shocked by the events leading to him leaving Chicago as the GOP nominee.

By most accounts, William Howard Taft was far more interested in a potential seat on the Supreme Court than becoming President. At heart he was a judge and believed himself to be better suited for the judiciary than the Executive Branch. But Taft turned down three offers by Theodore Roosevelt to be appointed to the Supreme Court (in 1902, 1903, and 1906) because he felt obligated to complete his work as Governor-General of the Philippines and then Secretary of War. But Taft's wife desperately wanted him to become President and by the time of President Roosevelt's third offer of a seat on the Court, Taft was already being talked about as Roosevelt's hand-picked successor in the White House. And, as with all other Presidents, once he had a taste for the job, he didn't want to give it up, running for re-election in 1912 against his former friend, Roosevelt.

Gerald Ford is the only other President who hadn't spent a significant portion of his political career with his eyes on the White House. Ford spent nearly a quarter-century in the House of Representatives and his main ambition was to be Speaker of the House, but Republicans weren't able to win control of the House when Ford was in Congressional leadership positions. But even with Ford being a creature of Congress, he did attempt to put himself forward as a nominee for the Vice Presidency, first in 1960 and then in 1968, and Nixon kicked the tires on picking him as his running mate in 1960. No one wants to be Vice President without seeing it as a potential stepping stone to the Presidency, particularly at that point in history before Vice Presidents were empowered with some real influence within the Administrations they served in.

As for who wound up hating it by the end of their time in office, I think it's safe to say that John Quincy Adams didn't shed too many tears when he was defeated for re-election in 1828. And I'm sure he wouldn't use the word "hate", but nobody can convince me that George W. Bush wasn't thoroughly ready to escape Washington by late-2007. There were times in 2008 when he seemed like he just wanted to hold a snap election like they have in parliamentary systems and go home to Texas. If some Presidential insider published a book that said that Bush asked if he could just give the keys to the White House to Barack Obama in July 2008, I wouldn't be the least bit shocked.

On the other hand, if there were no term limits, Bill Clinton would have been running for President in every election since 1992 (and the crazy thing is that he's still younger than both of the presumptive 2024 nominees). I'm kind of surprised that he didn't make an effort to repeal the 22nd Amendment in the past 20 years. Clinton loved being President and was trying to find something Presidential to do until minutes before his successor was inaugurated in 2001.

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blade-liger-4ever · 18 hours

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I can hardly believe I just did this, but...

Here's my take for Rhaego Targaryen, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, plus small ideas for a minor AU of sorts.

Warning, I'm putting a cut here because Tumblr is stupid and won't let me order the pictures side by side in the proper order.

So for this take - which is personally how I'd like to see an AU of Game of Thrones, give or take some details that are or aren't changed - I like to imagine that both Drogo and Rhaego lived, with Daenerys and Drogo teaming up to retake the Iron Throne, Daenerys acting as the great strategist/political powerhouse (while being backed by her three dragons, who keep their names and most of their personalities), while Drogo leads the troops and trains all the men Daenerys brings him through her alliances. I'd probably let it be done so that Daenerys, maybe through a dealing with the witch that, obviously, doesn't involve her husband and son's deaths, does leave her unable to bear more children. Regardless of whether or not that's a factor at all in this AU, Rhaego has no more biological siblings, but quickly grows to view Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion as his brothers, while the dragons in turn also view him as their youngest brother and protect him as fiercely as their mother and father (Drogo being their father - oldest boy is named for him, after all.)

Robb would also live, and I'd like to, personally, introduce a tribe of white tiger shape-shifters from "The Land of Always Winter". I'm....honestly wanting him to marry the tribe's princess, who can really kick butt, too. The reason for this is that I feel the Night King's home for the last few centuries is underdeveloped, and I feel Robb should marry someone with experience in warfare - that, and I really like white tigers. Additionally, I'd probably have White Tiger Princess sent to find the Starks and reveal to them their ties to House Targaryen, and organize an alliance with House Stark as they battle the frozen zombies (by the way, this revelation is achieved by prophetesses from their land, and all members of the tribe learn to fight and care for each other because of the constant threat of the Night King.)

So....hrm, let me think. I guess it otherwise goes according to canon, but they manage to fix enough things that when Daenerys and Drogo - who have practically reclaimed most of the Seven Kingdoms, I suppose - meet them and learn of their family ties, Robb and Jon come to an agreement with them: Daenerys will rule the Seven Kingdoms, with Jon acting as her Hand and ruling most of the North. House Stark is still intact, though Ned, Catelyn, and Rickon are still dead, and Robb marries the White Tiger Princess and unites the two lands through their marriage. Additionally, the white tiger tribe (which I'm terribly sorry I forgot to mention earlier) has access to ice dragons, allowing for the regrowth of the dragon presence in Westeros through crossbreeding the species, and giving Jon his own dragon so that he can embrace his Targaryen heritage.

Other bullet points that I want to leave here:

Rhaego rides Viserion, who is the only unclaimed of the three dragons (I feel Drogo should ride Rhaegal, who in this story, grows to be nearly as big as Drogon.) Viserion is also the fastest, earning him the nickname "The Pale Wind".

Grey Wind lives, and gets to remain by his master's side all through to the war's end.

Nymeria reunites with Arya, who perhaps returns to the North or chooses another future for herself.

The Hound lives, always accompanying Arya, regardless of her life choice.

Jaime lives, actually gets to redeem himself, and maybe marries or otherwise has a relationship with Brienne.

Cersei gets to die, hopefully horribly (I hate her, okay?)

Sansa...TBD, either by myself or anyone else who reads this and enjoys it.

Jorah lives, acting as Rhaego's guardian and teacher as he grows.

Jon marries either Ygritte or some other woman; I personally prefer Daenerys x Drogo.

And lastly, we would probably get an epilogue of sorts where we see a young adult Rhaego, having inherited his family legacy and trained Dothraki dragonriders, embarking on a conquest of Valyria, which I'd use as a Sequel Hook for a future series.

And that's it. If you like this, thank you for reading it. If you didn't, just skip this post; it's merely a way for me to kick out the ideas that have been rattling around in my brain for Heaven knows how long.

Also, if anyone wants to make a story out of this, you have my blessing to do so. I only ask you credit me for the source of the concepts and original inventions for this. I'm not a fan of Game of Thrones, nor have I really watched it - I just looked up the characters, found I liked them, and thought "what if?"

Have fun people, and take care.

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loregoddess · 1 year

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I'm curious, what would your ideal FE be?

And do you have any particular FE concepts in mind?

Hmmm, I've been thinking this over since you sent it to me, and it's hard to say because there's a lot of things I like that I dunno if they'd actually work together, if that makes sense? Mostly I just have a lot of thoughts about things I'd like to see in a FE game, which I can write out. Under the cut bc, length (it is Very Long, I'm so sorry). Also fair warning that I'm kind of rambling with some direction and organization, but this was all very train-of-thought while I wrote.

Like, ideally, my first thing would to be to get rid of all gender-locked classes. They're absurd. Fates got the idea right by getting rid of them, honestly (although I think women should be allowed to be butlers and men maids, as a treat, even though I know those two classes were literally the same class w/ different aesthetics). I don't have any specific wants for which classes should appear, be added, or be dropped really, just so long as the classes make sense for the overall story (Fates once more takes the prize for having the most narratively-appropriate and creative classes). I would like to see some really weird classes though, like the wolf riders in Engage are Very Cool bc wolves, and I want more weird stuff like that. Give me people riding skeleton animals, or giant bugs, as well as bears and moose and all manner of creatures that actually exist. I mean heck, historically camels and elephants were used as mounts, and we've yet to see either in FE. I also want more diversity and creativity in the infantry classes. Again, whatever fits the aesthetic and themes of the story, but I feel like we only get a handful of really weird infantry classes every now and then if we're lucky. Mounting/dismounting should be a permanent mechanic as well, there's nothing more satisfying that sticking a flier in archer range and then having them get off their flying beast.

Also weapon durability should stay gone, I hate weapon durability so much. Although I do like how combat arts and spells worked in Echoes and Three Houses, but like, the mechanics need to be tweaked. The easiest solution would be to simply have like, an attack power meter or something similar that characters could draw on to use combat arts and spells. Also, rather than locking combat arts to specific weapons a la Echoes, have is so that each character either has unique combat arts (and spells), or that they can learn combat arts and spells from specific weapons that they've "mastered" by using a certain number of times in combat, which they can then carry-over to a different weapon.

I also liked how 3H allowed any class to use any weapon, but I think this also needs to extend to magic, so that magic can be used with any class as well. This would open up a lot of opportunity for the player to really experiment mixing and matching classes, weapons, and magic with different units, which I think would be a lot of fun to play (based on how much fun I had with similar mechanics in 3H), and offer a lot of replayability for the sheer madness of trying new things with new characters. This will also do away with a lot of "I love this character, but their stats suck and they're nigh unusable" that sometimes occurs, since the player could theoretically just try out different combinations until they got something that worked (RIP to all the people who said Ignatz wasn't a good unit, I ran him through the thief/assassin line and gave him some magic, and he was a crit machine by the time I landed him in mortal savant, I want more madness like that honestly).

Obviously, having an AP pool would also require mechanics that replenish the pool during battle, which could be any variation or combination of skills, specific actions taken on the map (resting on a specific tile, attacking normally, etc.), or even adding in a special staff. Speaking of, staff durability has to go too, I'm so tired of needing to buy staffs. Also, I know a lot of magic in FE is either "a single spell stored in a tome" (most games) or "spell that character can personally gain access to" (i.e. Echoes, 3H), and like, cool beans, but I think, ideally, I'd want like, actual grimoires or other sorts of magical foci (crystal balls, wands, scepters, magic cards, the possibilities are literally endless). Either the magic weapon allows units more powerful magic attacks (if units had magic specific to them), or "taught" the unit specific types of magic (i.e. a Fire Grimoire might teach a unit fire, elfire, and bolganone, or something along those lines). Also, I want there to be a magic triangle the same way weapons get a triangle, although how that should be arranged (for both) would vary based on what types of weapons and magic the game actually contained.

Aside from what I'd like to see out of classes and battle mechanics, I don't have too many other things to wish for. I really am one of those rare "actually I really do play the game for the mechanics" FE fans. I'd want an interesting, and consistently written, story, mostly. Engage actually hit the story notes perfectly in my opinion, all the characters were about equal in their characterization--even the women were as diverse and interesting as the men--unlike the rampant sexism in Echoes or the uneven characterization depth of 3H, or the unrealized potential due to :too many characters" in Fates; Awakening was fine too, but Engage really polishes the support-based characterization to a shine. So I'd want more of that, like, even if a character is a side character, they should have interesting supports that build their characterization, and I want every character to be about equal in their writing (I know protags obviously get more attention, and that's fine).

Generally I feel like the model for supports is fine, although I think it'd be interesting to have group supports of 3+ characters to contrast the one-on-one of the current support model, just to really add more depth to the characters outside of what they get from the story. Also, while I liked that there was a lot more platonic supports in Engage, I really do miss seeing different paired endings, so I'd honestly bring back S-ranks between non-protag characters, but like, maybe not too many, if that makes sense? Awakening and Fates' supports suffered a bit from the "every man and woman can S-rank every other unit of the opposite gender bc of the child units", whereas I feel that limiting character supports per character really helps to focus the writing in a stronger way (Echoes and Engage did this the best, although I will give kudos to 3H for its unique take on supports, although the roulette of paired endings was...not well-implemented at all). But I also want there to still be a lot of platonic supports, I dunno. Mostly I just want well-written and interesting supports.

Supports aside, the only thing I'd want from the main story--aside from "well-written, consistently written", would be to Not Do whatever the writers were trying to do in 3H. It's my unpopular opinion, but (for as much as I love the characters and gameplay) the story writing just isn't that good or consistent in 3H. Fates, even with it's shitty localization, is more consistently written, and more strongly written, than 3H. FE has never actually been about war a critique of war (go to MGS or like, Triangle Strategy for that). FE flourishes narratively when it's a little goofy, and completely earnest, and focused on a few key narrative themes. I dunno what I'd want to see specifically for those themes, because I enjoy all sorts of stories, but yeah...(although to be fair, FE would probably fail as a cosmic horror story--or as any type of true horror--so I wouldn't want that I suppose, despite loving cosmic horror). Also, no split-timelines, multiple routes, etc. Just one storyline. I don't hate how Fates and 3H use multiple storylines, but...I prefer a singular story arc.

The music has been really good for basically every game, so I'd be fine with the current composers being allowed to do whatever they please. Now the art direction...I have a lot of conflicting thoughts because, on one hand, I know why a lot of the things I have personal beef with exist from a production standpoint (almost everyone has one of like, four body model types in Engage and it drives me insane bc there is NO body type diversity, but also for the modelers, it was probably more cost-effective to just have a handful of models for each class to swap out character heads and palettes for class changes, but I still hate the lack of body diversity, but I also understand why it would be easier, but...and so on).

That said, if we are talking what my absolute ideal would be, I just, really, really want diverse character designs. I want many different body shapes and sizes, I want lots of different skin tones (and please enough with the nigh grey-skinned characters), I want people to have actual noses and more than one or two nose shapes, I want crooked teeth and wrinkles and other "allegedly unflattering" physical appearances for characters who aren't evil, and just, I want the character design to really push beyond the whole "aesthetically pleasing based on the current sense of what is considered aesthetically pleasing" that I've seen in...too many media. Also enough with making all villains "ugly" (or the weird "big tiddy evil lady" trope, we've moved beyond demonizing women by making them sexy femme fatales), like, as much as I love the cartoonishly evil villains, sometimes the caricatures are just, tiring and uninspired. Honestly, Heroes is pulling more weight in the "interesting villain designs" department (as well as Kozaki just pulling all the weight in trying to have more diverse designs for women for Heroes), and just, we need more of that in the mainline games.

Also, for as far as like, animations and cutscenes and stuff, I feel like Engage made a lot of progress with it's pre-rendered cutscenes (they're back to being on par with the animations for Awakening and Fates, which had the best pre-rendered animated cutscenes of the games I've been using as examples, in my opinion), but the in-game cutscenes reverted back to the characters standing around in a circle talking a la 3H. We'd never get something like Sumia punching Chrom on the screen in either 3H or Engage, and that's a real shame bc the 3D models do look a lot more complex and pretty than the little polygon people of Awakening, Fates, or Echoes, and yet the in-game cutscenes don't do anything with them. Again, I get that from a production standpoint, having a handful of stock animations for body language and then setting the characters in a circle in a skybox to talk is easier and less-intensive cost-wise, but damn does it really suck the life out of the story at that moment. If it wasn't for the stellar voice acting, then scenes would really fall flat I think. So yeah, more character design diversity all around, better utilization of 3D assets.

And that's...where I think I'm gonna call this a post. I don't have any particular concepts for a hypothetical FE game, partly bc any time I think, "I wish this narrative device or type of story existed" I just end up taking it and turning it into one of my many personal original project ideas instead. Which is...probably why I don't have a lot of AU ideas ever, bc part of me figures if I'm gonna change that much from canon, I might as well just make up my own thing entirely and be bound by no rules except my own. But since I can't see myself getting into game coding and trying to make my own game anytime soon, I can at least think about the types of things I'd like to see in a FE game, though they may never come to be.

#this was a really interesting ask and I had to think about it a lot #but as I result I talked twice as much as I normally do #so yeah this is...very lengthy I am sorry #also I wrote it all before going to bed so apologies for typos and stuff #alas I will regret staying up this late tomorrow BUT I wanted to write down my thoughts so...here we are #unsuspecting-person #I still don't have an ask tag

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agent-cupcake · 3 years

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just curious, what’s your favorite and least favorite character design? my least fav for sure has got to be female byleth for reasons i don’t want to get in to yep ok have a good day 😁

IOops this accidentally became a rant, sorry

Okay so, to preface this all, I’m not a character designer and I’m actually pretty bad at it, but my rule of thumb with really unappealing or fan-service outfits is whether or not it makes sense character-wise and how much it tells the player about the character. For example, I think we can all agree that there’s quite a bit of fan-service elements in Hilda’s design. Boob window. However, it’s not unrealistic to imagine Hilda picking out those clothes for herself. Her costume tells you almost everything you need to know about her character on a visual level. She’s confident, pretty, attention-grabbing, and high maintenance while the gloves and laced girdle give a nod to her Viking-maiden roots.

Taking it to female Byleth, I don’t think that her outfit works on either front. Her design is definitely my least favorite and it’s not helped by the fact that you have to look at her at all times. Whatever. The huge, solid mass of boobs, the buttoned bib, the big eyes, the feather hair, the bellybutton, the ripped tights, the booty shorts. She’s a merc out in life and death situations with an accessible, pale, tacky 2000′s “stab me” stomach cut out and a wedgie. Which could be excusable if, like Hilda, there was reason to believe that that her costume was character choice. But she doesn’t really have much character, and what there is gives the impression of a very stoic, dry, blunt person. I have no idea why they’d have gone that route when the sexual appeal of more “utilitarian” costuming (aka, form fitting armor that at least pretends to be functional) for characters like her is scientifically proven AND would say more about the singular personality trait she possesses. Okay, well, I know why they didn’t do that and I think it’s lame. This dysfunction of “character designer wanted a sexy girl but it’s kinda random and just shoved in the game without any thought” actually reminds me a lot of Xenoblade 2′s leading ladies, Hikari and Pyra. Although considering that their bad designs led to a lot of people hating the game for superficial reasons while accepting female Byleth’s design, I guess I’m just bitter. Jumping to a different comparison, then, look at 2B from Nier Automata. Her design is fine as hell which is kinda hypocritical of me considering that it's explicitly fan-service, but I think it also shows the most damning thing for female Byleth. Her whole look, despite having a dozen different element thrown in, is boring. Maybe it’s the colors (dressing her in all black and white would have been really interesting considering the colors of the three lords are so heavily emphasized as a part of their characters) or maybe it’s just the way the desperate elements come together. But, like I said, I'm not even slightly knowledgeable about character design and I know that despite Three Houses being mostly separate, they had to appeal to a larger aesthetic brand to which I have little experience with. And, ultimately, a lot of people find her cute or sexy which...To each their own, I suppose. I don’t pretend that fan-service doesn’t work on me (2B... Cloud’s arms in the remake... Seph's shirtless Smash skin...) but when it’s this obviously inserted in by the character designers rather than feeling organic in any way AND looks bad I'm just not super interested.

The other worst designs for me would be all four of the Ashen Wolves post timeskip. I don't think it's controversial to say that they didn't try with the clothes, even if I love their designs from the neck up (Yes, even Balthus. He looks like the type of guy that would let you sit on his shoulders at a rock concert so you could see the stage). While there are other designs I think are unappealing, those are for purely aesthetic reasons and so I can't maintain the opinion that they're actively bad or that I even truly dislike them.

As for favorite looks... I actually have a few so sorry you're getting all of them because despite the shit I'm talking, I actually really really love the character designs in Three Houses.

Ferdinand's post timeskip is one of my favorite designs, if not my favorite. The hair, the coat, the armor, the spurs, the colors. You know exactly who Ferdinand von Aegir is just by looking at him. He’s wealthy, handsome, confident in his appearance, a hero, a princely type character, his battle form is mounted combat which is traditionally aesthetically reserved for nobility and leaders... I love it. The only reason I cannot say he IS my favorite is because of the three Lords. But before them, my honorable mentions include post timeskip Hilda, Dorothea, Lorenz, Felix, and Hubert. Granted, I could make a case for why I like almost all of the student’s post timeskip looks.

For the Lords, I obviously have to start with colors because, weirdly enough, Persona didn’t invent primary colors but are actually used as shorthand. Blue is the color of honor, loyalty, sincerity, sadness, and depression. Something I’ve always found very interesting is that blue is very rarely found in nature. To me, that’s always made it seem more lonely which, at least in this case, is thematically relevant. People call Dimitri boring pre timeskip and while I won’t defend his hairstyle (okay, actually, I probably would because he tucks it behind his ears and idk why but that’s one of the cutest things ever) I really like how unassuming he is. Bland. He’s supposed to be the plain shortbread cookie to caramel deLite Claude and strawberry meringue Edelgard. It is not in his character to draw attention to himself or stand out. To me, he kinda looks like an old Barbie prince, like he should have been named Dominic. Also I love the blue eyes/blonde hair thing and his more angular features. It really helps to sell him as the fakeout chivalrous prince type. Post timeskip, Dimitri's black armor is amazing. I love the fact that it’s a lot more intricate up-close with the different little shell-like pieces and the fact that his boots are furry. I love the big cape and the black and white fur around his shoulders. It’s really cool how they used his costume to change the shape of his in-game model to match the bodily proportions of the character art. It’s easier to see when you change his costume into the DLC ones, but the fur and cape build up his shoulders and chest look more broad while keeping that tiny little waist. The choice to give Dimitri an eyepatch is probably my favorite thing about this design. It’s genuinely inspired. Such a simple detail yet it tells the player everything they need to know about adult Dimitri when they see him post timeskip, in one frame the player can begin to understand the extent of his loss over the past five years. The subtle shadow under his eye in the first few Azure Moon chapters and the messy long-ish hair really help to sell the feral prince aesthetic as well, as it’s from those small cues the player gets that he’s exhausted (in more ways than one) and doesn’t maintain himself. None of these things are intentional choices by Dimtiri, they’re the result of what his character has been through.

Yellow is an intense, energetic color. Mostly, people think of it as being warm and inviting, the color of the sun and positivity. That intensity can be overwhelming, though, too visually demanding when compared to its primary counterparts. Don’t stare at the sun too long. Buuuut, it’s okay to stare at Claude. Claude not wanting to wear tight pants in either of his costumes is not only a mood, it is iconic. Pre timeskip, the softer lines of his silhouette makes him look kinda slouchy, kinda lazy. Like he’s not too concerned with appearances. But those adorably messy curls, the little braid, the clearly tended eyebrows, and earring make it clear that he DOES care about appearances and is very aware of his allure. And that’s before he even starts winking. It is honestly so in character that as many people picked him first on the basis of being thirsty, that feels like an intentionally Claude thing even if it was inserted by the designers. The contrast of his complexion with his seagreen eyes is gorgeous and instantly adds a kind of mystery and intrigue to him considering the setting... but it’s sf funny that nobody looked at bronze god Claude among a sea of white faces and thought something was up. Post timeskip, they used the same trick like they did with Dimitri to change Claude’s in-game model to match his canon appearance. The way they designed his uniform makes him not look as twink-ish, like he’s actually muscular and imposing and has the strength he’d need to shoot a war bow with a 120lbs draw weight. Also like Dimitri, you can instantly tell what Claude’s been up to. Like, he was very pretty pre timeskip but when he shows up in the Goddess Tower after those five years in all that gold, he demands your attention. Like a gentleman general with the excessive aesthetic ideals of the Alliance and details to imply his heritage. The quilted pants are amazing from both an aesthetic and practical standpoint. He’s a mounted unit riding a creature with scales, of course he’d want something on his legs for protection. And the chinstrap. I love that so much, it definitely makes him look more adult. He’s got such a cute soft baby face, it’s fun imagining him experimenting with different styles during the five years to get the most desired physical reaction to him as a leader.

Frenchfries, meet forehead. No, actually, Edelgard’s design is really fantastic. Claude and Dimitri both have realistically colored eyes and hair and then there’s Edelgard. Dimitri shrugs off attention physically and Claude shirks it with a wink but Edelgard commands the players attention from the very start. Although I’m sure there’s a lot of things to associate with white hair and purple eyes, my first thought was Daenerys from Game of Thrones. Otherworldly beautiful by with an edge. Red, of course, is The power color. Strong emotions, love and hate. Red is also associated strongly with blood, which is very important to Edelgard’s plot. Granted, I think the red and black association is even more powerful than JUST red and red is the cheapest play to make in regards to displaying villainy (I mean, there are some pretty universally recognized associations with red and black and it led to people making some unfair comparisons between Edelgard and a famous dictator) but I think it was effective and well used and I genuinely enjoy its use in her case. Anyway, if I had a major complaint about her design it would be the weird ashy color of her hair whereas Lysithea’s hair is pure white. Which doesn’t even matter with the AMAZING hair horns. Ram horns can actually symbolize quite a few things, but their association with power and strength is pretty universal I think. They’re also used in demonic imagery. I love that THIS was her alternative to a crown. Edelgard views herself as a force of war and power before she thinks of herself as royalty. She also mentions that she isn’t super vain, but she loves to do her hair, so the hair being the most elaborate part of her look is entirely in-character. Edelgard’s ensemble is, like Claude, very militaristic. I love that they kept her in a dress that embraces femininity without showing skin as that wouldn’t really suit her Also, again, Edelgard demands your attention. She’s dressed all in bright bright red waving around a giant axe. She is a symbol as much as she is a combatant, someone to follow. I didn’t really mention their secondary lord costumes, but a girl in sexy armor is literally everything and I love that they had the balls to put their main sexy waifu girl in full body armor.

Okay I’m sorry I realize this was excessive and probably didn’t need explaining and I’m not sure I even articulated my thoughts properly but anyway I love their designs so here is the positivity I’ll put into the world.

#fe3h #ferdinand von aegir #claude von riegan #edelgard von hresvelg #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #haha i htae byleths design this was all just to justify my abject disgust for the way she looks #nobody sent me anything about dimitri's dick so this is what i've been reduced to

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unholyhelbig · 3 years

Text

We Sold Our Souls | Chloe

Read Beca's Chapter Here | Read on AO3 here

Summer 1985

The Diner on 10th and Jefferson was not an inhabitable establishment. The floor was once a glimmering white that had faded to a musty brown. You could see where the tables had been situated because underneath was still the original color- not the dingy, ketchup-stained mess. A window unit sputtered as it pulled in hot air and the sound of sheets of meat sizzled and popped on day-old grease.

There was flypaper tacked to the ceiling and they spun as the warm air shifted it. It wasn’t brown, not like the floor, it was black with squirming legs and tired wings. Chloe watched, sweat dripping from her nose, as one particularly large one tested his luck and failed.

The boombox in the corner crackled and competed with the sound of two number sevens being placed on the counter. The antenna was stretching to the sky and they only got a slight signal for KWBT, the best Rock music in the county.

Chloe perked up, her spine straightening as Brock Argent’s rumbling voice filled the small area behind the counter. She ignored the way the cook stared at her, sweat beading against his greasy forehead, as she shushed him and turned the dial. She knew what he was going to say, and he didn’t push any more than he already had.

She hadn’t stopped talking about ‘The Ramones’ New Album. It was advertised with neon yellow and orange posters all around town. No one could tell if it was from the record label or some die-hard fans that had too much time on their hands. Either way, everyone knew about it, and that everyone included Brock Argent and the KWBT team. They had made a big deal about getting their hands on a copy.

“Alright you crazy people, I know we’ve been teasing this one for a long while, but we’ve got a good one for you today!” Brock’s tone was so deep that it shook the upturned milk glasses on the counter. “Here’s Pet Cemetery by the Ramones. Some seriously creepy stuff!”

Chloe felt the greasy diner and the sharp scent of fry oil leave her all at once. The second the first guitar chord struck the airwaves she had fallen so contently into the melody. Joey Ramone’s deep growl hissed and churned and made her stomach feel like soup. Johnny pressed down hard on the guitar strings and Tommy backed him up with a solid beat on the drum kit.

She ignored the way the cook eyed her cautiously as the steaming food on the counter attracted one of the flies that the paper hadn’t attracted. He was growing impatient as the lead belted out words about pets with their ribs crushed and their hearts gnawed pulling from the dirt. It mirrored that horrible book by Stephen King, the one that the schools banned, and the PTA moms fussed about until their veins splattered.

Finally, the song faded out and Chloe gave a grateful smile to the man in front of her before palming the cold plates and taking them to the couple that sat in the back booth. The woman slathered her pile of fries with a generous helping of ketchup and the man seemed to hate the idea of eating altogether.

Chloe didn’t’ notice when the cook turned down the radio for the rest of her shift. She was sore from mopping and wiping down all of the tables that were still sticky despite how much elbow she put into it. He watched her mount her bike and flick on the light that dawned its front despite the sun not fully being down, before he backed out of the parking lot himself and left their second lives behind, at least for a few hours.

She was mostly tipped change today and it rattled in the pockets of her apron as she took the side streets back to their run-down home. It had been nice once- at least that’s what the pictures tacked to the stained green refrigerator portrayed.

She shoved cake into her face with her vibrant mother holding her close. They all looked so clean despite the mess of pastry. There was light in their eyes and sugar in their systems and the old polaroid was a constant reminder to Chloe of the way things had been. The way she wishes they were.

The thought pulled at the back of her throat as she slowed her bike when the front tire met the Mitchell’s driveway. It gave her just enough speed to get over the dip on her own and pull the old blue contraption next to the garage. She could sandwich it between the trashcan and the side of the house. No one would take it, not in their small, rundown town. She flicked off the front light, reveling in the darkness for a few moments.

It was never silent, not here, not this close to the front door where the screen kept the lightning bugs out but no sound in. Her three younger brothers were blasting the television, all of them with their noses pressed to the static screen as MacGyver got himself out of whatever situation he was thrown into.

But over that, she heard her parents.

Her mother and her stepfather screamed loud enough for the whole block to hear them. It made Chloe’s jaw ache- how much they hated each other. They lived together out of spite, and because the boys needed a good role model.

But Rick, Rick hated Chloe just as much as he hated her mother. She wasn’t his and that had ebbed some deep resentment in him that she didn’t understand, nor did she care to. Not as she snuck in through the front door and trudged to her room. She was careful to toe her shoes off by the door, despite the pungent smell the house admitted.

It was considered rude to track mud, though no one had vacuumed in months at this point. No one had changed the lights or addressed the water stains that browned the ceiling above them. There was food on the table, most of the time, and hot water in the lead pipes. So Rick was doing his job and from the sound of the screaming match, Lauren was not.

Chloe tuned it all out.

She focused on the rifts she had heard this afternoon at the diner, and the satisfaction she got when she pulled the jar from the back of her closet, behind her 45’s and an old rolled poster of the Bay City Rollers that she had scored at an old thrift store and hung because the colors were vibrant.

As soon as Chloe could, as soon as she blew out the candle on her cupcake for her 18th birthday in front of that stupid polaroid and that puke green appliance, she would leave this tiny town. She would leave her brothers, and the dirty carpet, and stupid Rick, and even Lauren.

She would meet Joey Ramone, they would get married and she would never have to hear muffled screams and broken glass again- not unless it was at a concert that she was playing.

There was a glass of water on the table in front of Chloe Beale, but she hadn’t reached for it. There was some sinister part of her that considered it a test; there wasn’t a pitcher to refill it or anything else on the stark white surface. Just one singular cup that was free of any blemishes and water pushed to the near brim.

She was on a sofa that matched the rest of the room, stark and unfeeling. There wasn’t personality here; other than her and that stupid taunting glass, there was nothing. It could have been the waiting area in a place that detailed cars, but it wasn’t. She didn’t’ know what it was and she didn’t’ know if the water was a test- so she left it.

Her boots were the blackest thing, sharp like the night, against the white carpet. She got the sinking feeling that she should have taken them off by the door, though the secretary that lead her in here hadn’t told her to do so. Chloe wasn’t a child, not anymore, and Chloe could make her own choices. Like taking a gulp of water to quench the dry heat in her throat or taking her shoes off.

Rick would have made her take her shoes off.

Rick had killed her mother when she was at a concert in Orlando. She had saved up to get the tickets and she had had a fun, normal, road trip with the girls. They ate terribly and broke down in Georgia where they baked in the heat and splurged on ice cream cones that turned into a soupy mess in a matter of seconds. Chloe was happy then, and she had the polaroid tacked up on the corner of her apartment.

Thought the lights had been shut off a few times, and she and Beca had to eat all the ice cream and leftover pizza, and milk each time they did fade away, she kept it there. Her stomach would ache and her brow would sweat but they would fall asleep on the floor and the picture of her last happy moment would gape down at her- not mocking, but reminding.

They saw the yellow tape when Beca pulled the Monza to the edge of her driveway. Chloe let the rubber tire hit the corner of the driveway first, just like she used to do with her second-hand bike. Beca protested as she pushed the door open and flung herself towards her own home. A cop that shadowed his eyes with a large cap grabbed her by the middle and stopped her.

“That’s my house!” She had shouted, letting herself be lowered to the wet grass. “What happened? That’s my house! That’s my house!”

It had stopped being her house a long time ago when her father died of cancer and her mother met Rick, the anesthesiologist with the calm temper and the two boys from a previous marriage, and the one son that they shared together.

Chloe had spent most of her free time in Beca’s room now, staring up at the posters that weren’t of the Bay City Rollers on the ceiling. They both laid close to one another and she had memorized the features of Metallica and Stix and Beca’s breathing patterns, and the way the Charvel rested in the corner, with its off-white color.

Beca’s mother always had dinner on the table and always had enough for all three of them. Beca’s mom was interesting and kind. She was still alive when the summer of 88’ came to an end. She hadn’t heard the gunshots but she had smelt the blood- she said she was a nurse and she knew the scent of decay anywhere.

Rick shot Chloe’s mom in the head while her back was to him, and Chloe had always said he was a coward. He killed the boys too, straight shots with a gun Lauren had purchased him for Christmas because his new hobby would be hunting. As far as Chloe knew, the only shots he fired were that day, and the last when he ever did tore up his throat and painted the wall behind him.

She should take her shoes off and drink some water while she waits and wishes for wine. The secretary told her that he was running late and that she was welcomed to anything. But she didn’t’ feel welcome to the water, and really, she should have taken her shoes off, because the carpet was pristine, and the bottom of her boots were anything but.

Winter 1994

Snow fell in thick, wet drops against the pavement. It had barely started but picked up by the time Chloe ascended the stairs of the venue and tracked down Beca. The girl looked ragged, worn down, and thick with sorrow. She was moving her tongue against the edge of a cigar she had sliced with the pocket knife clipped to her jeans.

The sickly-sweet scent of weed followed the sparking of a lighter and the cold breeze that edged the nearly empty street. She leaned against the side of the van, next to a sizeable dent that had been there when they purchased it. When we’re famous she had said this won’t matter and we’ll be able to afford a van that isn’t half-totaled.

Beca pulled in a hot breath of marijuana, the tip burning hot and fast. She pushed the smoke through her those and passed it to Chloe who took it wordlessly and revealed in the sour film that coated her tongue and her teeth and her throat. A few more of those and she would be able to forget the disaster of tonight.

“Maybe I should have gone into accounting,” Beca said.

“You hate math.”

“That wasn’t my point,”

“I know. I just think that If you want to go back in time and choose MIT over your garage in the winter you should pick something you like. Not math. You’re not even good at math.”

Beca frowned and snatched the joint back. She wedged it between her teeth and gave Chloe the finger, the tattoos against her knuckles catching the red glowing light of the sign that hung above them. It buzzed like the flies Chloe had always hated- for some reason, more than spiders and moths, but she couldn’t’ recall now.

“Aubrey would have had a million things decided by now, you know? I don’t’ even need to prompt the woman before she brings up Julliard. Next thing; she’s going to be bitching about her back hurting from carrying the band.”

Chloe laughed sadly at that because she knew it was something Aubrey would say with that docile fire in her eyes. But through all of this, Aubrey was the best bass player that she had ever met and Beca had the right voice for them- but none of them ever said it. None of them ever dared that she would be better suited to part her ax down and grip the microphone instead.

“Are you?”

“What?”

She hadn’t noticed Beca was staring at her expectantly. Not only holding out the blunt, which she took and sandwiched between her lips, but with a question. Beca’s stare was dark, shaded in crimson, and glazed over because something was hitting; be the alcohol that she had consumed during the show or the slow crossfade that was humming happily through her now.

“Are you ready to give up?”

“Beca, this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She swallowed hard and tried to dull the pain of the flames at her throat. Red and hot and a lot like the stories plastered on the news not too long ago. Her stomach felt fuzzy and her brain did too and she suddenly felt like following Beca out here was a bad idea. A terrible idea, really.

Chloe let the end of the roll hit the ground. There was no need to stomp it out. The color faded away in the puddle of dingy water that had collected as they talked. She didn’t’ mind the cool embrace of the large drops that felt more like snow and stung like an insect bite. It kept her steady and grounded.

“I heard what you asked, and I told you this is all I’ve ever wanted.” Chloe sniffed, “I don’t’ care how long it takes to get there. It’s me and you, kid.”

Beca’s clouded stare softened, and she laughed loudly because at this point- standing in the rain, the two of them, she didn’t’ know if they had much longer at all. Not as a band, not as friends, not as that odd drunken mess they escalated to when they weren’t.

The scent of weed mixed with the wet odor of Portland and beer. Chloe curled her fingers around Beca’s, both cold and clammy, and the gesture hurt. It stung the bandages wrapped around Beca’s fingers and hummed at the pain in the back of Chloe’s head, where she figured a scar would be one day.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #bechloe fic rec #Bechloe fanfiction #pitch perfect #Pitch Perfect Fanfiction

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nordleuchten · 3 years

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Who was Lafayette friends with throughout his life, and were there people he wasn’t so friendly with? Thanks :)

Hello Anon,

La Fayette was the sort of person who made friends easily. He was not a grumpy person, being on good terms with somebody was his default mood so to speak – but there were also more than enough people with whom he was not on the best terms. During the French Revolution they did not call him “the most hated Man in Europe” for no reason. After all that I have read it strikes me as if you either loved or hated La Fayette and that there was little middle ground. The point that I want to make; I had to draw the line somewhere. The list I am going to present you is by no means complete. There are many names that could (and probably should) be added. Without further ado, lets get started.

Starting in America, we have George Washington. I think there is not much more that needs to be said about their relationship. It is commonly known how close they were and how much their relationship meant for both of them. Beside Washington, there was Alexander Hamilton. He and La Fayette first met early on in the War for American Independence. Hamilton was fluent in French and close in age to La Fayette. Their friendship was quickly formed and grew stronger as time progressed. Back home in France, La Fayette wrote Hamilton with a special proposal. Hamilton should send his oldest boy, Phillip, over to Paris, there to be educated under La Fayette’s guidance, while La Fayette would send his boy, Georges Washington, over to America, there to receive an education with Hamilton as a guardian. This plan never came to fruition, but when Georges Washington had to flee France for America during the French Revolution, Hamilton and his family took him in and tried to help him as good as they could. La Fayette never forgot that. After Hamilton’s untimely death in 1804 he wrote to George Washington Parke Custis that:

“Hamilton was to me, my dear Sir, more than friend, he was a brother. We were both very young, when associated with our common father; our friendship, formed in days of peril and glory, suffered no diminution from time: with Tilghman and with Laurens, I was upon terms the most affectionate; but with Hamilton, my relations were brotherly.”

This quote not only gives insight in La Layette’s with Hamilton but also perfectly sums up his relationship with John Laurens and Tench Tilghmam: most affectionate.

On to some people who are sometimes forgotten - James McHenry and James Monroe. James McHenry first met La Fayette when they both were members in George Washington staff. McHenry later transferred to La Fayette’s staff (March of 1781) and was one of his most trusted aide-de-camps. He often was chosen as La Fayette’s “liaison-officer”. I have three excerpts from letters by La Fayette, detailing his relationship to McHenry. The first one was written by La Fayette to McHenry on February 15, 1781, a few months before McHenry joined his staff:

My tender friendship and affectionate Regard for You, will Not lengthen this letter with Assurances from My Heart While the Heart itself must Be known to You. I intend to write You Again in a few days and with Every Sentiment of Attachement and Esteem Have the Honor to be Yours Lafayette

The second letter was addressed to General Greene on August 12, 1781, concerning a potential transfer McHenry’s in Greene’s staff.

McHenry is So well Acquainted with My Sentiments for Him that He knows My attachement is independant of whatever Steps He Might take on the occasion. He knows I am not of a temper that finds faults with the Measures of My friends, and that I will ever feel an obligation to the Man who obliges General Greene.

The last letter was written to McHenry on December 26, 1783. McHenry at this point had already retired from the army.

As an ardent lover of America I am glad to Hear of the influence You are said to Have in Congress. As Your most affectionate friend I shall Be glad whenever You Have an opportunity to display Your abilities. If Congress do not send me Any Commands, I shall Most Certainly embark in the spring. If they Have Commands for me, I would Be thrice Happy to Receive You along with them, and to Make with you french and European travels. You ought to Make them charge you with some political commission to Courts in Europe, and I would like going as a volonteer with you. [Manuscript torn; part a line missing] Your family and our friends. Most affectionately I am for [manuscript torn; several words missing]. Lafayette

I showed you this many letters for several reason. First, McHenry deserves more attention if you ask me. Second, they show not only their emotional relationship but also their professional relationship and illustrate how convinced La Fayette was by McHenry’s merits - and lastly, I like them all and could not decide. :-) Years later, during La Fayette’s imprisonment, McHenry was among the people who tried to help him gain his freedom.

On to James Monroe. Monroe was, just like Hamilton, close in age to La Fayette (actually, La Fayette was older then Monroe by several months) and spoke French. They both moved in the same social circle during the Revolution and had some common friends. It was also Monroe, who, with the backing of Congress, invited La Fayette to visit America once more in 1824/1825. La Fayette received the rights to some land during this visited and later gifted some of this land to Monroe so that Monroe could start paying off his mounting debts. Here is what La Fayette wrote to Monroe on December 19, 1784:

My dear Sir I Have Received your letter to mr jefferson, and shall very Carefully deliver it. Our old friend Gibbs will give you a Bundle of papers for McHenry which I Beg you will keep for Him untill He Comes to Trenton. To morrow morning, My dear Sir, I set out for Europe, and Before I go, it is pleasing for me once more to assure you of the value I Have By Your friendship, and of the affection and regard I Have the Honor to Be With My dear Sir Yours Lafayette

I may or may not have chosen this letter because McHenry also makes an appearance - but Thomas Jefferson is also mentioned, so the selection is valid, because Thomas Jefferson is the next one on our list. Jefferson’s and La Fayette’s friendship blossomed especially during Jefferson stay in Paris as ambassador to the French. La Fayette even consulted with Jefferson when writing the Déclaration des droits de l'homme et du citoyen de 1789. Later, when they met again during La Fayette’s last visit to the United States in 1824/25, they embraced each other and cried tear of joy over the fact of being able to see each other again.

With that, I would like to leave America behind and move on to England. More people could be added though. We see in La Fayette’s letter to General Greene for example, how close these two were. La Fayette had a very friendly relationship with most generals, officers and aide-de-camps in the army.

In England, we see something very interesting. Many of his friends there were actually former opponents of his during the War of Independence - when the House of Commons discussed whether the British Government should try to take actions or not, some of La Fayette’s most vocal allies were veterans of the War of Independence. Another noteworthy friend of his was the Whig politician Charles James Fox. Who really stands out among La Fayette’s English friends tough, is a young women. Her name was Francis “Fanny” Wright. I have planed to write on her separately at some near point in the future and because this post is already way too long we keep things brief. Fanny was a feminist, abolitionist and social reformer. I wager that some of her ideas and proposals would even today be considered somewhat controversial. But she and La Fayette grew quite close and she even accompanied him on his tour in America in 1824/25 (although not officially). Their friendship illustrates two things about La Fayette. He had many female friends – not just female friends, but strong and intelligent and outspoken female friends – and he was not at all faced by that. He also had friends that were considered “bad company” – and again, he was not really put off by that. With that being said, let us continue to France.

France was his native country and he had many friends there; starting with his family and his in-laws. With only a few exceptions La Fayette had close and loving relationships with his family members. There is this one lovely quote from a letter he wrote his wife Adrienne on October 29, 1777 that I simply had to quote:

“(...) for my daughter will be always, I trust, my most intimate friend; I will only be a father in affection, and parental love shall unite in my heart with friendship.”

You have to keep in mind that La Fayette was a nobleman from the 18th century. Such affection for your children, especially daughters, was common not as one would like to think. But of course he had also friends outside his family.

First in my mind there is the La Tour-Maubourg family. Three brothers with all three of whom La Fayette was close. Marie-Victor-Nicolas de Faÿ, marquis de La Tour-Maubourg was a General during the Napoleonic Wars and saw a lot of action. For a short time he was imprisoned with La Fayette but then quickly released. I would say that La Fayette was probably the least close with him. Next up is Juste-Charles de Faÿ de la Tour-Maubourg who was also captured by the Austrians but just as quickly released as his brother. He later married La Fayette’s oldest daughter Anastasie. The current King of Belgium is their descendant. The last brother was Charles César de Fay de La Tour-Maubourg and again, as if to continue a family tradition – he was captured together with La Fayette but unlike his two brothers, he was only released in 1787. I would say that La Fayette was the closest with him. After the death of his wife Adrienne, La Fayette wrote him a very, very long letter, basically laying all his grief and pain and anguish bare. Another dear friend was Bureau de Pussy, again one of La Fayette’s fellow prisoners (being in prison or fighting in a war together appear to be La Fayette’s go-to bounding-activities).

Soooo ... after we have scraped the surface of the category “friends” we can move on to the category “not-so-friendly”. Great parts of La Fayette’s live were spend on the public stage ... and as you all can very well imagine, he was bound to make some enemies there. Beside the people with whom he had a personal misunderstanding, there were the ones he enraged with his political opinions. He was a well known supporter of the American Revolution and therefor not too dear to many people on England and to American Loyalists. Things became really interesting though, when the French Revolution gained speed. La Fayette was a centrist, he was searching for a middle path. That actually worked quite well for some time but as soon as more radical factions began to gain influence a middle ground became harder and harder to pursue. He Royalists called him a traitor to the monarchy and a revolutionary while the Revolutionaries called him a traitor to the Republic and a Royalist – he really could not win. While he was not well liked among the leading Revolutionaries (Robespierre, Saint-Just, you name them), few disliked him as much as Doctor Jean-Paul Marat did. I am currently reading Marat’s L’amie de peuple and there a literally complete issues of the paper dedicated solely to La Fayette and all his alleged wrongdoings.

Things were not necessarily better on the side of the Royalists. When La Fayette entered the palace of Versailles after the event that came to be known as the Women's March on Versailles, he had to pass through a crowed of courtiers in order to reach the King and confer with him. Suddenly, a voice rose from the anonymity of the crowed – “Here comes Cromwell”, a courtier shouted. That is how many people at the court saw La Fayette at this time – as a French Cromwell. The Queen Marie Antoinette was on a later occasion reassured that she did not have to worry, La Fayette would protect her and the King. To that the Queen replied: “Lafayette is here to defend us, but who is to defend us against Lafayette.”

La Fayette’s troubled relationship with the Monarchs of France continued after the Revolution. He and Napoléon hat their ups and downs in their relationship – but mostly downs as time progressed. His relationship with Louis XVIII and especially with Charles X also was strained to put it mildly.

As I have said repeatedly, this is just a brief overview of La Fayette’s different relationships. I nevertheless hope that I could help you out with your question.

I hope you have/had a wonderful day!

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Someone Left to Save (13)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: Late post again, but the AO3 version got there first because it was easier to format aaah I want my laptop fixed soon ;_;

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 | Previous: Part 12 | Next: Part 14 | Masterlist

13 of ?

It has been hours since Cal encountered you. He’s in the Mantis recovering, and still wrapping his head around everything. In fact, his mind is still in a jumble after your reunion of a duel.

He can’t meditate for long periods of time, he constantly tosses and turns in bed when he decides to rest, and he religiously reads your profile as an Inquisitor on BD-1’s databank.

“Twelfth Sister, huh?” Cal mumbled behind his clasped hands over his lips.

He intently stares at the written portion of your profile.

He pondered out loud, “I don’t even wanna think about how long they’ve kept her there until they broke her, or how long she’s been doing missions until she’s completely desensitized like the rest.”

“Bee…” BD-1 chirped sadly.

Cal shakes his head, erasing such gruesome thoughts.

“No, she’s not like them. She’s still not fully gone yet. I know her…”

BD trills in reply, astonished just how cemented the boy’s resolve and optimism is.

“[Y/N] still has a choice, I hope she understands that,” he added.

A migraine abruptly jabs at Cal like a dagger to the stomach. Screams, explosions, and blaster fire echoed as an awful-sounding medley in his skull. It took him a few good moments before the sounds quietened. His little droid chirped worriedly as he watched Cal shudder and go woozy.

“I think the town’s in trouble, BD!”

BD knew what was up just from that simple outburst, he hopped on Cal’s shoulder before the boy could even stand up and scamper out of his room. He jumped over the set of stairs, slammed a button, and slipped through the entry door left ajar, disappearing from the Mantis; he didn’t run off right away, he waited for the exterior compartment door to open, revealing a compact speeder bike stored inside and sped away to the city.

He already knew the culprit, he only hoped that you haven’t done enough irreversible damage yet.

Contrary to Cal’s foresight, you haven’t wreaked havoc… yet.

Upon your arrival to the small city, you saw how sparse the Imperial security is.

You approached a Stormtrooper donning a red pauldron on his right shoulder, he straightened his posture as soon as he saw you.

“Are these all your men, Commander?”

“No, ma’am, they’re my patrol unit. I have more fanned out in different sectors. Should there be any problem, I’ll have reinforcements ready.”

“Good, because you should. The Jedi’s quite an elusive one,”

“If we spot him, we’ll deal with him,”

You nodded, impressed by this leader’s confidence. You inquired if there are any Purge Troopers dispatched in the city, you called for two of them to your position, they arrived within minutes.

“Two of you come with me,” you commanded with a steel voice. “If you find the Jedi, do not attempt to kill him. He’s mine for the taking.”

The three of you mounted on individual speeders, they followed you. Solely relying on instinct and feeling based on what you had back at the garrison, your party ended up in a small residential compound.

You’ve pinpointed the exact locations where that ripple in the Force is originating—from a house at the western side. However, your welcome wagon from the locals is rather cold. Anyone who can carry a gun held their ground, at the corner of your eye, you spot a little family of three: mother, father, and infant boy.

You knew right away the source.

The man saw through your faceless helmet, father’s intuition spiking up when he knew that exact intention of that ominous turn of your head to his son.

“You,” the ignition of the saber startled everyone, including the family; they held their ground, safety locks from all of the blasters clicked with the barrels aimed either at you or the Purge Troopers. Your men returned the gesture, but you signaled them to hold their fire. You lowered your saber to point at his son. “You know he has it, don’t you?”

Apparently, not many were aware of what you’re talking about, but the parents knew all too well. Even he pointed his own blaster at you. This demonstrative warning didn’t intimidate you, not in the smallest bit, instead you received them with a sinister chuckle—which left them in a collective puzzlement.

In the slightest movement, someone did the first shot but you deflected it with a superhuman precision and speed—intentional or otherwise, they feared for their life as they’ve come to realize they made that mistake. And then in the next split second, they never saw you coming. A barrage of blaster fire came from all sides. A few Stormtroopers near the area got themselves involved when they heard the firefight. While they’re busy exchanging bullets, you went after the mother who ran away from the action; her husband didn’t stand a chance against you—incapacitating him by hammering his jaw with your saber’s pommel.

The apartment where the woman went into hiding was a maze, halls upon halls of doors, she thinks she’s outsmarted you. You stood still and felt for the child’s Force signature amongst the rooms. Its fussing echoed in your mind until you turned to the direction where you think it’s coming from. Your eyes shot open and you bolted through the narrow hallway, a single kick broke down the door—startling both mother and wailing child.

“Don’t make this any harder for me,” you snarled, pointing your saber at the trembling woman.

She didn’t cooperate. Her hand aimlessly wandered the floor in search of anything to throw at you. She threw a small statuette in your face but you casually dodged it—all too easy, but it vexed you that she did exactly what you didn’t want her to do. When she found herself helpless, she scrambled up to her feet and made a run for it—but you were faster. The chase led to a dead end, you snuck up behind her as she looks at the wall with sheer horror in her eyes.

“I told you to not make it harder for me, woman,” you hiss from behind, and gave her the same fate as her husband.

You broke her fall by catching her, along with the child whom you snatched from her arms, you returned to the scene of the action only to hear not a hail of projectiles but silence, the baby seems to be calmed down by it. You stopped where you stood, listening for a sign of fighting, but there was nothing. You prepared yourself for whatever you’re going to see. The residents are gone—probably scampered back to their homes—and your Purge Troopers had Cal preoccupied, his back was turned to you as he fought them off, a couple of Stormtroopers lay dead on the ground evidently Cal’s handiwork.

Cal spots you, the Purge Troopers withdraw from the fight when they read the room. The young Jedi immediately turned around to the direction where the enemies were looking at.

“Well now, two heroics in a row! That ought to be a new record, darling,”

“I know what you’re planning to do with that kid, [Y/N]!”

You nasally scoffed, “Trilla was right. You are uncharacteristically prescient!”

“Why don’t you come and face me! It’s me you want!”

“What a brilliant idea!” You gestured at one Purge Trooper to come and retrieve the child. You spotted Cal flinching as soon as the trooper’s hands touched the baby’s swaddle. Both you and the troopers were alerted and positioned in different stances.

“Ah-ah-ah!” you cautiously held your hand above the child’s face. “Don’t do anything that you’d regret, Cal! Believe me, I still have enough humanity to not kill a child in cold blood. Do not convince me otherwise.”

Cal stood down, giving in to your bluff, and forced himself to relax—despite having an Electrohammer Purge Trooper standing behind him with his held in an offensive stance. He watches the other Purge Trooper scoop the child off your arms, your lightsaber takes its place in your hands. Igniting both ends, you point the haloed sleeve in front of the Jedi.

“Let’s dance, darling!”

Finishing what you started, you locked blades with Cal once again. This time, your arena has gotten wider and more open. Cal had no time in apprehending the Purge Troopers with the child and escaped on their speeder bikes. He split his sabers and dual-wielded to match you, but it was useless, he didn’t even realize that you have gotten more skillful and stronger. He’d hate to admit that he was saved by sheer luck back at the temple.

He comes charging at you with an overhead strike, but both ends of your saber blocked left and right sabers altogether. Cal saw the whites of your knuckles as you put more pressure on your gripping arm, your boots barely skidded in the dust when his attack landed on your block, and you flashed him a cocky yet ominous smirk.

“You feel it, don’t you? My strength—it’s too great to bear, isn’t it?”

Although covered, Cal sees the prideful, malicious grin stretched across your face through that dark mask; he could’ve sworn he saw the glint in your eyes—they were sorrowful in expression masking it with rage until no one can mistake it for the other. He knew that you’re still human, unlike the others you call brothers and sisters.

“But you’re no better for what you are right now!”

Cal pushes you away with the Force, enough to put some space between you and himself. You then lobbed your saber at him, spinning like a fan, cutting the air in a clean semi-circle, and he deflected it—as expected—before catching it. You did it a second time, and again, he succeeded in deflecting it.

“Remember what Cere taught us: as long as we’re alive, we will always have a choice!”

“Funny,” your hand snappily catches your saber. “I knew you were gonna say something like that!”

He cancels out the third time you’re about to fling your saber at him, and finally deals some damage—one of the few instances that he actually does—and gradually regained his momentum in the battle. The two of you have become so enamored in the fight that both of you didn’t notice you’ve moved to the back of the compound, away from the main square where the duel initiated.

In this smaller space, you two were completely alone. The intensity felt more intimate yet frightening. Cal saw how your eyes blazed with hatred and anger for him, albeit misplaced and corrupted within you.

“[Y/N], please listen to me: I didn’t abandon you. I swear it,” he calmly said, through the intertwining of your blades.

“Spare me, Cal, I—”

You notice his sleeve roll down, the glimmer of metal caught your eye. You recognize your bracelet worn around his wrist. For a brief second, your block loosened and he felt it.

“You… You kept it?”

“Always have,” Cal takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry for this, [Y/N].”

Cal pulls the same trick he did on Trilla. In order to disarm you: he switched off his saber mid-block which, in turn, caught you off-guard for a second time—with the sight of the bracelet being the first, spontaneous one—and staggered you real hard. Before you could even react or resist, he inflicts Force Slow on you—and so your limbs felt heavy and hard like stone, it feels as though you’re being encased in wet plaster that’s drying off quickly. While the chance is ripe for the taking, he runs up to you and takes your hand. The wave of emotions thrashing in you like a wild ocean riptide was overwhelming, but he fought it and there’s literally nothing you can do about it.

And that’s where he saw every, single thing.

Fed with lies. Trained with hate. Survived by agony.

Cal’s Force Echo on yourself was painless but it made you a tad bit nauseated. You could feel your very life essence being forcibly siphoned out of your body, at the same time, your memories and feelings transfer to Cal—as if he was the one experiencing them firsthand.

The prickle of electric current on his skin made his nerves jerk, enough to prompt his muscles to let go; the great exhaustion that your body endured burdened itself on Cal’s chest—making him feel out of breath—then the deafening clash of weapons, the battle grunts, and all the taunts meant to torment your mind: all of those Cal endured, through the trance of the Force Echo.

You fight the tears from escaping your eyes, but he didn’t, he let them trickle on his cheeks; withstanding the pain took more willpower than matching your strength in the swordfight.

“Oh [Y/N]... what have they done to you?” he gasped.

“They… made me stronger!” you struggled to speak while under the influence of the Force Slow.

Cal shakes his head, tightening his grip around your hand, “No, that isn’t strength. This isn’t you.”

The gentleness in his voice vexed you and touched at the same time. More emotions pile on top of the other as they conflict in you, the confusion was mind-numbing.

“You just don’t want to admit it, because you’re afraid,” he added.

You’re on the verge of tears, because even if you don’t want to admit it, he’s somewhat right and you hate how right he always is.

“I am not afraid!” you hiccuped, nearly sobbing. “I don’t have to be afraid of the Inquisitors, you, or anything!”

You finally broke free from the hold of the Slow, you violently shook off Cal’s hand from yours, and popped a flashbomb to escape. When the smoke had cleared, Cal found himself alone in that small backside of the compound. More Stormtroopers flooding into that space gave him company, completely surrounding him; just when they thought they had the upper hand, their mistake of underestimating them became their undoing, the Jedi made quick work and felled them all, clearing the path for himself back to the Mantis while you hopped on another speeder and fled out of the city to return to the garrison.

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 3 years

Text

Redemption, My Love

Chapter 6 Travel: Day 1 Cross posted on Ao3 Rated Explicit

Summary: The silence between them is louder than anything Percival has ever heard. It makes him uncomfortable and that discomfort causes him to ask every question he has for The Weeping Monk. Lancelot is uncomfortable answering Percival's questions but does so anyways. Gawain, well he's exhausted and stressed and full of anxiety.

+++Percival+++

By noon Percival complains that he needs to stretch. It isn’t so much that he needs to stretch as it is that the silence between the three of them is thicker than the air in the house when his parents fought. He wanders a way into the woods under the guise of stretching and listens to see if the other two will speak. They don't and it frustrates him to no end. The silence between them all is deafening. The sun is high in the sky and the air is stagnant. He makes his way back to the clearing they’ve stopped in and stands by Gawain who hands him a water skin and piece of bread and dried meat. He eats it slowly and eyes them both in the process. It’s uncanny. The two move in tandem without speaking. Gawain throws a water skin to Lancelot who catches it with a nod, drinks and throws it back. They should need to speak, being strangers and all. But it's like they can read each other's minds instead. Perhaps it's because they are both warriors? Either way it’s eerie and puts Squirrel on edge. Finally Gawain speaks, it's a short sentence directed to no one in particular. “We need to get back on the road.”

With little hesitation Lancelot mounts Goliath. The process is slower than it ought to be and Percival wonders how bad his ribs hurt, as he stands. He brushes his hands on his pants and approaches Gawain who is checking the tack on his own mare one more time.

“Can I ride with you awhile Green Knight?” “Yes.”

So he climbs up in front of Gawain and they set out. Lancelot rides slightly ahead to the right, he seems to curl in on himself a little. Though admittedly he doesn’t know what he looked like riding the last couple of times. Nothing good he imagines, being so close to death as he was. As they continue along the path he wonders if Gawain is purposefully falling behind to watch the monk. He doesn’t quite know what benefit it would give him, but he trusts the knight's judgment implicitly.

As the silence stretches his discomfort only grows. He can only sit still and watch their surroundings so long. He feels alone, even seated in front of the Green knight. And he does not want to be alone. He sucks in a deep breath and then he does what he does very well and blathers into the air. It's nothing important until it is. He doesn’t mean for the questions to start coming out of his mouth. He doesn’t mean for his anger and his uncertainty to come out, but it does. He can feel the weight on his shoulders start to sink into his stomach and he has to move. He starts by turning in his saddle enough to see Gawain out of the corner of his eyes and look at Lancelot completely.

"Where are we going? Do we know if it's the right place? How can you possibly know where we need to go?" He watches Gawain turn his head to look at Lancelot and then down at him.

"According to him,” a nod in Lancelot's general direction, “Nimue made a deal with Uther that involved our people sailing to some other land."

"Nimue would never! This is our home!"

"She did Percival. To save you." Lancelot rasps, lifting a hand to his side. His ribs were probably aching. Unlike Percivals own bruises, Lancelots had only just begun to really heal. “But I don’t understand. Where would we go?” “I don’t know where Uthers ships were to take the Fey. Only that they were supposed to take them from Beggars Coast.” Lancelot informs him, hand visibly pressing harder on his ribs. “Why are we heading south then? Isn't that west of us?” “Yes,” Gawain supplies behind him, chest rising and falling against his back. “We need to avoid the Paladin camps and that means being low enough not to pass through them.” “Alright then.” He settles some, leaning back against the man. They lapse into silence again. It eats at his insides, makes him squirm uncomfortably. The longer he sits in the tension stretching between them the more the pressure grows inside him. The anger that has simmered since their escape is now boiling at his surface. He can practically hear Gawain thinking behind him and he has no idea what is happening in the mind of the Monk. He fidgets and Gawain taps his arm startling him. “What is it Percival?” He prompts a voice gentle enough that it causes Percival to still. Unfortunately the question was all the spark to tinder and Percival erupted into an inferno of rage. “Why did you help them hunt down your own kind?” The venom in his words burns his throat on the way up, leaving a bitter spice on his tongue. When Lancelot does not immediately answer the rest of his questions join the first in the open air between them. It only serves to add fuel to the wildfire of his heart. Gawain does not stop him and he doesn’t know if he should be glad or angrier for it. “Why Did you use me as bait to track the other Fey down? Why couldn’t you just let us go? We never did anything to you, or to the bloody paladins. You're the reason my family is dead, and the reason The Green Knight died. Why did you Rescue me? Were you going to use me as bait again? I don’t understand you. I should hate you.” His voice breaks here fire turning to steam, and steam into tears as he tries not to cry in front of The Green Knight. “But I don’t and I don’t understand why I don’t. Tell me you’ve done good things? Tell me you aren't all evil to the core?” He swallows and breathes heavily. Gawain's arm tightens around him and he leans back into the embrace. His eyes never leave The Weeping Monks back and he hopes the man can feel them burning into his soul. Taking him apart seam by seam. The slump in the man's shoulders and the way he bows his head against the barrage of questions remind him of shame, and maybe the monk does feel that, maybe. But Percival is too irritated and wrathful to believe that; too angry to remember that he doesn’t know Lancelot's story or his motives. He wants answers and the monk's silence is not an answer. Perhaps it's an admission but he wants to hear Lancelot say that he did those things. Give some answer for them. “Give me an answer, damn it!” He commanded the monk, determination coloring his voice turning it hoarse and high. His nostrils flared and he heaved in deep breaths to try and calm himself down. “Let him formulate his words Percival.” Warned Gawain. Which only serves to enrage him further. How dare The Green Knight of all people protect The Weeping Monk. How dare he betray his people like that? How could he support the man who had killed so many of his own? It made Percival sick and further served to remind him of his own internal conflict. “What does that mean?” He sneers, voice harsh as he turns to side eye the man behind him. “I imagine that he is trying to figure out how to say it in a way that makes sense to an eleven year old.” Observed the knight, arm still tight around his shoulders. He wiggles until it comes free. He does not want to be touched by the man who he looks up to. Not right now, not while he tries to justify the Monk. “He can talk to me like I’m an adult. Gods know I've seen enough.” He disagrees bitterly. It's then that he notes that Lancelot has slowed enough to plod along beside them. He looks over at the hooded man and furrows his brows. He’s tired of waiting. “Look at me,” the demand startles them all, but he does not back down.

++++++LANCELOT+++++

How exactly is he supposed to answer the boy? He swallows down the bile in his throat and tries to think of any answer that might satisfy him. There isn’t one. Lancelot had killed hundreds of Fey, had been the one to lead armies to burn their villages and forests and collapse their caves. He had stood by and watched as men and women were strung up on crosses and burned alive. The echoes of their screams chasing him even in restless sleep. He stood by and watched as children were pulled from their mothers arms, the way he had been, and killed on the ends of swords, axes, and arrows. His life is painted in rivers of red, blood and flame and rage. There is no answer to give the boy but the truth. And the truth is wretched and disfigured. The truth is bitter and poison and damming and yet it is all he can offer. Percival was right, the Fey had done no wrong to Lancelot or to the church, save the inherent belief that by their mere existence they were demons born of the devil. People fear that which they do not know. That is why he himself had been feared. He was a killer, an assassin and the brothers didn't know him. They had simply feared him and shied away from him, save for when he gave the orders to burn. In that one moment they were united. United as murderers. It is no wonder he can not feel the grace of God when he cries out. He lets his shoulders slump and hangs his head. Maybe the boy will simply accept that there is no good answer and they can continue in silence. It is not. The boy demands an answer. An answer to some of the very same questions he remembers asking Carden and the other brothers when he was first taken from his homeland.Questions that had kept him up in the darkness of his cell, that rolled around in his mind like the echoes of his mothers voice. He knows that his responses will not satisfy Percival, just as Cardens had never truly satisfied him; but, he will dignify the boy with an answer nevertheless. He slows his horse to match Gawain's pace and stares straight ahead, hood falling over his face. It will be an agony he cannot bear if he is to look at the boy now. He clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth before he finds the words and manages to speak. His voice is low and sounds like a wet stone on steel to his own ears, then again his head is throbbing still. “Killing Fey… it’s all I’ve known since I was younger than you are now. It’s what they trained me to do from the moment they took me from my home; tore me from my mothers arms.” Percivals voice is laced with disgust as he butts in.

“They trained you to be a murderer as a child? Didn’t you ever think it was wrong? When you got older?” Lancelot wishes he hadn’t obeyed the last command and made eye contact, the boy looks terrified and hurt and three kinds of enraged. “I did. Yes, especially at first. However as I got older it was harder to believe I had any other choice. When I refused to obey, or hesitated to spill blood, they would take my hands and make me do it anyway and beat me, after, until I couldn’t move for days. I was desperate to survive, so I did as I was told.” “That’s not an excuse! It doesn’t make it right!” Percival objected, though it sounded weaker than his previous sentiments. He hangs his head again, sombre and dejected and studies the horn on the goliath's saddle as though it is the most interesting thing he has ever seen. It is several moments until he gathers his thoughts again. The smell on the air is bitter with anger and leaves him feeling more nauseous than the headache. He listens to the steady rhythm of the horses moving along the path, of the stream nearby and finally he can speak again. “I know. And neither was using you as bait. I… I am truly sorry for that. I hurt you in doing so.” “Then why did you do it?” The fire is gone from Percivals voice, and something closer to shock fills it. He pointedly does not look at Gawain though he can feel the man's gaze on him. He flushes slightly. Then, resuming his forward gaze, “ I chose to see you not a boy, but as a tool. I was given orders and I needed to obey them.” “What does that even mean?” Gawain intercedes on his behalf, voice like ice chilling him to the bone. “He saw you the way they saw him. Fletching on an arrow, a dog to chase foul, smoke to run out foxes.” “Yes.” He whispers in agreement,, nodding his head marginally and tensing his shoulders. “How did you see the people in my village?” The heartbreak in Percivals voice is enough to stop him answering. He does not wish the boy further pain, he won’t lie to him, but he can’t answer this. Not right now. Likely never. “I. I won’t answer that.” Now he does meat Gawain's eyes. Not in challenge; but in supplication. “Do you regret it? The things you’ve done?” Gawain asks over Percivals protests. It's not a change in subject, a very uncomfortable subject, but it is a change of topic and for that he is grateful. He does not turn his eyes away from the hazel ones staring into his soul. He feels vulnerable beneath the other man's gaze and yet he cannot look away though he desperately wishes he could. “Yes…” he starts slowly, “I do. More and more with every passing day. I knew when I was young that it was wrong. At some point, it stopped being about right and wrong. It was about survival. I did what I believed necessary to stay alive. At some point though, being alive wasn’t the same as living. Looking back…. It would have been better to let them kill me. I wanted to believe in Fathers words. Some days that hope of salvation he offered was all that kept me from going mad.” He lets his voice drift soft at the end. Finally he looks away from Gawain and raises a hand to pet Goliath's neck. Sucking in a shuddering breath he attempts to settle whatever emotion it is rising in his chest and causing his throat to ache. “But knowing it was wrong is why you chose to save me?” Percival speaks again in the simplistic, honest way of children. “In part.” he notices the expectant look on Percival's face from the corner of his eye. “It was the knowledge I already had, something Father said and didn’t do, and Gawain's words to me. It was as though some part of me shifted. I didn’t have a choice after that. I knew it was the right thing—The only thing, I could do.”

He casts his gaze from Goliath's neck back towards the road, hands shaking so much that he grips the reins tightly in an attempt to make them stop. The boy falls silent, face scrunched up in thought. Lips pursed and chin tucked to his chest. He doesn't ride forward, but remains at Gawain's side. It’s an invitation. Gawain may ask him questions if he likes. He doesn’t and Lancelot finds himself relaxing at the knowledge that his answers have sated his new companions for the time being. There is an edge in the silence prodding at him like his ribs every time he breathes. Still, even with the sting of it present the journey turns in a more amenable direction.

The sun is beginning to touch the tops of the trees. It would be prudent for them to settle in for the night. As though the knight riding beside him can read mind Gawain directs Percival to look out for a clearing to stop for the evening. It doesn't take them long to locate a spot off the road, near the stream. It's perfect, secluded enough not to be noticed, unless they let the fire burn, yet it maintains plenty of sight lines to the road. They work in silence, practiced in their own right, as they unpack their few belongings. Gawain tasks Percival with gathering firewood and filling the water skins. He trusts the boy to know if the water is good or not. When he has gone and Gawain has given the horses their grain, the knight turns to him.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.” There is no malice, only deep rooted exhaustion and annoyance in his features. He nods his agreement and maintains the eye contact, waiting and not dismissive. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He notes softly. Gawain grimaces and pinches his nose, his other hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” “Both of those points are still true.” He schools his features and forcibly does not smirk. It’s fun getting under Gawain's skin. He doesn’t mean to do it, but seeing the knight riled up turns his stomach pleasantly, so when it happens, as it will inevitably do, he pushes it just a touch. He’s good at reading people's limits, he had to be.

Gawain inhales sharply and Lancelot returns his focus. “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” Gawain's voice is as unwavering as his eyes. They do not leave his face as the man stares him down, waiting for an answer. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.” Hazel's eyes linger on his face and his cheeks heat under the scrutiny. The Green Knight stares at him, more than he likes. Absently he wonders if it's his way of trying to understand him. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Supper is meager, but filling. Dried meat and some cheese. The fire is warm against his skin, and it is comforting. He watches as the flames orange tendril flick at the night air, coiling and unraveling. He admires the way the coal shines bright white. He forces his eyes away when an unwanted memory enters his mind. He stretches his neck and shoulders, wincing as it jostles his ribs, and focuses instead on the sounds around him instead of the smell of the fire, or the outline still visible through his eyelids. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” The reprimand is clear in The Green Knights voice. He shakes his head. He hadn’t because he deserved the burn in his lungs with each breath to remind him of those he allowed to burn alive, most notably the Moonwing tribe. He deserves the ache in his joints and muscles for all those he has knocked down and left bruised and bloody in his wake. The nausea to remind him of those who had watched their family die around them. If his pain could not cleans him then it could be a reminder of his past actions. A reminder of who he was and what he had done. It was an atonement, not an absolution. “You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. He doesn’t answer, just does what he knows they want him to do. He reaches for his bag and pulls out some of the bark. It's been ground finely like tobacco sometimes is so he can tuck it under his tongue or into his lip. It's more potent this way. He places a pinch under his tongue and instantly his mouth waters from the burn. It is much more bitter this way than straight from the tree. Silently he settles himself into his own bedroll, cloak pulled securely around him. He falls asleep not long after listening to Gawain hum some ancient Fey song into the night. It's distant and all too familiar and pulls him right into the arms of sleep.

+++++GAWAIN++++

When he has finished sending Percival to gather firewood and water he turns his attention to the monk. He does not enjoy the prospect of him taking watch alone, nor can they avoid it.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.” he attempts to keep his voice neutral and it seems to work as the monk turns towards him and makes eye contact. It doesn’t waver and that is a comfort to Gawain as much as it is prod to his pride. Lancelot should not feel capable of making prolonged eye contact with him, they are not on the same level. He lets his eyes flicker over the other briefly as he crosses his arms and speaks. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He rubs a hand over his face and settles for pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand falling instinctively to the pommel of his sword. He thought the man whispered before because he was uncomfortable, but it was becoming clear that perhaps it was simply in his demeanor to be quiet and subdued. It’s irritating. It's not that The Weeping Monks voice is monotonous, but that it is soothing even if it is raspy and low. His voice is too soft for a murderer, for a paladin. They were loud and boisterous, not… this. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” He refrains from sighing, only just and straightens his shoulders instead. “Both of those points are still true.” There is a flash of emotion on The Monks face as he says the words, amusement almost. Gawain grinds his teeth and clenches his hand around the pommel of his sword, his other hand coming to rest at his side in a fist as he inhales sharply. “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” He aims for stern and threatening and knows he has hit the mark as he watches The Monks face as he formulates his response. He notes the way his jaw goes slack and then tightens as he furrows his brows blue eyes raging as he comes to a decision. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.” Gawain finds himself staring at blue eyes, and sculpted face longer than is appropriate or necessary. He forces himself not to react as pink rises across the other man's nose and cheeks. He narrows his eyes slightly and nods in acceptance. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Their supper is nothing special, left over dried meat that Bliant had insisted they take and some cheese. There is enough for one more day and then they will need to take time to hunt. They wouldn’t if they could travel at a faster rate, but he knows what it’s like to ride with broken ribs and bruised skin and doesn't push them. Beyond that Bliant had been firm in her reprimand that they were traveling too soon and The Monks injuries could still be threatening if they were not careful. He watches The Monk through the fire, he is like some cold unmoving wraith and when the flames cast flickering shadows across his hands and face he can't help but admire the way they highlight the curve of his back and throat as he stretches out his neck and shoulders. He frowns when he notices the way the man winces from the pain and wonders if he's used any of the willow bark they were sent with. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a reprimand and yet that’s exactly what his tone implies. He really shouldn’t care if the man has chosen to neglect himself, and yet he does. The orders from the Hidden echoing in his mind and weighing on his shoulders.

The Monk shakes his head and that's all the answer he gets.

“You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. A smile inches its way across his face. For all his anger earlier the boy still shows compassion and inadvertently trusts with his actions. It warms Gawain to know that even after everything the boy is not completely irreparably damaged. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. The sound of a rustling cloth draws his attention back from the boy and to the man across the fire. He watches with interest as he pulls out the little tin of ground bark and places a pinch beneath his tongue. He almost laughs when his eyes water and he swallows instinctively from the burn. Gawain knows the feeling like he knows the feel of his armor, or a blade in his hand. He thinks that perhaps The Monk does not and some distant part of him aches for that. It isn’t long before the Monk joins Percival in the act of sleep, curling his cloak around him and shifting more comfortably on his bedroll. Absently he hums an old lullaby of the Fey. He isn’t entirely certain why he does it, but it brings him comfort as he sits in the dark the flames of a dying fire his only company.

There is an energy brimming in him, aching to get out. He knows this energy, it’s familiar as it coils in his chest and squeezes his lungs. Anxiety. He has every reason to be anxious he thinks; for instance, his mind supplies, you died and now you're alive; not to mention The Monk asleep across the fire from him; or Squirrels mixed feelings of attraction and respect for the man; and The Hiddens orders to bring The Monk before Nimue and the Elders alive; nor the concern for his people taking a deal with Uther and leaving themselves vulnerable on the beaches, lastly the knowledge the Nimue may not even be with their people considering that very agreement. Who let her make such a decision? Did no one council her against it? Of course not, fool, you weren’t there to be the stable one . They’re all just children. Why did I let her name herself queen? There had to have been a different way?

It didn’t matter now if there had been a different way or not. Not while he sat alone in the darkness, the embers of the fire the only source of light, dim against the void of the night. He sat, posture straight and proper as he had been taught as both boy and warrior. Tilting his head back, hair catching slightly in the bark of the tree he looked to the sky for answers. Where did he start? What did he start with, his emotions, the challenges, the people? It was all intertwined with no reprieve in sight. What was the most immediate source of discomfort? What was the most important issue at hand? What needed to be addressed first? Ultimately it was the ones that he was surrounded by currently. There would be nothing simple about sorting through his feelings about The Monk or determining the best course of action for helping to dissuade the boy from becoming more enamored by him. He wondered and wondered into the night about why the Hidden wanted The Monk alive. What could the man possibly do for the Hidden, for the Fey. His comment about the Fey using a warrior like him had been rooted in truth, he could certainly help change the tides of the war with his knowledge and skills with weaponry. But there must have been much more. Much much more. Right? He is a murderer, a kin killer. There is nothing about the man that says he should be redeemable. And yet that's what The Monk said it was that he seeks. He grimaces and suppresses a shudder as he recalls that he had offered the man forgiveness. Forgiveness of all things, for what, that he himself might feel better? Because he had hoped that the words would extinguish some of the hate in his heart? For the slim chance that he could be a good role model for Squirrel because the boy deserved people in his life that were good. Who weren't worn out by war and made ugly and deformed and broken by the things they have seen and the things that they have done.

Instead he had Gawain, broken and defeated by the consistency of war, turned bitter against the race of men. Gawain, who given the chance, would have stabbed The Monk in the back if it meant he could never kill again. Gawain who was loyal to his people, to a fault, and obedient beyond his own understanding to the Hidden. Nimue who was too busy to give him the attention he needed from some kind of motherly or sisterly persona. Nimue, made impulsive by the sword, violent even. Nimue with her boy troubles and love of manbloods. Nimue with too much worry over too many people for someone so young. Pym, barely a healer. The girl who wove nets who was never meant to be something more, but who always wanted to be. The girl who was too young to give wise counsel but tried nonetheless. The girl who sought to be useful and skilled but who was never important to anyone. The girl who deserved just as much and more than Percival himself. Arthur and Morgan man bloods who gave council. Good counsel at that, even if he did not wish to admit it. Kaze with the blood of a fierce warrior, and a taste for blood, but wise beside. Counselor of queens and battle hardened. And now, The Weeping Monk, harbinger of death and destruction, grey in ash and a parrot too. A man incapable of thinking for himself, content to live as a slave taking orders from his master even after he's been kicked like some kind of overtly loyal dog. He laughs bitterly, mirthlessly, the mist of night damp on his skin. What is he to do? To be? Why had the Hidden saved his life. It most certainly was not so he could be a mentor or a father to Squirrel, certainly it could not have been for the sake of the Monk. They could have chosen to tell anyone of the elders that he was not to be killed, instead they had resurrected him from the dead. He could have been done. This world no longer his responsibility. The Fey no longer his to protect or be concerned about. He should be dead, returned to the green where he should be able to rest for eternity. Instead, here he was, exhausted and cold, and so tightly wound that when the sound of a snapping twig reached his ears he found his feet in a fluid motion, sword drawn and at the ready. His eyes scanning the forest for signs of enemy and attack. Looking into the nighttide and saw nothing. Heart hammering rapidly in his chest he breathed deep and listened to darkness around him. No sounds followed the first. The tension does not leave his body. Slowly and carefully he makes his way around the perimeter of their camp stopping and listening occasionally. Satisfied that there is nothing nearby he returns to his location by the tree and settles in for a long night of waiting, wondering, worrying and overthinking.

#Fanfiction #Writing #Ao3 #Redemption My Love #Gawain and Lancelot #Gawain #The Green Knight #Lancelot #Lancelot the Weeping Monk #Squirrel #Percival #Cursed TV 2020 #Cursed Fanfiction #Lancewain #Enemies to allies to friends to lovers #Slowburn #Chapter 6

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missnmikaelson-main · 4 years

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National Anthem 2. June 4, 2020 - Part One

She clutched the yellow legal pad to her breast and leaned back, propping her heel on the wall. With her weight balanced on one leg in a state of semi relaxation she ignored the myriad of noises that filled campaign headquarters in favour of the small television mounted in the corner above. Someone had helpfully turned the volume up, but she still had to strain her ears.

And if anyone asked she was making mental notes for the follow up article. She was not under any circumstances listening to the rise and fall of his voice and thinking about the very fine figure he cut in his suit.

Nope.

That was not what was happening.

Notes would have sold that story better, not that there was a story to tell, but if anybody asked she could easily cite the clearly labeled folders on her laptop since driving Caroline crazy only ever extended to her desk and packing habits.

She could have recited his platform in her sleep.

And if she bit her lip it was because she wanted to commit the televised interview to memory. It was not because he liked to gesture with his hands and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way those long fingers liked to deliberately graze her palm at every turn.

Nope.

Her skin was not tingling with memory.

She was not subtly rubbing her thighs together because three nights ago they sat beside each other at a dinner where she gleefully let him tease her and ruin yet another pair of underwear. She was not imagining those hands stealing under her skirt.

And she was not conjuring up wild dreams of what they could do to each other if they ever managed to get a little privacy.

Okay…

Maybe she was thinking about that last one, but in her defence it had been three months. Three damn months had passed since she joined the campaign trail. Three months had trickled by with all the speed of poured molasses while they flirted, while they teased, while he strung her higher than a kite.

“Many comments are being made on your accent.”

She tuned into the onscreen interview again as they wound down and approached the human interest portion that the entire country denied they eagerly awaited, though as far as juicy gossip went this morsel wasn’t that good.

“I’ve heard a few of them,” Kol chuckled.

And damn that laugh did things to her.

“According to all of my sources you were born in Northern Virginia, contrary to some commenters suggestions that you were not.”

“I can guess where those rumours came from.”

Elena could guess too. There were some opponents who thought they could knock him out of the presidential race by insinuating he wasn’t actually American, and she knew precisely which one. She also knew that the one starting that rumour knew how false it was.

“… but I assure you, Mark, I’m as American as you.”

“Can I ask how you came by the accent?”

“It’s not much of a story,” Kol shrugged, smiling that damn adorable smile that made him look so much younger. “My parents wanted the best education for us…”

“More like wanted you out of the house,” Elena muttered so low nobody could hear. She was still upset with Mikael and Esther’s decision twenty years after they ripped apart her childhood friendship. Luckily she got to reconnect with Rebekah and after everything they were stronger than before, but there had been years where she missed the blonde like crazy and thought their letter correspondence wouldn’t sustain them.

“They sent my siblings and I to an elite boarding school in the United Kingdom when we were young. Each of us attended until graduation and all of my siblings with the exception of one of my older brothers caught the accent. Haven’t been able to shake it. We often joke about it actually. Elijah never lost his own accent, yet he spent more time in the UK than any of us.”

She tried to hear Kol’s signature ‘darling’ with a heavy southern drawl and giggled.

“Something funny Elena?”

Her eyes snapped to the campaign manager and she shook her head. “Nah Josh, I’m just imagining Kol with a Virginian accent.”

“As fun as that sounds,” he rolled his eyes, “don’t you have an article to write. I’m sure your publication isn’t paying you to stand around and watch the news.”

“It’s already written,” she waved one hand.

“Including the new information you just heard?”

“That’s hardly knew information,” Elena shrugged, straightening up. “The Mikaelson siblings attended Westminster School London and spent summers and holidays at the family mansion in Mystic Falls, Virginia. Before that they each attended Mystic Falls Elementary School.”

“That’s more information then the Senator has ever given,” his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, well,” Elena tucked her hair behind her ear, “he also has never said he once set off a glitter bomb in his little sister’s bedroom during a slumber party and put frogs in his oldest brother’s cereal.” She had no issue telling the tales of his pranks to Josh. Outside of the polaroids she kept in a shoebox under her childhood bed there was no physical proof and even if the stories got out they would only serve to make him appear endearing.

And she did not think he was endearing.

Nope.

She was not still laughing about the things he used to do in the summers before growing up. She was not thinking about the time he dumped Klaus’ paints over Rebekah’s hair and looked at her when she tried not to laugh.

“Is he giving you exclusive interviews or something?” Josh’s brows rose.

Phantom hands grasped her hips as ghostly touches grazed the column of her throat. She would not label that an interview, no matter how telling it was.

“I’m from Mystic Falls,” she explained. “His sister is one of my best friends and technically I’ve known him since I was five.”

“I take it your editor didn’t know that.”

“Not the details,” Elena tilted her head. From the corner of her eye she saw the interview wrapping up and turned her head to catch the last question.

“Anyone new in your life?” The way the question was phrased made it very clear what was really being asked.

“I meet new people on a daily basis with the campaign trail, but I sense that’s not the question you’re asking.”

“You got me. There’s been a lot of curiosity lately.”

Lately was an understatement. People had been snooping around since his last long term relationship; not that Mary could really be considered long term.

“So anyone new?”

“No,” Kol’s eyes flickered beyond his interviewer and directly into the camera until she felt certain he knew he held her gaze, “there is nobody new.”

Elena ducked her head and stared at the empty legal pad, hoping her hair covered whatever blush stained her cheeks. “I should go get to work.”

She slipped into a dimly lit hallway and shut the door, leaning against it as she did. She had just managed to get her heart under control when a smooth voice interrupted what she had thought to be solitude.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or are we finally alone?”

Her skin tingled as he moved closer and stopped a few inches away. She felt his body heat before she looked up through her eyelashes.

“It’s the main hallway in a major campaign headquarters,” she whispered, and her fingers were not smoothing down his tie. “I wouldn’t count on being alone for long.”

“Oh,” he sighed, “so I don’t have enough time to wrap you around my body and have my wicked way with you.”

“Probably not,” she meant for her voice to be exasperated, but it may have come out breathless as she imagined digging her heels into lower back and her fingers into his perfectly styled hair.

She cleared her throat and found her voice - the one that wasn’t indicative of the hot mess he made of her insides.

“I would hate to be the one caught defiling the baby of the house.”

“I hate that that name stuck.” He groaned, chuckling as he covered her hip with his hand.

“That’s what you get for being the youngest member ever elected,” she teased, moving her hand to smooth a non-existent wrinkle from his suit.

“There are younger members than me now.” His gaze flickered between her laughing eyes and parted lips.

“Maybe,” she conceded, “but you’re the youngest ever, and it doesn’t help that you look young.”

“You’re not about to call me boyish are you?”

She shrugged, smiling from ear to ear. “You look it in every interview. Young,” she reached up, trailing a finger over his jaw, “fresh faced… boyish…”

“I assure you darling,” he caught her wrist, twisting it to press a hot kiss to the sensitive skin, “that there is nothing remotely ‘boyish’ about me.”

“Really?” She shivered, letting her legal pad fall. It hit the floor with a soft thud. “Cause I have this picture in my head of a scrawny kid switching out the sugar for salt and catching a picture of his big brother’s faces.”

“Scrawny?” He gasped, mock offence etched in every inch of his face.

“Thin arms,” she nodded, “bony knees, and hair that sticks up in every direction. And of course that constant smirk that said trouble. I’m sure you remember me just as fondly.”

“I see a little girl with perfect curls and huge brown eyes, somehow always looking like a doll. Until she fell in the mud, anyway. I don’t recall you ever being scrawny.”

“You were at an elite boarding school and missed that phase,” her eyes sparkled. “And I remember you pushing me in the mud.”

“Technically I pulled,” he tilted his head. “You pushed me.”

“You pushed Rebekah,” she smiled, “I had to avenge my friend. And you were really skinny, so easy to push.”

“I assure you darling,” his voice dropped half an octave as he pressed her palm to his abdomen, “there’s nothing scrawny about me now.”

And she did not bite her lip because she could feel those abs that were still oh so lickable.

“Shall I show you?” Amusement danced in his eyes.

“Here?” Her fingers hooked in his belt loops. “And have the future President arrested for public indecency? Press will have a field day.”

“Only if we get caught,” he breathed, catching her chin with his finger.

His nose brushed hers and it would have been nothing to close that last inch, but before she could a door clicked down the hall and they were forced to separate.

He cleared his throat when there was a respectable distance between them and caught her dark eyes. “I can’t believe you’d bring all that up.”

“That’s what happens when you surround yourself with not new people,” she winked, hurrying to walk around him.

++++

She hooked her right leg over her left after toeing off the heel. It wasn’t like the bottom of her shoes were filthy, but there was always the chance that enough dust had collected to leave a telling line, and she couldn’t have that. Physical evidence wasn’t the point of teasing.

“So Elena,” Josh caught her attention from across the table, “did you get your article finished?”

“Almost,” she smiled her sweetest smile. In that moment, at this dinner, Josh was her new best friend, even if he didn’t know it. The seat he had snagged was the one she normally took, and while her skin ached for the covert touches that left her panting and barely able to string a sentence together sitting across the table had its own unique advantages.

And he was about to experience first hand what he had spent three months putting her through.

“I’ve got a couple of things left to proofread and then it goes off to my editor,” she cut a small piece off her chicken and popped it in her mouth.

“And I suppose you threw a few of those other details in,” he grinned, taking a drink.

“Other details,” Kol cocked an eyebrow, “what sort of details?”

“The truly sordid ones,” she let her eyes flicker over his features.

“What did you tell him?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“She might have mentioned a glitter bomb, and something about frogs,” Josh laughed. “You didn’t tell me you two knew each other.”

“Elena and I go way back,” Kol took a drink.

“We do,” she nodded, letting her toes make contact with his thigh. The response she got was priceless and as close to dropped composure as she would ever get in public, and she wanted to make his eyes pop open again. “Kol and I go all the way back to knobby knees and skinned elbows.”

He swallowed and caught her ankle, but her flexible toes curled and gently stroked his length.

“Knobby knees, huh?” Josh leaned an elbow on the table.

“I refuse to believe I ever had knobby knees,” Kol shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. He brought his hand up to the table and focused on cutting his food into bitesized pieces.

And if he held the knife a little tighter then strictly necessary nobody mentioned it.

Just like she didn’t mention how feeling him harden beneath her toes was having the same effect his hand had on her thigh.

“Deny all you like Mikaelson,” she bit the corner of her bottom lip, “but I’ve got pictures.”

“Let this be a lesson to you Josh,” his brow lowered as he caught Elena in his gaze, “never start a potentially life long friendship with a journalist.” He turned, giving his campaign manager a quick wink as he stage whispered. “They keep everything.”

“And twenty-eight years later write a tell-all detailing the time he pelted me with paint filled water balloons,” she raised her glass in salute.

“In defence,” he held out his hands, “the paint was water based and it was really hot that day.”

“I was wearing white,” she gasped with a dramatic little shriek. And no, she was not thinking about her retaliation and the way the coloured water had beaded on his bare chest. “Everybody could see through my sundress.”

“I replaced that dress…”

“Because Rebekah made you,” her eyes sparkled while her toes applied a light pressure to his length.

“And you were wearing a bathing suit underneath,” he leaned across the table, gesturing to her with his fork, “it’s not like anybody saw your underwear.”

“How old were you two when this happened?” Josh tilted his head.

“They had to have been kids,” Marcel joined in, grinning from ear to ear on Kol’s other side. “Must have been back when you had those knobby knees.”

“I don’t know,” Cami tilted her head, casting her eyes from Kol to Elena. “Water balloons sounds more like adolescent antics, maybe pre-adolescent.”

Dishes clinked as a busboy scurried behind them.

“Well,” Marcel prompted.

“Oh,” Elena tipped her head back in thought. It had been so long ago, but she distinctly remembered the warm tingling feeling that she had not gotten when he tore off his soaked t-shirt. “When was that?”

“It was after that year you shot up four inches and started dating that Salvatore,” he supplied, mouth twisting on the name.

“Right,” Elena nodded. “I was seventeen, and you were nineteen,” she levelled her fork in his direction and turned her head towards Cami. “I’m guessing that’s a little old to be pelting the baby sister and her besties with water balloons.”

“A little,” Cami laughed. “Tell me you at least gave as good as you got.”

“Oh, I gave,” she grinned, pressing down with her toes. His thigh clenched under her heel. “Rebekah, Caroline and I got hold of his ammunition and drenched him from head to toe,” she lifted her eyebrows. “Then he shoved Rebekah in the pool.”

“I was out of water balloons,” he shrugged.

Elena was pretty sure she saw his jaw pull with strain, so she eased the pressure and reigned it in to the lightest of touches that resulted in little more than a tickle; and dammit, if that tickle didn’t travel straight up her own leg.

“Water balloons, frogs, glitter…” Marcel tilted his head.

“Don’t forget the sugar/salt incident,” Elena chimed in.

“So, what I’m hearing,” Marcel leaned back and steepled his fingers, “ is that you were that kid.”

“What kid?” Kol’s brows lowered, but the smile stayed on his lips.

“A little shit,” Cami supplied, and from anyone else it probably would have come off as an insult but the psychologist said it with affection.

“I was not a little shit,” Kol scoffed.

“I’ve got a handful of people on speed dial who can confirm that you were,” Elena grinned, making to reach for her cell phone.

“Leave my siblings out of this,” he rolled his eyes, “and I’ll admit that I maybe, just maybe, I was that kid.”

“You were that kid,” she tilted her head, “and the only reason you wanna leave Rebekah out of it is because she’ll tell stories from boarding school that prove my point. Also I’ve got more than your siblings; Bonnie and Caroline would gladly take the stand.”

“How has none of what you know found its way to the masses?” Marcel shook his head.

“Because we’re friends,” Kol kept his eyes on Elena.

“Surprising after everything, that I assume is just the tip of the iceberg,” Cami waved a hand between them, “you did to her.”

“Like I said,” Elena smirked, “I always gave as good as I got. And it wasn’t all bad.”

“No?” Josh toyed with his water glass.

“Nah,” she nodded. “He did help me study for my SATs and stepped in when my escort pulled a disappearing act during the town pageant.”

“Did you win?” Marcel asked.

“My friend Caroline did,” Elena shook her head. “She was more qualified, though I think Kol’s abysmal dancing is what really knocked me out of the running.”

“Excuse me,” he scoffed, “I’m a wonderful dancer. And I think I excelled at the near touch,” his fingers traced the air just above her ankle, “and flirting with the eyes.”

“You sound like Mrs. Lockwood,” she laughed. “He also taught me how to cook a decent meal that wouldn’t give my boyfriend food poisoning.”

“If I’d known back then that it was for Salvatore,” his mouth twisted again, “I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“I take it you didn’t like this boyfriend,” Marcel caught the second grimace.

“Salvatore?” Cami mused. “Damon Salvatore? Your opponent?”

“Those two have been competing for years,” Elena took a drink of water, “but it was Damon’s younger brother Stefan.”

“Not that I liked Damon much either,” Kol swirled his drink in his glass. “He always looked at you in a way that I didn’t like.”

“You almost sound jealous,” Cami laughed.

“Damon was an ass,” Elena blinked slowly. Something had gone down between one of her best friends and Damon, and though Caroline never went into details about it she had gotten the sense that it was really bad. The second her friend told her she had broken things off with him and was happy she hadn’t been involved long enough to gain deep feelings. He was the definition of a two-faced politician and the basis for her rule.

She was pretty sure that rule was out the window; assuming it had even gone with her onto the bus.

“Speaking from experience?” Cami tilted her head.

“Two dates, and during each one he ordered for me,” her eyes narrowed at the memories. She had given him a second chance after the first date went badly, blaming it on what she thought were first date jitters, but after the second when she had opened up to Caroline and let the name, that her best friend confirmed was the ass from high school, out she stopped taking Damon’s calls. “Let me correct myself. Damon is an ass.”

“Bring it into the present tense,” Marcel nodded.

“Something about that guy’s face in interviews just makes me cringe,” Josh agreed.

“Might I suggest a toast to knocking him out of the race,” Elena raised her glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” Kol clinked glasses with her, holding her gaze over the crystal as everyone drank.

“Shouldn’t you actually knock him out of the race first?” Cami asked, reaching for her own glass and staring at the wine.

“Here’s to soon knocking him out of the race,” Elena amended.

Her abdomen clenched with the whispered promise in his eyes. She thought maybe, just maybe, her words referred to more than politics.

Dinner continued with a side of light teasing through dessert until she had to lower her foot and replace her shoe. She rose from the table in a single, fluid, motion with the rest of the party and had to bite her cheek to keep her smirk hidden when Kol remained in his seat.

“Are you coming, or spending the night at the restaurant?” Marcel cocked his head to the side.

“Just finishing my drink, mate.” The look he shot her promised torment as he reached for his glass.

“Looks more like you're nursing it,” Elena said, licking her bottom lip. She lifted her jacket from her chair and slipped it on.

“Well, darling, this bourbon is amazing,” he sipped the amber liquid and made a show of appreciating it. “Truly astounding.”

“Enjoy it then,” Josh rolled his eyes and laughed while gesturing towards Cami and Marcel, “we’ve got competitor speeches to go over.”

“And by that, he means that I do,” Cami winked at Elena. “Got to find their weak points.”

“So what do these two do?” Elena stage whispered, pointing rather obviously to the pair of them.

“Verbally insult the competition, drink expensive liquor and make my job ten times harder and infinitely more fun.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “It’s not a bad way to spend a Thursday evening. You wanna join us?”

“While that sounds like it would be highly amusing, and the chance to insult Damon Salvatore with like minded people is always welcome, I’ve actually got a little work of my own to finish up.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to drive with me instead,” Kol suggested. He stood from the table and folded his jacket over his arm to hold in front of his body while everyone watched Elena for a reaction.

“You’re gonna go way out of your way to drop her off at her hotel?” Marcel tilted his head.

Elena smiled softly.

“Since we’ve been in Washington the last few days and we’ll be here for at least another week, Rebekah offered me her apartment so I didn’t have to stay in a hotel. And since I was getting really sick of take out I jumped at the chance to have a full kitchen again.”

“And it had absolutely nothing to do with the king size bed, rain shower and jacuzzi tub,” Kol cocked an eyebrow.

“I never denied the tub was a draw,” she bit her lip as she smiled. “That thing would fit three people in it and has this sort of waterfall feature,” she looked at Cami while waving her hand in a sweeping arc. “Plus Bekah’s got the most amazing selection of scented candles, bubble baths and epsom salts, plus wine that I am encouraged to drink.”

“Damn,” Cami breathed, casting her blue eyes to Kol. “Do you think I can stay at your sister’s place? It beats my airbnb.”

“And the hotel by a mile,” Elena nodded.

“You’d have to take that up with Rebekah,” he nodded to Cami, “and it’s not out of my way. It’s very much in my way.”

“Rebekah lives on the floor below him,” Elena explained, “at least when she’s in town.”

“In that case, I guess we’ll leave you in Kol’s capable hands,” Marcel clapped him on the shoulder.

Elena lifted her eyes to stare up at the chandelier and bit her lip. “I suppose that would save me the cab, or asking any of you to go out of your way.”

“Elena,” Kol offered his arm, nodding to the others as they said goodbye.

She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and set off through the restaurant at a sedentary walk. Ahead of them Marcel held open the door for Cami. Josh stepped out last and the three of them disappeared down the street.

They weren’t far behind them and Kol steered her to walk up the street.

“Where did you park?” She rubbed her fingers in tight circles, feeling the tension in his coiled muscles.

His only answer was to take a sharp step to the left. He pulled her with him, yanking her almost violently to his body as his mouth covered hers hungrily.

And if another option existed outside of submitting to the cruel ravishment of her mouth she didn’t see it. And quite frankly she wasn’t sure she would have taken it because the way his tongue dominated hers made her toes curl in her high heels.

Not that he was affecting her.

Nope.

And she wasn’t clinging to his shirt for dear life.

Through her jacket she felt the impact of stone and the scratch of brick snagging her hair. The kisses shifted from punishing to searching, and she moaned into his mouth.

He ground against her hip and it was not having an affect on her.

No siree, no affect whatsoever.

She was most definitely not aroused enough to be dripping.

At least that was the story if Rebekah got wind of the incident and asked. But when he kissed her she definitely kissed him back, if only to see what it was like.

Why had it taken them so long to kiss?

Of course that excuse only worked the first time. She couldn't rationalize or deny how she carded her fingers through his short hair and hooked her leg around his waist.

She gasped for air, letting it fill her burning lungs the moment he pushed her further into the wall.

She had a sinking suspicion she would merge with the building material if she didn't merge with him and merging with him sounded like more fun.

“Kol,” she panted, biting her bottom lip.

He bit her throat in response, and that did get a response she could never deny. Her throaty moan could not be written off.

There was also going to be a mark on her throat.

Thank God for Caroline's obsessive packing that resulted in half a dozen stylish scarves.

“Kol,” she whimpered, rolling her hips. His length pressed deliciously against her. “I should really get back.”

“That eager to get away?” He growled, and damn if it didn't make her want to rip off his pristine white shirt and use that freaking tie to shut him up for a while. On second thought she might need two; one for his mouth and one for his hands.

Then again, she could use his belt for his hands. Or his tie for his hands and her ruined panties to shut him up; he’d probably love knowing just what he did to her body.

“I've got some work to do,” she ground down. Her hand held the back of his neck as she breathed hotly against his ear. “I thought you could look over my article.”

“Is that what you want me to look over?” He nipped at her ear.

“Amongst other things.”

@kol-and-elena-fanfiction @elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @cry-btch @geekofmanyfandoms @morsmornte @xanderling @bellemorte180 @iw1shiknew @blndbandt

#kol mikaelson #Elena gilbert #kolena #marcel gerard #camille o'connell #josh rosza #the vampire diaries #the originals #national anthem fanfic

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wrestlingisfake · 3 years

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Wrestle Kingdom 15 day 1 preview

Tetsuya Naito vs. Kota Ibushi - Naito is defending the IWGP heavyweight championship and the IWGP intercontinental championship. Whoever holds the two titles after this match will go on to defend them against Jay White on day 2 of Wrestle Kingdom, on January 5.

Naito and Ibushi haven’t met in a singles match since June 9, 2019, when Ibushi lost the intercontinental title to Naito in a match filled with rather dangerous spots. The point of that match was that both men wanted to hold the intercontinental title long enough to also win the heavyweight belt at Wrestle Kingdom 14. The obsession with being a double champion culminated in the “Double Gold Dash” mini-tournament, where Naito went 2-0 to win both belts and Ibushi went 0-2, losing in the first round and the consolation match with Jay White.

Since then, Ibushi mounted a major comeback by winning the G1 Climax tournament, earning a Wrestle Kingdom title shot. However, he lost his title match contract in a match against White on November 7. Luckily, Naito decided he wanted to wrestle matches on each night of Wrestle Kingdom, and he concluded that Ibushi was still the logical choice for the other title match. (Ibushi did still win the G1, after all, even if he lost his reward for doing it.)

I’m very worried these guys are going to do sick bumps on their necks, as in the June 2019 match. Both of them have a bad reputation for doing scary shit. After the last time I was like “that was really good, please never wrestle again.” It’s been 19 months (six years in 2020 time) and I’m just now starting to be like “maybe potentially it would be okay to come back with this match, but be careful.” I don’t really expect them to be careful--these are two guys who always have something to prove, and now they’re going to particularly want to prove they can tear the house down during a pandemic in a stadium show where fans aren’t allowed to shout.

It feels to me like the natural arc of this storyline is for Ibushi to rebound from last year’s defeats by finally winning the titles and finally avenging his losses to Jay White. But...I expected Kota to go sweep the Double Gold Dash last year, and look what happened. So I go into this first title match with no confidence that either man is a lock to advance to the second one. Even when one guy looks to be heading for the finish, I’m going to believe one sudden counter can change everything.

Will Ospreay vs. Kazuchika Okada - Ospreay is the RPW British heavyweight champion, but it looks like the title is not at stake in this match. When Ospreay originally issued the challenge for this match, I could’ve sworn he demanded that Okada put his career on the line, but I guess everybody just ignored that.

This feud began on October 16, when Ospreay was still a member of Okada’s stable, CHAOS, and they met in a G1 Climax tournament match. Bea Priestley and the Great-O-Khan interfered to help Ospreay win, whereupon he turned on Okada to start his own faction, the Empire. If I went back in time to 2019 and told myself all this was going to happen, past me would assume it’d be way cooler than it’s turned out to be. (Past me would nonetheless wonder why they’re rehashing the Okada vs. Jay White storyline.) For years I’ve wanted to see the creation of a totally new faction in NJPW, but the Empire hasn’t lived up to my expectations.

If nothing else, this match itself should be good. I’m just not convinced anything big will come of it. If Okada wins, it kind of maintains the status quo where 2021 Ospreay is at the same level as 2020 Ospreay, except he’s a heel. If Ospreay wins, he gets the rub from Okada but he still has to prove it’s not a fluke like EVIL’s middling run as a top heel. The easiest way to sidestep all this is to distract everyone with a big angle, like doing a run-in finish with a new guy joining Ospreay’s group. But I’d rather just see a clean match where the guy getting the next push wins clean.

I’ve learned to avoid betting against Okada, and Ospreay’s heel run hasn’t given me a good enough reason to break from that policy. At least not on this show...

Hiroshi Tanahashi vs. Great-O-Khan - There’s not much to this one. O-Khan basically beat up Tanahashi a couple of times during the World Tag League & Best of the Super Jr. tour last month. O-Khan’s gimmick is that he’s a new badass in the tradition of “Mongolian wild man” characters. Tanahashi’s storyline, for what feels like forever, is that he was the best but he’s old now and his knees are shot and everybody keeps beating up his knees. So for the 800th time Tana has to prove he can still hang in there with the top guys in the world.

A win for O-Khan would probably be considered a big upset, but I think that’s tainted by how hard they’ve tried to sell that Tana is practically on life support. Moreover, it doesn’t really feel like they want to push O-Khan that hard--he seems more like an enforcer type than a future main eventer--so I’m not sure he even needs this win for the role he’s slotted into. Tanahashi, on the other hand, really needs a singles victory, if only to build him back up for the next time they do the “does Tana still have it?” story. So I guess I’m picking Tanahashi to win.

KENTA vs. Satoshi Kojima - Kenta is defending his “right to challenge” contract for a future title match for the IWGP United States championship. This match was originally booked as Kenta against Juice Robinson, but an orbital bone fracture took Juice off the show. On any other year, New Japan could probably arrange a more impressive substitute. But the pandemic and travel restrictions have limited their options, so they’re making do with 50-year-old Kojima.

The IWGP US title has not been defended since February 9, 2020, when Jon Moxley retained against Minoru Suzuki. Moxley’s commitments to AEW are such that he cannot wrestle a New Japan match in the US, and he can’t fly to Japan long enough to satisfy Japan’s 14-day quarantine policy. Rather than simply vacate the championship due to inactivity, New Japan has politely ignored the situation in favor of booking Kenta to win this contract in a nifty red briefcase. I had believed that meant a plan for Mox vs. Kenta was in the works, but as the months went by it became clearer that they couldn’t make it happen. So it looked like Kenta vs. Juice for the contract was the next best thing, and now we don’t even get that.

Kojima was a top guy back in the 2000s, so I don’t mean to be dismissive of him. But whereas 50+ legends are pushed as unbeatable gods in the US, in Japan they tend to be positioned to put guys over as they slowly accept the twilight of their careers. Which is fine, to have the old lion prove come back to prove he can hang in there with a guy in his prime. But they’ve been telling that story constantly with 44-year-old Tanahashi, so doing it again with Kojima feels like overkill. I suppose an upset win is at least possible, but it would certainly shock the hell out of me.

Zack Sabre Jr. & Taichi vs. Tama Tonga & Tanga Loa - Dangerous Tekkers (Sabre and Taichi) are defending the IWGP heavyweight tag team championship. The Guerillas of Destiny (Tonga and Loa) won the 2020 World Tag League tournament to earn this match.

For a long time I was thinking the tag title match at Wrestle Kingdom would be David Finlay and Juice Robinson against either GOD or the Tekkers, but I have to admit this match is more interesting. It feels like every tag title match in New Japan is a straightforward babyface vs. heel dynamic, whereas the singles title matches can have more shades of grey. So a heel vs. heel tag title match feels fresh. We’ve seen Sabre and Taichi get heat on every face team available, so how will they adapt when their opponents are pulling dirtier tricks than they do?

These teams met during World Tag League last month, and the Tekkers actually played babyface a bit, which was interesting. Actually, I get the feeling the Japanese fans have been warming up to Suzuki-gun in general, and Taichi in particular had a cult following for years. Maybe an exceptionally valiant battle here can turn Sabre and Taichi all the way?

The story for the Guerillas is that, despite their numerous tag title reigns, they had never won World Tag League or walked out of the Tokyo Dome with the tag titles; now they’ve finally got their WTL trophies, so there’s one thing left to do. If they do win the belts, I’m hoping it will lead to rematches that keep Dangerous Tekkers in the mix. My fear is that this will be the end of the Tekkers’ run as a team, and it’ll just be GOD vs. FinJuice for a whole year, which doesn’t grow the tag division as well as having three top teams. Of course, if Sabre and Taichi just win, I don’t have to worry about that, so I guess I’m rooting for them.

Hiromu Takahashi vs. El Phantasmo - Takahashi won the 2020 Best of the Super Jr. tournament, and ELP won the 2020 Super J-Cup tournament; the winner of this match will challenge the IWGP junior heavyweight champion, Taiji Ishimori, on January 5.

I kinda wish this match wasn’t a qualifier for tomorrow’s title bout, because it’s fresher and more compelling than Takahashi vs. Ishimori would be. (ELP vs. Ishimori would be interesting, except that I’d expect Phantasmo to just lay down for his buddy.) I’m pretty sure Hiromu and Phantasmo have never met one-on-one before, and ELP’s super-douche style should be very different than anything Hiromu’s lol-random style has contended with.

Phantasmo is one of those heels that trolls so hard I can’t even get mad at what he does, but I get sick of him trying so hard, so I guess it all works out and I hate his guts and want him to lose really badly. But this will be his first match back in Japan since the pandemic, so it feels too soon for him to do a job. So I could see this one going either way, if not for thinking Takahashi challenging for the junior title is the obvious destination. Gotta go with Hiromu on this one.

New Japan Ranbo - This is a gauntlet battle royale, with two wrestlers starting and each additional wrestler entering at timed intervals. Participants may be eliminated at any time by pinfall, submission, or exiting the ring over the top rope. When all but four wrestlers have been eliminated, the match ends and those final four advance to another match on January 5 to determine possession of the KOPW 2021 trophy.

New Japan does this type of match all the time for Wrestle Kingdom (usually with just one winner, not four), and I always thought it was called “New Japan Rumble,” but someone was mistranslating something. Turns out “ranbo” is literally a Japanese word that can mean “riot.” So we all learned something today!

I’m not certain how many participants are supposed to be in this. I think I read 21 somewhere, but even if I did I wouldn’t trust any hard number. If they have everybody pencilled in a month ago and then the day of the show they get an idea to put, I dunno, Captain New Japan in there, they’ll just do it. The main thing is that anybody who doesn’t have a regular match on this show or tomorrow’s show will probably be on the short list for this one. The biggest names that I think we can expect would be Tomohiro Ishii, Toru Yano, Hirooki Goto, YOSHI-HASHI, El Desperado, SHO, Bad Luck Fale, BUSHI, and maybe Minoru Suzuki.

The gimmick where you just have to make it to the last four in the ring should make the finish a bit more unpredictable. Ordinarily I woudn’t expect, say, Tomoaki Honma to win a match like this. But it’s not going to make or break tomorrow’s four-way if one or two guys are curtain jerkers or joke guys. With that in mind I think this match is impossible to predict. But I guess my dream lineup for the four-way match tomorrow would be...let’s see...Yano, Suzuki, Toa Henare...and let’s go with Yoshi-Hashi to win the KOPW trophy to start 2021 off weird.

#njpw #wrestle kingdom 15 #tetsuya naito #kota ibushi

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senpai-no-lie · 4 years

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Cindered Shadows DLC

After completing my first playthrough of 3H, I decided it would be a good idea to play through the sidestory so I could collect the DLC supports in a timely manner. I’ll outline my general-ish thought about the sidestory and the DLC characters and then if I have more that pops into my mind, I’ll put it under the read more.

Overall:

I had assumed, based on the price, and general idea in my mind that each chapter equates to about an hour or so of gameplay, I figured the DLC would be around 9 to 10 chapters; I had no preconceptions about the plot. And well, for my money’s sake, I’m disappointed the sidestory was only 7 chapters, but for my engagement level, I’m glad it was only 7 chapters lol. As I said in a previous post, the plot felt fairly cookie-cutter, and outside of the uptick in difficulty (I played it on normal/casual because I am a casual and don’t like being frustrated for fun, in general), and maybe getting to know the new DLC characters, there wasn’t as much as I was expecting to enjoy. I would’ve preferred maps to expand existing routes, to be frank, or even further fanbase pandering by bringing back previous games’ characters, even as NPCs. (Also that Awakening pandering tho with the DLC classes)

Characters:

Yuri: He wasn’t as much of a Leon-copycat as I had assumed. Still not nuts about his character design, but I liked his personality and his English VA did great. I thought he played off all the other characters well, especially Ashe, and it’s a shame he and Ashe don’t have a support chain.

Balthus: He was my favorite, which came as a surprise to me! I knew I’d like him since he’s a brawns over brain milf-lover, but he’s a funny guy and I enjoy his backstory with Hilda. I am a big fan of the stupid-looking punching relic.

Constance: She was the character I was expecting to like the most, but I loathed her split-personality shtick. I don’t know if there’s some in-support explanation why she’s like that, but it sort of ruined her character for me. I had assumed she’d be more like Owain/Odin, high theatrics and bravado but a good person all-around, but she’s actually a reverse Noire? I would of much preferred if her sunlight personality was less self-depreciating and more shy, if they really had to go with that angle. I’ve always liked the Dark Flier class, but I wasn’t particularly impressed with her performance.

Hapi: She just felt there the duration of the DLC. I didn’t get a good read of her personality, outside of sighing spawns beasts and she’s a bit of a dry person. I usually am all about magic users and mounted units, but Hapi legit never pulled her weight for me; her speed left something to be desired, and she was always getting nuked. Personally, I think instead of having her as a Valkierye (which inherently seems very similar to Dark Knight to me, outside of access to black magic, I guess, when faith/reason can be used by any unit with magical abilities) was a so-so decision; I think it would have been more interesting to bring back the Witch class for her. Giving her the warp ability but lock Witch class out of faith magic, perhaps.

A Bulleted Assortment of My Thoughts

Ugh, Edelgard as a Fortress Knight To be frank, I do not like that class (I have no room in my heart for units who can’t double and will crumple like a paper bag against magical attacks) on top of my lukewarm feelings for Edelgard. Low movement and low speed meant I didn’t really use her much until the final chapter

Fuck Yeah, Dimitri on a Horse As I love horse-mounted units, I was very excited to have Dimitri on a horse. He did great; he and Ashe were consistently my MVPs

I like who they included in the roster for the DLC; the three house leaders were to be expected, but opting for Linhardt and Ashe was cool instead of doing the retainer trio too. I think Lin was a good choice for lore-dumping and he can breezily ignore Edelgard’s quips against him

I knew Alferic was Bad Because He Was Ugly There is a general theme to FE that they’ll introduce seemingly pious/good characters (males) that are older/not conventionally attractive and surprise surprise they’re evil. So I called it immediately with Alferic because they were hamming up how good he was so much and I looked at him and thought “hmm, ugly”

When Balthus punched Yuri after finishing chapter 7... nice. I always like “Lemme see you grit those teeth” moments a la Gurren Lagann

God it is So Obvious Every Cutscene is Characters Standing in A Circle. I noticed this in the main story, but it just felt most obvious and obnoxious in the DLC because there’s not a single animation sequence. I liked the still art they used, but it would’ve been nice if I didn’t have to stare at Hapi “talking” with her mouth not moving quite so much

I really hate sunlight Constance Who does that appeal to? Do people find her berating herself funny?

The final chapter took me two tries, until I figured out how to use gambits (Googled strategies for the chapter lol) an then I blew through it in 5 turns.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three house #fe 3h #fire emblem 3h #fire emblem dlc #fire emblem three houses dlc #fire emblem cindered shadows #my opinions about fire emblem

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nicolewrites · 4 years

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something cold and something new

Needed to write something soft and not school related so here you go folks. This takes place in a universe where they spend more time in Fhirdiad (the winter) before heading to Derdriu. For example, assume that Edelgard needs more time to reorganize her forces after Gronder.

Rating: K+/G Genre: Friendship, Romance Characters: [Byleth/My Unit, Dimitri B.], the Blue Lions Words: 3,866

AO3 | FFN

Fhirdiad is cold.

Byleth hates the cold. She hates the permeating chill of the stone walls of the palace and the frost that creeps across the inside and outside of the window panes. She hops from mantle to mantle, trying to keep warm in front of the fire subtly enough that she does not draw attention to herself.

She takes the chair closest to the hearth in the dining room and the chair furthest from the long row of windows in the war room. She closes curtains and wears as many layers as she can afford to without looking bulky. And she's still cold.

Of course, the Blue Lions don't seem to react to the cold. Sylvain is from the furthest north and if his stories are anything to go by, he once spent a night in the cold with no protection so Byleth is not surprised to see him wandering about the palace in his usual wear. Felix and Ingrid also seem unphased as they simply trade their thinner layers for more insulated cloaks they appear to carry at all times.

Annette complains a bit, but Felix lends her a coat and afterward, she clams up for almost three days straight, red to the tip of her ears. Mercedes has her own coat, but she hovers around fires as well, a habit leftover from her time growing up in the Empire. Dedue doesn't seem to be affected beyond the occasional shiver due to a gust of wind and Ashe seems to enjoy the chill, appreciating the drifting of snowflakes and the puffs of air from their breaths.

If Dedue and Sylvain are unaffected by the cold, Dimitri thrives in it. The chill seems to bolster his mood and give him more energy. He's animated as he contributes in war meetings and his chin is held high throughout the whole day. He looks more like the prince Byleth knew before the war started and she knows it is partly due to their success in taking back Fhirdiad from Cornelia.

She only wishes she could enjoy Dimitri's good mood, but she can't because she's so damn cold.

- ~ -

Observant as ever, Mercedes is the first to notice.

"Hello Professor," the healer greets softly as she walks into the study Byleth has been using.

Byleth glances up as she enters and cringes. She's currently wearing a jacket and has a blanket draped over her lap and she's still shivering. Mercedes just smiles sweetly and drifts across the room. She places the tray she had been holding on Byleth's desk and pours her a cup of tea.

"Can I help you, Mercedes?" Byleth asks.

Mercedes laughs lightly. "This is a cinnamon ginger tea. It warms you up fairly well and I thought a cup of it might help you stay warmer."

Byleth feels her ears burn a little as she takes the teacup from her former student. "Am I that obvious?"

Mercedes shakes her head and pours herself a cup of tea, settling into the chair across from Byleth. "Not at all, Professor, I'm just good at noticing things like that. It's my job, after all."

Byleth laughs a bit as she sips the tea. The water is scalding, but the spice bites through and floods her with warmth. She pulls it back and blows across the surface, appreciating its aroma for a little bit. "I feel a bit foolish, to be honest," she confesses. "We had done work in Faerghus before, but never in the winter so I never realized how cold it truly got here."

Mercedes nods. "Growing up in House Bartels, it was never this cold. It was only after I came to the School of Sorcery I really learned what winter was like. I'm still not great with the cold, but layers and tea can do wonders for you when you're not moving about."

Byleth sips her tea again. The spice blend is sharp but pleasant and she does feel a bit warmer already. "I've already gone through so much firewood in my room I fear the servants think I'm some kind of hot-blooded demon."

Mercedes giggles lightly. "Of course they don't, Professor. But, if you're really suffering from the chill in your room, you might want to ask Felix for some advice. He cold-proofed Annie's room and he did quite a good job, I might add."

Byleth raises an eyebrow. "Felix and Annette? What's going on there?"

Mercedes hums lightly into her own tea with a smile. "More than either of them care to admit, but Annie's terribly shy and we all know how Felix is with emotions."

Byleth smiles. "You are probably too perceptive for your own good, Mercedes. But, on the other hand, I don't know where we'd be without you either."

- ~ -

She finds Felix in the training hall, slashing away at a training dummy. He's right where she expects him to be. She pauses in the entrance and watches his lightning-fast sword work. He knocks the dummy flat on its back and finishes by frying it with a snap of his fingers and a bolt of lightning from a Thunder spell. He's breathing quite heavily when he turns and finds her watching him.

"What do you want?" he demands. Felix jabs his sword back into its sheath and folds his arms.

Byleth picks up a training sword from the rack and tests its balance. "I have a favour to ask of you, but I figured we could spar first."

He narrows his eyes but draws his sword again. "A favour?"

They begin to circle each other, swords at the ready. Byleth jabs quickly and he parries, matching her for speed. He slashes and she sidesteps and counterattacks, forcing him to step back.

"If I beat you, I'll ask you," Byleth says. She doesn't see the reason to be humiliated by Felix twice–once in defeat and once for admitting weakness–when it could be for one or the other.

"What kind of duel were you thinking?" he questions as he tests a jab against her defences.

Byleth spins and summons a bolt of white energy above her palm, flashing it forward. Felix rolls out of the way of her Nosferatu and a grin edges up his face. He charges at her quickly and Byleth dodges the blows of his sword and then all the hair on her arms stands on end. On instinct, she rolls to the right and his Thoron spell scorches the ground where she had been standing before.

The sparks catch on her cloak and Byleth curses as the hem of it bursts into flame. She rips it from her shoulders and stamps it into the dirt, smothering the flames. The fire disappears quickly and Byleth grumbles as she scoops it up from the ground. She tries to stop the goosebumps from rising on her arms, but the loss of her cloak's warmth along with the sudden lack of warmth due to exertion has her shivering unintentionally.

A few feet away, Felix watches her, his sword lowered. He looks more amused than annoyed as he assesses her. "You'll never be able to fight well with a cloak like that, Professor," he points out.

Byleth sighs and pulls it back on, lifting her blade. "I'm aware," she replies coolly.

Felix doesn't make a move to fight her again and Byleth drops her sword back to her side and frowns.

"You're not much for our winters, are you?" he asks after a moment.

"No," Byleth admits. "I had actually come here hoping to ask you to help me like you did Annette."

Felix's ears turn pink at the mention of Annette and he pivots, heading for the weapon rack. "Cover the base of your windows, keep coals smouldering in your hearth, and keep your curtains drawn as much as you can. There are probably heavier curtains too if you ask around."

His advice is curt and simple enough and Byleth's lips twitch at the simple and Felix-like response.

"Thank you," she says to him and he just grunts in reply, still very interested in the rack of weapons.

- ~ -

Byleth volunteers for a routine scouting mission with Ashe and Ingrid a week later. She's been basically holed up inside the castle for the last week and a bit and she had been going slightly stir-crazy inside. Ingrid flies ahead on her pegasus while Byleth and Ashe ride along more leisurely on horseback.

Ashe has a scarf wrapped around his neck with the bottom half of his face obscured as he hunches a bit to shield his pink cheeks. Byleth is wearing a borrowed scarf from Dedue that Mercedes had procured for her when Byleth had asked to borrow something warm. Ingrid, above them, is dressed in a few more layers, but despite the frigid air while in flight, she seems perfectly at home.

Byleth shakes her head as she watches the Falcon Knight fly gracefully ahead of them.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Ashe asks, following her gaze. He chuckles lightly. "I don't know how they carry on like they're not even a little cold. I'd be totally frozen up there."

Byleth glances at him and Ashe lifts his chin so she can see the shy smile on his face. "When I was on the streets I got used to being cold, but I've been away from the north at the monastery for a while so I almost forgot what it was like, honestly," he admits.

Byleth turns her gaze back to Ingrid. "You've noticed I don't take the cold too well too, then?"

"Well, Professor, it did take me up to the moment that Mercedes gave you that scarf. I had almost completely forgotten you weren't even originally from Faerghus lands. The climate at the monastery is much warmer than most of the Kingdom."

Byleth fights off a chill as a stronger wind blows by, ruffling her hair. She tucks her chin further into her borrowed scarf and frowns. "I should be more used to this by now," she mumbles. "We've been here for a while and I know that Gilbert wants us to stay until this latest storm is over before we head back to the monastery."

"Don't feel bad, Professor. Just because some of us are more used to the cold, doesn't mean we like it any more than you do," Ashe reminds gently.

Byleth chuckles. "No, I suppose that's true enough."

"Professor! Ashe!"

Their attention is quickly caught by Ingrid as she swoops down, a frown marring her pretty features. Byleth and Ashe pull their mounts to a stop and stare at the Falcon Knight curiously. Ingrid pulls to a stop a few feet away, staying off the snow-covered ground.

"Looks like that bandit troupe we caught word of is camped up ahead. There's only a few of them, but we can go back for reinforcements if we need to."

Byleth exhales and slides off her horse. She ties her reins to a nearby bush and starts unlatching some of her gear. "We came out here to find them and they may be long gone by the time we return with reinforcements."

The snow is ankle-deep and cold as it soaks through her boots and her pants. Byleth refuses to let her discomfort show as she slings her bow over her back and attaches her sword to her hip. Ashe also dismounts, pulling his quiver, bow and lance free. Ingrid stays mounted and her frown deepens.

"The snow won't be an issue?" she asks.

Byleth shakes her head. It's cold, sure, but she refuses to let that get in the way of her duty. "Let's get this over with quickly. It's one less thing to worry about before we have to head back to Garreg Mach."

She heads out in the direction Ingrid had returned from and both of her former students follow her after a moment. She sees the bandits' fire before she sees them. She pulls her bow out and strings an arrow, taking aim at one of the silhouettes she spies in beside the flame. Beside her, Ashe does the same.

They let their arrows fly in unison and two of the figures fall without a sound. There's a flurry of chaos in the camp as they seem to realize they are under attack. Opponents scramble for weapons and Byleth vaults over the fallen log in front of her, breaking for their camp. Ingrid swoops down, her lance gleaming as she strikes. Ashe lets another arrow fly and Byleth throws herself into the battle.

She cuts down two more bandits quite easily. As she pulls her sword free, she turns, assessing the remaining few. Ingrid is handling herself fine and Ashe has moved in closer but is still using his bow and his agility to counter close-ranged opponents effectively. Byleth's gaze continues and she notices a figure breaking the outside of the circle, heading into the forest. Without hesitating, she follows the figure quickly, her hand curled tightly around her blade.

The snow slows her down, but she still manages to gain some ground on her opponent. When she has a clear line of sight on him, she sends a sharp burst of flame outwards, sending him sprawling. She has effectively chased him out of the woods into a snow-covered clearing. Byleth approaches the downed figure slowly, just in case he's staying down as a trick.

She hears rustling in the trees behind her and risks a glance back to see Ingrid and Ashe have followed her. Ashe scans the clearing warily and his green eyes widen suddenly.

"Professor!" he yells. "Get off the ice!"

Byleth barely has a second to register the warning. Confusion flares through her at the word 'ice' because she's standing on the snow-covered ground. Before she can take another step there's an ominous groaning sound and her chest tightens.

She hadn't chased her foe into a clearing. She had chased him straight onto a frozen lake.

Byleth steps back towards the trees and hears another low creaking sound so she stops. Ashe is standing at the edge of the clearing where he has apparently discerned where the lake begins. Ingrid is flying toward her on her pegasus, brow knit in concentration. Byleth slowly lowers herself to the ground, trying to disperse her weight as her father had once taught her.

Ingrid is above her now and reaching out with her hand. Byleth shifts, moving to grab her former student's hand. There's a louder crack below her and just as Byleth's ungloved fingers grasp at Ingrid's gloved hands, the ice gives out.

The water is freezing as it envelops her and Byleth nearly screams at the shock of the cold. The water is dark and consuming and she flails furiously in the direction she thinks is up. She can see a muddle glimpse of light above her and can faintly hear yelling. Finally, after a furiously long second, her head breaks the surface and the cool air stings against her soaked skin.

Byleth lifts a hand and Ingrid grasps it immediately, pulling her quickly the rest of the way out of the water. Her clothes stick to her body immediately and she can feel them biting at the remaining warmth she has. Byleth coughs and gasps and Ingrid flies them precariously over to the edge of the lake.

The two women stumble off the pegasus and Ingrid immediately rips off Byleth's drenched cloak. Ashe immediately replaces it with his own dry, fur-lined cloak. Byleth can barely feel the change in warmth. She's shivering so hard she can barely see and the cold is still clinging to her every limb. She feels sluggish and half-dead and her chest aches.

"If I fly her back, I'm afraid that the winds will freeze her solid," Ingrid says to Ashe. Byleth can barely hear her. It feels like there is cotton pressed in her ears, muffling all sound.

She sways on her feet as the world blurs around her. She feels a set of arms wrap around her and she can barely make out Ashe's voice asking her something, but the words are lost in her haze. Her vision tunnels and she collapses, the sound fading out completely.

- ~ -

When she wakes up, she feels weighed down. Byleth stares at the warm pink of her eyelids for a moment before she musters the strength to open her eyes. She finds herself staring at the ceiling of the infirmary back inside the castle. She blinks slowly before allowing her eyes to take in the rest of her situation.

She's lying on a hospital bed covered in at least three heavy quilts. The curtains in the room are drawn shut and there's a fire crackling in the hearth. There's a large silhouette standing in front of the fire and it takes Byleth an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that it is Dimitri.

She shifts in the bed and tries to sit up. Dimitri wheels towards her, hearing her movement and his good eye widens when they make eye contact. He crosses the room to her side in three steps and reaches for her with large, warm hands.

"Professor, please! Stay lying down," he instructs.

Byleth frowns and tries to sit up anyways. Dimitri sighs and recognizes the futility of his request. He slides his hands to her arms and gently lifts her into a sitting position. He reaches behind her and adjusts her pillow so she can be leaning against it.

Byleth purses her lips at the overwhelming concern in Dimitri's expression. His hands linger on her pillow and he scans her face nervously.

"Dimitri," she says gently. "I'm okay."

He frowns. "You almost weren't, Professor, so you'll have to forgive me for my concern."

Byleth pulls one of her hands free from the mountain of blankets she's under. She reaches for his hand and curls her fingers through his. "I'm okay," she repeats.

"Your hands are still cold," he murmurs softly. Dimitri withdraws his hands and detaches the heavy mantle draped over his shoulders. He leans in close and pulls it around her shoulders.

Byleth instinctively shivers as the warm fabric wraps around her, chasing away the lingering chills of her body. Dimitri sits on the edge of the bed and runs his hands over his cloak over her shoulders. He stares into her face, still looking frustratingly worried.

Byleth reaches up and gently touches his hands where they lie on her shoulder. "Thank you, Dimitri," she says quietly.

His gaze softens. "Of course, Professor," he replies.

He leans away after a moment, his ears pink, and drops his gaze down to her lap. Byleth drops her hands to his and grips them, relishing in their warmth.

"If the cold had truly been bothering you, you could have returned to Garreg Mach," he says after a moment of silence.

Byleth laughs. "And leave you here alone? That sounds like a recipe for disaster."

"Mercedes mentioned she noticed it had been affecting you," Dimitri points out.

Byleth shrugs. "I guess we never spent much of the winter in the Kingdom when I was growing up. My father never liked the cold either."

Dimitri shakes his head. "I suppose I missed the signs even when they were right there. The cold reminds me of home," he admits. He glances toward the window where the curtains are drawn tightly shut to keep the chill out. "My father used to play in the snow with me." He closes his eyes as he reminisces. "It was the most relaxed I ever saw him when we were out there. My mother thought we were ridiculous, but I loved it."

Byleth smiles and squeezes his hands. "You've been happy here and I'm glad to see it. I'll go back to the monastery with everyone else after the storm," she says firmly.

Dimitri sighs. "I suppose that makes the most sense now, but please, Professor, don't go standing on anymore frozen lakes."

Byleth huffs a breath. "If I had known it was there, I wouldn't have done it."

Dimitri laughs lightly and Byleth's chest tightens at the sound. "Even so, you had us all very worried." His smile drops as he remembers. "Professor, do you know that you don't have a heartbeat? You have a pulse but there's no heartbeat. When Mercedes couldn't find your heartbeat we were all so worried until she found a pulse." Dimitri shakes his head again. "How is this even possible?"

Byleth bites her lower lip. She wishes she could answer him and take away the worry that is still wreathed around him. "I don't know," she admits. "But, I've always been like this. Maybe it's the reason the cold affected me so quickly with the water."

Dimitri ponders that. "I suppose. Mercedes was saying that hypothermia can be worsened by poor blood flow and if your lack of heartbeat limits that, it would make sense."

The clock above the mantle chimes and they both look toward it, startled. Dimitri tenses as he notices the time and he sighs deeply.

"You have work to continue," Byleth guesses. By the rueful glance he gives her, she knows she's right. She squeezes his hands again before reaching to remove his cloak.

Dimitri catches her hands before she can remove it. "Keep it, please. I'll feel less worried about the cold affecting you if you have it."

Byleth smiles. "Alright," she agrees. "You should go."

Dimitri shifts his weight off the bed, standing, and glances at the clock once more. "Please take care, Professor. I can come back later tonight, if you would like some company."

Byleth reaches up, pulling herself further out of her blanket cocoon, and grabs Dimitri's arm. She pulls him down far enough so that she can gently press a kiss to his cheek. His face flushes almost immediately, but he doesn't immediately spring away from her. Instead, his gaze turns impossibly gentle and he leans forward to press his lips to the top of her forehead. He pulls back after that and Byleth notes the subtle flush to his cheeks.

She hides a small smile. "Don't work too hard, Dimitri, there's plenty of things we have left to accomplish."

He is partway to the door when he hears her and he pauses, looking back over his shoulder at her bundled in blankets and his cloak. "I'll have to look into cold-proofing the castle more so that we can come back here because, as you said, we have a whole future ahead of us."

The words are more optimistic than anything that Dimitri has said for months and they warm Byleth much more effectively than any blanket could. The gentle affection in his eyes and the scent of him that clings to his cloak cause her own cheeks to warm as the words die on her lips and Dimitri slips out of the room, leaving her alone with the crackling fire.

"I wonder what future you see for us," Byleth whispers to the quiet room, pulling Dimitri's cloak tight around her shoulders. It is still warm and for the first time since arriving in Fhirdiad, Byleth doesn't feel cold.

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thisartofeveryday · 4 years

Text

For those of you who thought I should make my life story into a book…here is the outline. For the sake of clarity as you are reading, let me explain who the characters are. The kids from my Dads first marriage: Jim1, Patty, Seana. The kids from my Mom’s (Mary Ellen) first marriage: Mary Jane and Jim2. My brother that I am a full sibling to is Charles (chuck).

I think you might know that 95% of our lives are lived from the unconscious mind. From birth to age 7 a childs mind is in Theta wave (hypnosis) and everything that they learn in those years (mainly through observation and repetition) is the program that their minds run for their entire lives. Knowing this – I look back on the first 7 years of my life.

I think we moved 7 times in those 7 years. I am certain it was because of Dads extreme anger management problems and the fact that he is a sociopath, a pedophile and a rapist. Zero stability or chance to make lasting friendships. My dad was sexually abusing me and unpredictably violent. I was terrified of him. I was being terrorized/bullied by my brother, Chuck, who was every bit the sociopath that my dad is. My mom was overwhelmed by the number of children she was responsible for - none of which she actually wanted- and add to that, her husband was sexualizing all of the kids, so really being the last of her kids I was the last of her problems. Being the youngest (and as traumatized as I was), I was quiet and easy to forget about or push to the side. The older kids were the ones in the spotlight and where all the attention went. They were enrolled in activities and they were more the same age, so they were a unit. I was just an observer of them. I felt so left out and forgotten. Always.

I was a mistake and a burden (dads exact words to me on my 11th birthday). Mom made sure I knew that she thought I was mentally retarded- she would joke about it all the time. (I guess she never made peace with her sister being autistic) She also loved humiliating me even when I made it clear she was hurting me. Remember her sausage fingers joke or how many years I got called Boomer? I absolutely hated both of those things, made it clear, and yet she refused to give up the name calling and humiliation. There was very little respect for my personal boundaries. Dad would assault me in the middle of the night and I would wet the bed out of fear- then he would make me sleep in it to teach me a lesson. Mom would do nothing to help me, though she was awake in the middle of the night when I would work up the courage to go into their room to ask for help. She let him treat me like that. Goddamn…I remember the night terrors and being scared to be in my room at night because the scary man was sitting in the rocking chair, in the dark, next to my bed.

I have a memory of being in the garage in our house in South Windsor. I was playing with our basset hound, General…I was crawling around on the floor and the dog mounted me and was dry humping me. Dad got this sick laugh and let it happen. Mom walked in and got mad at him, but did nothing to help me. My personal boundaries were nonexistent. Nobody was protecting me from him. I remember him eating the food off my plate at dinner…or kissing me on the ear or touching me when I would tell him I hated it and to stop. I remember the baths dad would have me take with him and how he taught me to touch and work his dick. I remember the photos he would take of me after the bath. I remember being 7 years old and trying to lay on his bed and be sexy enough for him. I remember kissing mom passionately the way that dad taught me to and mom getting upset and asking me where I learned that. I remember having a baby doll that I drew all over, angrily, with lipstick. I remember being scared because my ass was bleeding and I told mom while her brother and sisters were visiting and she shushed me and scurried me away. I remember him also beating the shit out of me…sometimes for no reason. I remember being deeply attracted to and absolutely terrified of him. I was 7. These are the only memories I have of my dad. I don’t remember him being there for me, or interested in me as a person, or engaged in anyway. I just remember him being what I now know is a predator.

7 to 13: I remember some stability in Connecticut because we stayed there for three years… but I also remember having moments of being deeply depressed and hiding in the basement of the house writing notes that I hoped someone would find, asking for help to get me out of there. When I look back, those were my first experiences with disassociation from stress and waves of major depression. While I was being assaulted during those years, those years were all about Mary Jane, Seana, and Jim2. These three had each other. These three were a team. I was just an observer to your lives. I had no voice, no opinion, no importance, never truly included and absolutely my feelings went unheard and did not matter. We can say it was the age difference, sure, that’s part of it…but that’s also just an excuse. Things could have been done to validate my importance too. I had Charles bullying me….I had my Dad assaulting me. I was so alone.

My internal voice wants to shout: Why did nobody see this? Why did nobody help me? Where were my siblings? I guess everyone was doing the best they could…

Literally anyone looking in knowing the truth could have easily assessed that this was a horribly destructive environment for any child to grow up in. I know dad was doing this to all the kids. I wasn’t the only one. It is absolutely stunning to me that through the years of my life I have consistently been blamed by my Mary Ellen (narcissist/borderline personality disorder) and the people who chose to listen to her twisted opinions that there was something wrong WITH ME. I mean, logically the mental health issues I have faced my entire life are perfectly normal and healthy reactions to a situation that was deeply flawed. But somehow the blame has always fallen on me.

The very first thing I think when I think of my mom is her asking me “Whats wrong with you Melissa”. Ive lost count of how many times she has asked me that very question.

I now know that its just deflection. Queen Narcissist cant take responsibility for her actions so she puts it on the person who she always denied a voice. That’s nice. Very loving and motherly. Doesn’t fix the 40 some odd years of my life that I believed her and wanted to die.

Right around age 9 or 10, we move again. I remember it being a big scandal – I think the truth came about that my dad is a sociopath, a pedophile and a rapist. (By the way, that’s in my DNA. I get to live my life connected to that. I look just like my dad. I think like a Painter. It’s fucking unsettling.) I remember all the pressure to say nothing about the move and to constantly behave as though we were the perfect family and nothing was wrong. So incredibly demented.

I remember a HUGE fight about Seana and Jim2 staying behind in Connecticut. (by the way: I also remember Jim1 leaving for the Marines and wondering where my brother went and why he never talked to me. At one point he came back to visit and gave me a beautiful geisha doll in a glass box that mom destroyed in a fit of anger at me…she intentionally violently knocked it off the top of my dresser in one of her vindictive off the handle rages…Im sure at 8 years old I totally did something to deserve it, right.)

And, of course I remember the night Seana was killed. (why did the man that killed her not serve jail time? Why are bad people never held accountable?) Dad wasn’t there. Again, Dad wasn’t there. As I recall he was having an affair with some woman in Arizona? Mom was already distraught to be back in Michigan. That night, I remember being awake before the call came in…watching the clock radio in my bed… it had a short in the wire that would spark. I was listening to the Beatles: My guitar gently weeps…. To this day, I hate the Beatles.The phone rang. Mom screamed to you “Mary Jane, OMG, Seana is Dead”. I didn’t understand what happened. I just knew we were packing up like we did so many times before to take yet another long drive across country. It felt to me like another move. I didn’t understand death or that my sister was gone forever. I didn’t get it.

(an aside: I struggled in school. When I was in Beginning Algebra One for some reason that class would make me check out and I would always soul travel to the night Seana was killed and it felt like it was happening to me. I took that class 4 times including summer school before I passed.)

(later, when I was maybe 13, my dog got hit by a car in the street and now I knew what death was so I freaked out like Mom did when Seana died and I remember Mom shaming me: You cried more over than damn dog than you did at your sisters funeral. Very nice. Very motherly. Very supportive and kind of her.)

At Seanas funeral, I remember not knowing what was expected of me. I was just so focused on getting it right and who I was supposed to kiss (because that sexualized stuff was already so ingrained).

There were so many goddamn rules for behavior, (rich white republican ex-military country club going family that we were) and I remember getting it wrong and being scowled at all the time. Mom was always angry and stressed out. We had to BE someone and over and over again: “Don’t forget the family name” and how important our clan was (hilarious that she kept the Sterling last name because her current husband is too ethnic and this sounds classier to her than her own actual last name)….

Meanwhile, My developing sense of self was being assaulted and neglected/ignored out of me and I felt wrong all the time for every single action I took.

I think we moved back to North Carolina briefly and then to Florida? Whatever the case….

Then we move again. Again. Again. Now we are in Florida. Im 10. My parents are getting divorced. Mom is deeply goddamn depressed. My family is falling apart. I don’t know where my brothers and sister are. Everything is exploding. Im powerless and hostage to all this. I cannot underline the importance of that sense of being hostage to a situation that I was powerless to escape and having my feelings and my personhood completely ignored and erased. It consumed me. I wanted to die. I am, as always, the least of moms concerns.

In Florida I was so incredibly dissociative. I was experiencing C-PTSD. I remember feeling numb all over. Having no ability to react to this little girl that fell off her bike in front of me….I just stared at her…the adults nearby yelled at me for doing nothing. I went further into my head. I was so checked out. People just thought I was quiet or shy or retarded. I was deeply traumatized and needed help.

I remember Mary Jane and I sitting on the bed watching this music video by The Cars. In the video there is a woman who is laughing and crying. I remember asking MJ what she was doing because I do that too and I think she told me she was having a mental break down.

I remember getting a Walkman and listening to the Police nonstop. That was my only retreat from how much I hurt. WHY DID NOBODY SEE THIS AND HELP ME?

I remember during that time that I was given another baby doll. I remember MJ and mom watching me play with it to see what I would do. I felt scared of them both and the creepy way they were lurking to watch me. I felt ganged up on. I couldn’t trust anyone. I was so alone. I wanted to die.

In Florida, I remember my birthday and dad cocking his fist back like he was going to punch me in the face…he did that sick laugh and told me he wished I was never born and that I was a mistake. (later when I told this to Patty she explained he punched her in the face on her 11th birthday. Im related to all that. That’s in my dna.)

My body was changing. I was getting my period. I felt crazy. I was in that HUGE school in Jacksonville and I had no friends and I was so scared. Everything was terrifying….and Dad was getting more unhinged thus Mom has Jim and Lynn move in to protect her and had you come back… and then I remember walking in to the living room in the middle of a sunny afternoon and mom on the pull out sofa, trying to make dad jealous, was fucking the guy who was there to buy the house that we had just moved in to because we were MOVING AGAIN….

Not to mention, I remember MJ and I quickly taking Dads gun to the beach to bury it so he because he wanted to kill us all.

Im not even 13 yet….. Are you exhausted?

Any one of these things would make a fully functioning stable adult fold like a house of cards. “Whats wrong with you Melissa?”…. It took something like 20 years of therapy but now I have some clues to answer that question. Here are some more clues:

We finally make it to Boone. Mom followed her best friend, Mary Jane. After all that… that incredible pressure cooker of my pre teen childhood we arrive in bumfuck nowhere, North Carolina….and everyone is gone except the sociopath brother. The house is basically empty. Everyone abandoned ship. Where did my brothers and sisters go? I remember coming home after school and there would be nobody home. For my entire life I had come home to my family but now there was no one. I would sit on the couch and watch the clock with growing anxiety and cry until mom came home from work. It was beyond torturous. And then she would be pissed off that I needed her because she just got home from work. At this point Mom is just angry and exhausted all the time. She had to get a job outside the home for the first time in her life which she hated, she was sick of being a mom…she wanted it all to be over so she could have HER life. Charles was getting more and more abusive- physically and mentally and had to be sent away for our protection.

And then she starts dating Don Bailey. I think the sex must have been amazing because the guy was an utter low life. He was living off of her/my child support money… and beating the shit out of her. Their fights were never goddamn ending. I would hide in my room after school and not come out. I was so alone. I had no friends and no escape. Mom was friends with Mary Jane, not with me. Mom wanted nothing to do with me. One day we were driving home and I was so attached to her. I needed my mom so goddamn bad… I was struggling to make friends at yet another new school and the PTSD made me feel so distant from everyone but I had no words for what was wrong with me I just thought I was terrible at making friends (I remember this: pathetically I checked out a book at the library: How to be your own best friend)… She pulled the car over and told me “we cant be friends.” Mom has some glorified memory of us driving around looking for our favorite tree in Autumn… the only thing I remember is that conversation…her rejecting me when I needed her the most… after we moved to the town my sister lived in so she could be close to her.

Again, still no help with the major depression, the CPTSD… just a lot of blame “why cant you be happy Melissa…whats wrong with you?” and I cant be clear enough about this: all her spare time at home was spent on Don, not me. I didn’t have clubs and groups and activities that she as sure to enroll me in. I didn’t have my brothers and sisters there with me. It was just me, after all that, trying to figure it out.

I was a burden to her. She couldn’t wait to get rid of me and be done. I felt it always.

An aside: When she was unsure if she wanted to stay in Boone, I remember her asking Charles if we should stay or go back to Florida…after he chimed in with his answer, I gave my opinion which she angrily scoffed at me and told me it didn’t matter what I thought, Id go where they tell me to go. My voice didn’t matter, I was a burden to her. I had no value as a person. I was powerless. So there I was in my bedroom that was the walkway between the living room and her room… at the mercy of whatever happened with no privacy or power over my life….. whats new.

Another aside: During that time we had gotten a dog that was a total pain in the ass for her to take care of. She gave it away while I was at school. I came home and the dog was gone and I was tearful thinking it ran away. She gave my dog away without telling me.

Then we moved out to Valley Crusis (9 miles outside of town…so isolated. I was so alone. The isolation was killing me. Where were my siblings. I needed help. I needed someone who was just there for me.) and Dons abusive behavior got even more extreme. I remember him picking me up from a concert that I was at….because he had sent Mom to the hospital with a sprained wrist and a busted lip. He was laughing about it when he told me to get in the car. Another time I remember Don looming in my bedroom door when Mom was at work and it was just us in the house… telling me: “Go ahead and call the police, nobody will believe you anyway.” I remember the woman who lived up the hill from us, with the curly hair…I think her name was Susan… coming down to the house while Mom and Don were gone and telling me If it ever gets too bad, you can always run up here. The neighbors knew I needed help. Where were my brothers and sisters? Where was my Mom? FUCK.

I remember Mom having many off the handle rages at me because I looked like a boy and my hair was crazy and I was so fucked up. I remember one morning after she had raged at me so hard that I was in stunned silence… we were sitting at breakfast at St Sinners and MJ kept looking at me, she knew something was wrong, I was clearly checked out and fucked up. I needed my sister. I had no voice or ability to speak up. I was scared of her husband, Glenn. Nobody helped me. Mom was the star of the brunch party!

I remember getting my first job at 15 and working at St Sinners…. Then, when mom bought the restaurant I stopped getting paid. She cut me off from my paycheck and told me it was my “duty to the family”… but she had Jim2 and his first wife Lynn there working and they were getting paid…and also stealing her money to fuel their coke habits. She didn’t value me, or my efforts but her golden son Jim can do no wrong even when he is fucking her out of her business.

I remember Jim2 offering me coke at a house party and John Golden and another friend getting me out of there away from my own brother. I remember Lynn being LIVID that I would stop by their house when I was lonely and wanted my family but instead I got shamed for thinking I could stop by and see them…and mom would tell me that “they had BUSY LIVES and I should leave them alone.”

I remember being so fucked up and alone in Boone….I mean, I now know I was just in shock and experiencing major depression. Mom kept asking me Whats wrong with you Melissa…when I was your age I had to choose between boyfriends… etc. Its incredible to me how Mom normalized my childhood abuse and completely erased my feelings or my personhood then blamed me for somehow being a problem child or wrong in whatever way….more incredible: people believed her.

During those years in Boone I remember her doing things like openly making fun of me when I thought I might be gay, fixing regular hamburgers and telling me they were tofu when I became vegetarian…starting a burn pile in the back yard full of toxic things after I told her how important recycling was to me and laughing at me as I cried…..every chance she had to make me feel awful about being me and disrespected she took.

Once I visited her at her office and she told me I was “too ugly to look at and she didn’t want anyone to know I was her daughter and to never come to her office again.”

Shes right, we were not friends. She was a jealous mean girl, obsessed with appearances and her shitty boyfriend.

Lets not forget when she, with Mary Janes help, stacked my portfolio with MJs lithographies and coached me how to lie to get me in to Governors school for the summer. She wanted me gone and she got her wish. I remember feeling like a fraud that summer. I wasn’t good enough to be there. I had to lie to be included. I remember she didn’t even drive me there. She had Don do it. He harassed me in the car all the way there, 3 hours…. then dropped me…16… off on the curb in front of the college and drove away. All the other kids had parents excitedly helping them get set up in their rooms…excited about their major accomplishment of getting in to Governors school… I was there with my milk crate of shit, a fraud. alone. Acting like a tough girl who didn’t need anyone. I was a pro at that. Mission accomplished, she was rid of me.

I remember how deep my depression was becoming by the time I was 18. That last year of high school I would bang my head against my bedroom wall in an attempt to knock myself out, in hopes that I would get sent away to a treatment center or something. I couldn’t take all the fighting between her and Don. I fucking hated him and he was in my house and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to throw myself down the back stairwell at school. I barely graduated high school my depression was eating me alive.

Amazing that nobody IN MY FAMILY SAW THAT I NEEDED HELP. I was invisible. Mary Ellen cast her proclamation that all was well, she was amazing and I was a problem child and that was that.

I have a million stories about Mom demoralizing me during those years…. Whats weird is that I have no memory of my Mary Jane there. I think she was so involved with Glenn and way up the mountain, I had no way to reach her. And I was scared of her husband Glenn. And, we were never close. And, she was Team Mary Ellen…. So I was just alone and wanted to die. Sincerely. Goddamn. Let it end.

I remember Don telling me that Mom was using my child support payment to make her car payment. So I asked her about where my child support was going and she told me she used it for my Blue Cross Blue Shield Insurance…. So I called the insurance company to see if I had coverage…. They had no record of me. She was, again, a liar….

When I graduated high school she couldn’t get me out of the house fast enough. She pawned me off on my boyfriend Gebeaux and expected him to simply take care of me. We broke up. He didn’t sign up for that. I was basically kicked out of the house in valley crusis. I wasn’t prepared for life on my own. I wasn’t ready. She just wanted to be done being a mom so Hey..I came back to the house one day and all my stuff was packed and that was that. I had to figure it out. Fuck me.

At one point during that time I was living in a trailer with my friend Stacy. Mom was horrified about this. I was getting food stamps and she was so ashamed of me for being so low class. She came to the trailer and was completely off the handle. She said there was “no air” in there and grabbed a 2x4 and smashed out all the windows. Mind you from her perspective it was just another example of what a loser I am, living in a trailer on food stamps how did I end up such a piece of shit when she is such a wonderful mother… it must be because there is something inherently wrong about me.

She has seen me as trash who is incapable of being anything great my entire life.

Somewhere in there she stopped dating Don and started dating lawyer Rand Sterling…who broke her ribs multiple times and literally pushed her out of a moving car and then she walked 5 miles back to his house to be with him. That relationship took her to Texas. She followed the money. The insanity of that relationship is all I heard about from her. She needed Jim2 to come protect her from her husband multiple times. I absorbed all of this through her very rare but insane emails to me. She has always used me as her emotional manipulation dumping ground.

I had my first total mental break right around 19 years old. I was fetal position on the floor at my girlfriends house… Jenn… I couldn’t stop crying for multiple days and I felt my mind split in two. I literally went into a black hole and was begging for death. Jenn and the next door neighbor scooped me up off the floor and drove me to the Watauga County Mental Health and got me some help… but at this point I was having a total mental collapse… the part of me that was traumatized was a child denied her voice or any recognition of her Self, so I had no way to articulate what was wrong and Mom had denied and normalized the abuse and denied me voice and my personhood for so long that I had ZERO chance of articulating what was wrong… it was buried so deep inside of me and I was so scared to trust anyone…. I was experiencing schizophrenia and Major depression.

Jenn helped me with my depression. Jenn made sure I was housed and fed. Jenn took care of me. I owe her my life.

I mean, that is an extreme mental health episode. Where was my family? How could none of the people who were supposed to love me the most see any of this? Why did none of them help me? Why did all of them think I was to blame? (my guess: Team Mary Ellen)

Somewhere in that year my friends were moving to Chapel Hill so I packed up the car that my child support paid for and I went down the mountain. She threatened to call the police on me for stealing the car. She told me I needed discipline and needed to go into the Army. She just didn’t know what to do with me…such a problem child. If I remember correctly, you echoed her sentiments. Everyone was always so angry at me for being so wrong and so bad. None of my family (meaning MJ and mom because my brothers had long bailed on me and my extended family has never made a single attempt to reach out to me or know me at all.) were my friend, or loving, kind or compassionate.

I got away….I went to Chapel Hill and lived with my best friends Kerry, Lesley, Julie, and two other guys in Kerry’s Moms rental house. I was working at the Columbia Street Bakery and dating this boy, Richard…. Who happened to be a really abusive drug dealer… who held me down one night and violently orally raped me and when I called mom for help she told me with the exasperation of a mother who had supposedly tried so hard to do the right thing and raise her child with love and support but that child was just tragic and terminally fucked :

“I don’t know whats wrong with you Melissa, I guess you just like the bad boys.”

Again, no self reflection on her behalf…she did nothing to help me.

I didn’t know how to get away from Richard who was playing mind fuck with me and I was getting high with him (LSD) …which was basically, me being drugged and him using me for sex but not being loving or kind in any way (felt like home) Eventually, Richard got busted for selling a page of lsd to an undercover cop and threatened to kill me because he thought it was my fault… so I had to get out of there and I went to New York to chill out and work for the summer at the Omega Institute of Holistic Learning… to just be around hippies and eat good food. I hung out with Baba Ram Dass and Ben & Jerry…and took a class on the whirling dervish… These moments when I wasn’t in the pressure cooker of my life were both brilliant because I needed healing but also the worst because all this trauma would start to surface and I didn’t know what it was or how to speak about it. I would start to shatter again.

I believed it was my fault and there was something inherently wrong with me.

I was so lost. I needed help. I needed a parent or loving compassionate family or someone trusted to guide me through that time in my life. I had no one but my friends from North Carolina who were just as fucked up as me. I needed help. I needed help. Oh my god, I needed help.

Omega ended…I had no money to get out of there, nobody to turn to for help, no clue what to do next, I certainly couldn’t go back to Mom who hated me and was living with Rand so fuck that… I had no idea where my brothers and sisters were and no relationship with them so that wasn’t on my mind as an option…..so I caught whatever ride I could get and ended up in Boulder. One of my friends from Omega hooked me up with her cousin for a month and I tried to make it work… it was basically winter in Colorado at this point and I was out there door canvassing for Green Peace making no money and freezing to death. Just walking door to door for Greenpeace… looking in on other families and their loving lives together. I was so fucking sad. I was hungry and scared and completely out of options. I had to get out of there.

I called Mom for help. She said: “You got yourself into this, get yourself out”…. And hung up on me. The bitch hung up on me. I was stranded and so scared and I needed my mom. She hung up on me. She blamed me. She wanted to punish me for being such a problem. She was done being a mom. She hung up.

I remember having gone to the Planned Parenthood to get some medical help because I was sick. I explained my situation and the nurse looked at me incredulously and said “where are you parents?” I explained to her that Mom hung up on me. I was devastated, living in a constant state of shock. Scared out of my sense of self or ability to connect to the present moment.

I was a fractured soul in every possible meaning.

My month at my friends place was over and I had to find an apartment or live on the streets. It took me another month of begging whatever guy I could find to give me a place to stay and then I contacted the boy I was dating at Omega, Scott, and asked him for money to get a bus back to North Carolina. He helped me. Bless him. He got me out of there.

I got on the Greyhound and ended up going to Idaho to visit with my friend Stacy (who I lived in the trailer with) and stay with her for a couple weeks to get grounded and feel safe with a friend for a minute. My mental break was coming back full force. I was inconsolable. I remember laying on her bed fully having an out of body experience from the stress and being so disoriented. She is so patient and kind. She took care of me. When my time with Stacy was up, the next layer of insanity: I got on the Greyhound and took a 5 day no sleep, no food journey across country. I got chased down, carrying all my bags of things and looking like a little hippie… on a layover, by a group of drunk men in Wyoming…they almost got me but I found a laundromat that was open and full of people so I ran inside and hid until my bus was leaving again. I was terrified. By the time I made it back to Lesley and Kerrys house in Chapel Hill it was New Year night…I got some hours back at the Columbia Street bakery I was working at and got some money rolling in.

I want to mention that Poverty, which I have lived most my life in, is no joke and more damaging than anyone outside of the experience can understand. It is cyclical, like bi polar…. Living paycheck to paycheck or however you get just enough to maybe hold on for a moment longer but never knowing if more will be coming is a terror. Always feeling like the bottom is going to drop out…and never knowing when youre going to eat…and what that does to your hormones and your mental health…. Poverty is proven to damage people on a cellular level and have lasting effects that lead to chronic illness.

After making it back to NC, few weeks later the boy from Omega came to Chapel Hill and told me he wanted to marry me and wanted me to move to Boston with him. So we took a little road trip and eventually ended up in Boston. As a surprise to no one sane, that was not a lasting relationship. So after a year of misery in Boston, (more poverty, more loneliness, more no family) Scott drove me back to Chapel Hill and that’s when the girls and I all moved up to Asheville. All the while, checking in with Mom who was yelling and shaming me for being such a fuck up.

I can’t underline enough: I was disassociating the entire time. I was having episodes of schizophrenia. I was experiencing major depression and bi polar disorder. The stress of my entire life was more than I could handle and I had no support and no compassion and nobody validating my experience or me as a person. People just thought that was who I was. I was just fucked in every way possible and believed she was right and all that was normal and I was a terrible piece of shit. She had everyone believing that.

Mary Jane believed her. She echoed her sentiments to me. Go Team Mary Ellen.

I moved up to Asheville and got somewhat stabilized. I was again living with my friends and I got a decent job at the Laughing Seed Cafe. I met Mark and I had decided to go to college because I thought that would make Mom happy and I needed to DO something with myself.

Mark and I were together maybe 8 weeks before we moved across country and started a life together. Eight weeks.

I was so adept at being a high functioning dissociative major depressive and I had no way to articulate what was wrong with me (all that stuff that had been normalized and ignored…all the ways my feelings and personhood was erased)… I just knew something evil bad was in me and it took me out from time to time. I thought it was my fault and I was ashamed of myself. I was living in a constant state of shock. CPTSD.

So, I get myself into college and thanks to Mark and his truck we move across country.

When I hear my friends now talking about saving money for their kids college and really setting them up for success by helping them choose a school and get settled in or making sure they don’t have to work so they can focus on their studies and have a healthy social life with friends and do activities Im so confused. I didn’t know parents and families helped their kids with such things. I didn’t understand that in other families they help, protect and support. I made it through without any of these blessings.

Mark and I get a shitty apartment (the ceiling caved in out of rot and the place was full of roaches. The property managers stole my drum set and we would catch them on the roof at night peeping through the skylight to watch us), I get a full time job managing a restaurant…in addition to schooling full time...Im overwhelmed by the workload, scared to be across country, freaked out by college and the expectations… it was too much. I was away from the source of my abuse and things started to surface… I NEEDED HELP.

I needed my family except, honestly, I have none. Additional mindfuck: when I tried to talk to people about this I get the old trope about how everyone has tough relationships in their families and I need to love my mom and work it out with her.SO I KEPT GOING BACK FOR MORE WITH MOM BECAUSE I NEEDED HER LOVE SO BAD AND I THOUGHT THE PROBLEM WAS ME. Further, because I was so regressed I just sounded like a petulant child when I tried to talk about the abuse I had no accurate words for so nobody outside the experience really got it or could conceive how bad things really were for me… why would they? My family is extraordinarily fucked up, like nobody I have ever known.

In college, nobody comes to check on me and make sure Im ok. Nobody was calling. Id get rare emails or letters. When I would tell mom how hard it was, mom would mock me and tell me to suck it up when I would reach out to her and “complain” about how things were going for me… See, because its always my fault and Im never measuring up.

An aside: To this day, 40 years later, Jim2 has yet to even send me a single email to check and make sure Im ok or get to know me at all. He has never responded to the multiple emails I have sent him, so I stopped reaching out. I used to cry to mom about it and she would tell me that he “has a busy life” and I had to understand that’s why I wasn’t a priority to him. Personally, I cant imagine anything being more important than making a connection with your little sister, but I guess Im biased and not like him: busy getting high and drunk and being a cool party guy.

During my college is when he married Lori. I worked over time and got a plane ticket to be at his wedding. I was sick to my stomach at the idea of having to be around my family but I love my brother and I wanted to be there. He ignored me the entire time I was there. I was a HUGE FUCKING DEAL that I could afford the ticket and made the effort to be there for him. I showed up for him….He ignored me. I was devastated and felt invisible and so worthless.

Another aside: I was 24 and that very first Christmas on the west coast Mom calls me, driving herself to the ER to get her stomach pumped from a suicide attempt. She was dramatically telling me her goodbye in case she didn’t make it. I was stressed and powerless beyond the telling of it. I cried all the way through that Christmas. Again: Mom always uses me as her emotional manipulation dumping ground. Out of all her children, Im the one with heart and she gets the sympathy she is working me over for.

During my college years, I would ask Mom for help she would mock me “Im sending baby Sava (MJs daughter) a care package…are you a baby? Do you need one too?”

Mean girl jealousy that I went to college and her life was taken from her by her children….

In college I had no friends, just Mark. No time for activities and my mental health was so fragile I had no ability to form friendships. I was barely hanging on. I would be catatonic in my time at home. We had this geometry screensaver on the computer and I would be frozen staring at it for hours while my brain felt like it was going to shatter. I was an absolute wreck and a shell of a person…but I was determined to prove I could graduate college and I wasn’t a fuck up. I wanted Mom to be proud of me.

I guess it should come as no surprise that after 4 years of no time off, working and schooling 80 hours a week, getting zero support emotionally or financially from my family …. that absolutely NOBODY FROM MY FAMILY CAME TO CELEBRATE ME AT MY GRADUATION.

Nobody came. Nobody celebrated me. Nobody saw the value in me or my hard work.

I remember being on the phone with Jim2 the day of my graduation. I had called him to ask why he wasn’t there for me. I was in tears. He told me that if that was the worst thing that ever happened to me, congratulations on your nice life. He thought it was bullshit that I was so upset. He thought I was being a baby. This loser dropped out of college which he had a scholarship for and did nothing with his life but drugs and alcohol and saw no value in me or what I did on my own. He didn’t show up for me.

Me going to college and graduating on time with full credits was a major fucking accomplishment on so many levels.

Not one of my family was there for me and I will never forgive or forget that.

We moved to the same fucking town Mary Jane was in when she was in college and never ONCE did anyone come to check on me and be interested in what I was doing or validate how amazing it was that I was in school and making it happen on my own.

When I talk about how alone I feel in life, its in my bones.

I had worked over time to get Mom a plane ticket so she would be there for my graduation and she called me a couple days before to tell me pathetically “She couldn’t get the day off work.” (Lie: I think she has some legal issue and couldn’t leave the state or something like that.)

After she called to bail on my graduation… at 27 years old… I had a heart attack on my walk home. I collapsed in my living room. Mark found me on the floor when he got home from work. She literally broke my heart. I was devastated. I was in shock. I was dissociating. I was so fucked up. I needed help. Poor Mark. He didn’t know what was wrong and neither did I.

Shortly after my graduation, MJ graduated and she drove to see her and was sure to tell me about it. I mean, they are BFFs so, no surprises there. GO TEAM MARY ELLEN, right?

Whats wrong with you Melissa? My family. My family is whats wrong with me.

During college I was stressed to the point of being catatonic when I wasn’t at work or school. My mental health was tanking in every possible way… but the pressure cooker of school and work kept me hemmed in and my desire to prove that I was someone worth loving (because god knows I wasn’t going to be loved just for being me…No one was simply going to show up for me or simply be there. I had to earn it.)

…. then we moved to Seattle and I had three years at Amazon in that pressure cooker of a job… (10 to 14 hours a day, 6 days a week) working as a Lead running a team of 200 people to keep me too busy to feel my feelings or connect to emerging myself.

At some point after I graduated and it no longer mattered, I remember MJ came to visit me one time. That was nice of her. Thank you for trying, MJ.

But heres the fun part: Mark. Mark loved me.

Mark is the very first and to this day ONLY person who has been intimately involved in my life who loves and respected me just as I am.

It was Mark loving me that allowed me to start developing a voice and for that very young very traumatized person inside of me to start coming to the surface. Mark was the very best thing that has ever happened to me….and, ironically, it was because he loved me that all that evil finally came to the surface…and was our demise.

All the things dad did to me, all the never ending abuse from mom that sought to vilify and demoralize me… all of the hurt from the abandonment from my brothers and sisters… all that evil came up because he Loved me enough to make me feel safe and supported…I just didn’t know that then and couldn’t see or feel that he was the most tremendous gift this life has ever given me ….

and I started sexually assaulting myself in my sleep (woke up one time with an entire box of tampons inside of me and had to go to the doctor to get them all out). I would throw punches in my sleep. I was having an utter mental breakdown/ breakthrough… and then I started acting out sexually with other men that I met online. I felt like I was being puppet mastered from some evil unknown source. I was manic and acting out sexually. That default programing from my childhood was calling the shots. I didn’t have a sense of self so I was acting from what I knew and what Dad taught me about myself and the self-worth that mom made sure I didn’t have.

I say acting out sexually. What I should say is reenacting the trauma…which there was so very much of. I was on auto pilot and at that time if you asked me if that’s what I wanted to be doing I would have said yes out of programming but the core truth of who I am knew it was not at all right or who I am or what I wanted…that core didn’t have a voice yet.

2001, Amazon had laid us all off. I got hired working at a treatment center for abused youth. I was major depressive and would be fetal position on the floor and cry for a month at a time but I didn’t know why or what was wrong… I was just deeply goddamn depressed and wanted to die. All the time. Goddamn. Let it end.

Poor Mark. He didn’t know what was happening. He was the perfect boyfriend. He tried so hard to help me. I honestly could not have asked for a more perfect man to come in to my life…and he was stuck with me. Mentally fucked Melissa with no clue what was wrong… and worst of all, I thought I had to get out of my relationship with Mark.

Crazy,right?….I asked Mom for help. She had no relationship with me and no clue what was going on in my life…She is a complete train wreck of a human and so deep in her own denial and so wrapped up in her latest abusive relationship with a rich man that she could honestly give a fuck about me and thought the worst of me anyway… so yeah, break up with him and oh my god Melissa I don’t know what to do with you.

I kept cheating on him over and over again. I was off the rails with my manic depression. Spending, fucking, driving my car too fast…. Through a chat room, I got mixed up with a man that felt like Dad to me and I was entranced and captive to him. Mark asked me to marry him and I broke up with him, moved out.. I was off the rails with the sexual acting out/re traumatizing myself.

(Mark immediately met the woman he has since married and has been with for the past 18 years. I would give anything to have that man back in my life…Throughout these years, my memory of how he treated me has been the standard by which I have held all other men and nobody measures up….Beyond his character and integrity, the art, music and intelligence that lives within this handsome and kind man is incomparable. I blew it. Fuck. I pushed away the most incredible man I ever knew and he loved me. I still love him to this day.)

At that same time I heard a rumor at work that one of the counselors (reggie, 24) had slept with a client(raya,16). I knew reggie was capable of it (I had slept with him) so I reported it to the Unit manager, Big Mike. ……What I didn’t know is that Reggie, Mike and the guy I was so into, Cash were all friends who grew up together and in the same gang……

and so it was that month that I moved out from Mark that the man that I was so “in love with”, Cash, drugged me at a house party and raped me with 4 of his friends to teach me a lesson for reporting Reggie.

I remember sharing a beer with Cash and then feeling tired and dizzy and asking to lay down and then multiple hours of being barely coherent and having no control over my body and being passed around for everyone to fuck over and over again.

Cash was a sex trafficker and grooming me all along. No wonder he felt like home. My need for family and my daddy issues in full effect, I couldn’t break the spell. I was terrified of him and wanted him to think I was so sexy…..He was masterful with the mindfuck and kept me under his thumb at all times which felt like attention and love to me and was intense enough that I could feel it.

At that time, in Washington, you had a statue of limitations of 8 years to report a rape.

Mind you, I was so dissociative and still had no idea I was a person or had any rights to my thoughts or my body… I was really goddamn checked out at that point in my life….I was in shock. The childhood assault trauma was just surfacing and I had no words for it because it had been normalized and my feelings negated by my parents So, I didn’t know if I had been raped or not….it took me years to figure out that its wrong to drug someone and have all your friends fuck them…

I didn’t know I should or could ask for help. I didn’t believe I could be helped. I didn’t think anyone would help me. I didn’t know I was a person. I didn’t know I had rights. I didn’t know I could escape or how.

ANYONE CONFUSED ABOUT WHY I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO GET HELP OR THAT I DESERVED IT???????

Whats wrong with you, Melissa?

In the meanwhile, Cash was making sure I wouldn’t report it.

He knew I was away from Mark, had a history of sexual assault and no family, and that I lived in absolute poverty so there was zero chance I could escape him.

I was in so much trouble. I needed help. I called Mom. I explained that it all to her. I explained that they were a gang. That it was sex trafficking… that I needed help…. To which she said “Let them play godfather. Whats the worst they can do?”….. (nice way to minimize the extreme danger I was in and negate me as a person, don’t you think?)

that bitch loves to see me suffer and struggle, doesn’t she. Doesn’t it make her look amazing when I look like shit? So she didn’t help me. She shit talked me to the rest of the family like I wanted to be in that situation because I was trash. Nobody helped me.

I remember talking to Mary Jane around that time explaining that I was getting counseling and she, like mom, shamed me and told me I didn’t have bipolar or something like that… She was Team Mary Ellen all the way and me getting counseling was just attention seeking or something like that.

See, this is why MJ and I have never been friends or close. I cant trust her. Shes not someone I think of as an ally. Sorry about that, MJ. Im not trying to be mean but… look at why I think that.

I really do look up to her though. She is so smart and capable. But I cant trust her and this is why.

By the way, here’s just a few of examples of the worst they can do while “playing Godfather”: They were so invested in making sure I never spoke about the rape they made sure I was living in such constant fear for my life (mental domination) that I was too scared to talk to anyone about it:

*They had voyeur cameras in my house…that they were making money off of.

*They had software on my laptop to collect all my personal data (social security, passwords, answers to security questions) so I am owned by them to this day.

*They had GPS on my car to track me everywhere I went and would leave notes on my car to let me know I was constantly being watched.

*They flipped my therapists office and stole all her files to make sure there was no record

*They poisoned my dog every day for a month while I was at work…I would come home to Milo cowering in the corner like he had been abused all day long and diarrhea all over the floor until one day I yelled out in my home with nobody there that I would find Cashs son and do the same to him…and I went online and found his childs home address…yelled that out to my empty apartment…and after that day Milo was never sick again….

*Then there are the 2 times they broke into my apartment in the middle of the night, drugged me in my sleep and did whatever and dumped me at the park. One of those time I woke up with half my face slack and paralyzed as though I had a stroke. By the grace of god I got the feeling back but to this day its still a little droopy.

*They sent their equally psycho boy Alex into my life to keep watch on me. He was horribly mentally abusive. I was so broken and demoralized. I needed to get away. Instead, I got pregnant. Alex also gave me syphilis ..and so I had an abortion. I had to get two Orders of Protection to get Alex away from me. When I called mom for help with the pregnancy, she was off the rails hysterical and I was yet even more scared and alone. Mom blamed me for all of it. Further evidence Im trash. I got pregnant by a mistake by a black man.

There is more, I mean it was 8 years of daily torture… but I think you get the idea. Complete mental domination was the name of their game.

I had no friends. None. I was so fucked up. I was terrified to speak to anyone because everything felt like danger. Just these men showing up when they felt like to to fuck me and terrorize me. Eight years. My 30s. I was miserable beyond the telling of it.

Whats wrong with you Melissa. I needed help. I was so scared. I needed my family. I got yelled at and shamed. I was so alone. I wanted to die. I was so depressed and fucked up. Goddamn. Let it end. And the worst of it all is that I really didn’t even have myself. I never had a chance to be safe enough to develop a self. I was a shell of a human. I was out of my head. I was so checked out with the PTSD and the trauma of it all. I was scared to be alive. Soul fracturing is real.

This was how I spent my 30s. Somehow pulling myself together to go to work during the day because I didn’t want to be homeless, coming home and having a total mental collapse at night and all the while being mentally tortured by a gang of sex traffickers and when I reached to my family for help I got blamed for being a fucked up piece of shit.

I had no one. When I talk about my isolation and how alone I am, its cumulative. Its all this and more.

I don’t need to volunteer at a shelter on Christmas to be with someone for the holidays. I don’t need to get a dog. I need family. I need to be validated on a daily basis that I matter and am loveable just as I am. I need someone safe who is simply there. I need people in my life who celebrate me without me asking. I need people who are there for those simple mundane acts of living that define us…I need to come home to love.

The miracle: I kept myself employed and was successful in my corporate career path, I kept myself housed, and drug and alcohol free the entire time. I had the where with all to get counselling and try to work through my shit. I never gave up on myself even though I didn’t yet know who I am and my family had absolutely written me off from day one.

Then the Recession happened. I, of course, had never learned money management skills so there really wasn’t any savings to rely on. I was comfort eating like a motherfucker, I had student loans, a car payment and insurance and a foolishly large and expensive apartment, I had these lecherous men that were taking advantage of me financially too… I was manic depressive… I was paying for counselling (which if I am not mistaken over the years has totaled $100k) But to be honest, I don’t know where my money went… so when the Recession hit it took about 2 months before I was selling off everything I own and living in my car….where I stayed for the next year with my dog.

Nobody help me stay safe or in my integrity. I had no friends in Seattle to turn to. Mom told me to put my things in garbage bags and throw it all away…take the dog to the pound… and work with my counselor (she was angry about me getting help because she perceived it as being me trying to vilify her and this was her chance to punish me for getting help) and find a shelter to check in to because I wasn’t welcomed at her home.

Let me say that again: My mom knew I was losing everything, told me to throw my life away, dump my kid at the pound and told me to check into a shelter, I wasn’t welcomed at her home.

MY MOM.

Shes sees me as trash. She threw me away. Doesn’t she look amazing when Im failing?

Work in Seattle was impossible to find. I literally had 700 resumes out. Understand, I have held a job consistently since I was 15 years old and somehow mom thought this moment was me being a lazy piece of shit and just trying to manipulate her for money when I asked for help.

Sure. Ok.

I spent the next year in my car with no money coming in other than whatever odd jobs I could grab on craigslist to make my car payment. I drove back to North Carolina to seek help from my friends and my brother. My friends back home were not in a position to help me in any long lasting way but bless them all for what they did…

but Jim 2, who lives in Raliegh, was. He just declined. He made me a sandwich…told me there was nothing he could do for me (he has three houses)…and I spent the night in my car outside my brother’s house.

I had an ex acquaintance from Seattle who lived in Raleigh. He was part of the abuser sex trafficking gang. He let me sleep on the floor but would beat the shit out of me if I tried to sleep on the couch. I was so demoralized and out of my head, I needed literally anyone to be there for me….so, I stayed there, on the floor, for a month.

My brother was 15 minutes away, could have kept me safe but my brother chose to do nothing to help me.

Whats wrong with you Melissa. My family. Definitely gonna say my family.

When it was clear that North Carolina wasn’t going to be any better for work than Seattle I decided to drive back to the west coast. I had to drive through Texas and I didn’t stop at Moms house. I didn’t even try. Why would I? I was so hopeless and out of my head with depression and PTSD. I was screaming into the great black nothing. I was cutting myself all over to get the evil out. I would punch my own face black and blue from self loathing… again, thinking it was all my fault and that I was defective. I mean… my own family didn’t want me. Nobody did. It was me. I was a horrible piece of shit and deserved to die. Nobody loved or wanted me. Nobody kept me safe. I was deeply lost in the void. I wanted to die. Goddamn. Let it end.

That year in the car was by far worse than the 8 years of being tortured by sex traffickers or the 13 years of living with my sex predator father or the 7 years of being stuck in bumfuck North Carolina with my moms abuser boyfriend stealing the show.

Without question having nobody and knowing that nobody cares if you are safe, in your integrity, have a door to lock, privacy of any kind, if you are fed or showered… knowing for a demonstrated fact that there is not a single person on earth who cares enough to validate your humanity is the absolute worst feeling I have ever known. Being completely dehumanized, demoralized, erased. I begged for death.

Whats wrong with you Melissa?

Fun fact: during that time, instead of helping me or offering me a job at her business doing the exact job I did so well at Amazon (I asked for one and told her I would sleep in the attic at the office and she told me No), to mock me and show me what a failure I am and that I was just trying to manipulate her for money because Im a lazy loser

Mom went to her local Costco and applied for a job to show me how easy it was for her to get hired.

I mean, if youre going to be void of a soul, you should really go for it. Kudos, Mom.

I drove through California on the way back home to Seattle and met my sister Patty for the first time. We look like two peas in a pod. We think exactly the same. She is undeniably my sister. It was the most incredible feeling.

For the first time in my entire life I actually felt and thought the same as someone else.

She casually declined to introduce me to her family. They kept looking at me incredulously because we look just the same… but she would shoo them away when they would come over to talk. I met her at her restaurant and then she took me to her palatial home. She has a huge family. She had tons of photo albums… and then she started talking about Dad…like she was in a trance and talking about a favorite lover… it was clear that Dad had sexualized her and maintained that relationship with her well into her adult life and that was the reason she had no contact with us and didn’t want a deeper relationship with me. One conversation was all I got with her. I slept in my car outside her home. My sister didn’t help me. Whats wrong with you Melissa???

In one shot from LA I drove back to Seattle. I figured out that the Queen Anne neighborhood had the lowest crime rate so I parked there. I was so sick to death of all the nights that year that I would wake up with someone trying to break in to the car. Thank god I had Milo with me. He saved me multiple times from intruders that year. My body was a wreck from car living and shit food. My mental health beyond destroyed. I was really just done. Run through. All the way run through.

I did a brief stint staying in Silverdale with my friend from NC that I managed to re connect with on my drive back… but the hour drive into Seattle from Silverdale was too much so I lumped it and just slept in my car in Queen Anne once I secured my job…..

I went in to Top Pot Doughnuts every day for a month and demanded a job until they gave me one. I was 8 weeks into that job, still sleeping in the car but I had forward momentum when I totaled the car. I had the very last car payment in the seat next to me I had worked so fucking hard to maintain my payments in good faith despite it all and come out of that situation with my car but nope…fuck me. I was on my way to the gym and I was giving myself a pep talk telling myself everything was going to be ok….and I ate it…40 miles an hour into a stopped truck on the West Seattle Bridge. Entirely my fault. Milo went to the pound. All my earthly belongings went to the impound yard. I went to the ER…. And I called every single person I knew and who I thought could help me.

Just when you think you have nothing left, turns out you can go lower. Nobody returned my call.

Me, the unwanted, loveable piece of shit. I could die and nobody cared. Whats wrong with you Melissa?

I got out of the hospital, I had made contact with my online friend Rishad and he let me stay for a couple days… BLESS HIM… In those two days I got on the bus. I took the bus that goes through Capitol Hill and up to Queen Anne where my job was. I wrote down every apartment for rent phone number I could see and I started making calls. In the first true lucky break I had in years, this apartment manager woman at a really sweet little apartment on the hill heard me out…heard my story… it was the 15th of the month. I had my car payment check and I cashed it and gave her the money… She gave me the keys and a wink and told me I could move in “on the first”, that’s what the money I gave her would pay for…. and that she definitely didn’t know anything about a dog so no pet fee was needed.

I went right upstairs, LOCKED MY OWN DOOR and laid on the floor with literally nothing left to my name and cried so fucking hard.

I had whiplash from the accident. I fractured 4 molars on my steering wheel and over the years as my dentist promised they have slowly one by one fallen out of my face. I had broken both my feet and wracked my knees…. But I had a place that was my own and a job and that’s all that mattered.

I went right to the pound the next day and got Milo. I went to the impound lot and got what was left of my life. I missed a sum total of two days of work…. I was so thankful to have a job again I blocked out the pain from my broken body and I just kept going.

(Mind you the only thing Mom has ever been proud of me for in my lifetime is losing weight. That’s what got her attention…that’s what she was impressed by. I went on a diet.)

That next year, I lost 70 pounds at the gym. I perceived my training team as the family I never had and I was good at lifting weights. They weren’t honestly my friends or family but it was something consistent and I needed that stability and I needed them so fucking bad. It took 5 years to start to return to a somewhat functioning human... Lifting helped me get back into my body and stop checking out so much. My nutrition plan made me focus on myself every moment of every day…and nothing beats depression like clean food and working out. Structure and consistency.

My PTSD was off the rails though. I was worse than a soldier coming back from war…I never signed up for that shit and it started when I was a child. I was suffering. I wanted to die. Every moment of every day. I was miserable to be around. Nobody wanted to be my friend. So, trust me…just work and the gym with my illusion that people were there for me and me inappropriately and overly attached to them.

The irony is that I looked amazing and strong and I was, yes. The reality is that I wanted to die. I begged for death. I had two suicide attempts in those years….I surprised myself and cut my wrist with my house keys on the way to work one day and another time I walked into traffic but the car swerved.

Coming out of all that happened and processing all that trauma took more will power and resolve than anything I have ever done. It was so dark. I felt demon possessed. I was out of my head. I would find myself walking out of my place into public with no skirt on just my tights or other crazy shit like that. I was talking to myself, having heated arguments with nobody there all the fucking time. I was punching myself in the face. I was cutting and other such self harm.

It was really bad. I was hurting so fucking much.

And, I had another sociopath boyfriend taking full advantage of my disadvantage…keeping me fucked up because it kept me there for him. Thomas was in my life for 7 years. Absolute Scum. But he was the only person who would show up in person for me. I needed to be held. I was so out of my head and I still had no friends in my life…just people on the internet.… So again, this familiar situation: I just let him use me so I could have literally anyone there. The social and emotional isolation was killing me and I was convinced I was in love. He felt like home. He kept telling me we would be together if I waited. That he loved me. That I was the Key! I was the only time he was happy. The reality was he wouldn’t speak to me during the week. He would just show up on a Friday or Saturday night when he felt like it, from 1am to 3am…literally show up with his dick out to fuck me…very often wouldn’t speak to me when he was there…then he would leave and that was what I considered my relationship and love. It was about 2 years into our “relationship” that the truth slowly started to surface that he was in a long term relationship and he lived with her….

The details of how twisted he is and how he manipulated my daddy issues is disgusting. How he used neglect to keep me working so hard for him to be there and begging for his attention….really sick.

He felt like home which is the worst part. He was exactly like home.

It took me three years at the doughnut shop to get emotionally stabilized enough to make a plan for next steps. I was too emotionally fragile to go back to corporate work or be in an office environment. I knew I wanted to go to massage school and I really thought it could be an answer for me even though Mary Jane and mom had previously shamed and mocked me when I said I wanted to go. Mom didn’t think I could be anything better than a waitress. She told me to stop complaining that I hated my work and just go do it.

It was around this time that I had to move out of the apartment because they raised the rent by double on my sweet apartment and I found my way into squatting in my Art studio, where I have been for the past 7 years.

This studio has been so needed and healed me in so many ways. It is private enough to have a complete mental collapse and since it was a former isolation tank/jail… Nobody can get in here….bars over the windows and a steel door…so, I could sleep at night for the first time in years. The rent is crazy affordable which allowed me to go to school and later afford activities to try to learn social skills and be a real person in the world…. This place is my everything.

When I had my first art show… consisting of the photos that I took when I was living in my car. One of the ways I survived and changed my paradigm to get out of the car alive was that I would walk around and task myself with Looking through the eyes of Love. I would try to find one thing each day that I could see beauty in so I could continue to see good in the world…thus my collection of flower photos that I maintain to this day as my gratitude practice.

Mom picked up the phone and called me the night of my show.

(Mind you, she has never been there for me. Over the years since she kicked me out I think we have talked on the phone maybe 10 times. There have been years where she refused to give me her phone number…she made a game of it for years…I would email and ask for it she would say she was going to give it to me in her reply but never would. Then she finally did and a week later she changed it again. Psycho. Another time I can remember a time we talked on the phone and I ended by saying I love you and she was silent and struggled to say it back. Whats incredible is that she has always pretended to be someone who knows me and knows whats going on in my life and talks about it with such authority. This is a narcissistic abuser in action. What she was doing was scanning my social media and whatever scraps of information she could get and twisting it into whatever story she needed to support her storyline about me being a problem child and a fuck up and what a wonderful mother she is so she could continue to live in denial. She cant face the past and she has never done any work to own her part or apologize. So, now Ive cut her off. She does things now like call the place where I get my mail and had the people who run the PO box office tell me my mother called and she is worried about me and she asked them for whatever information they had on me -so I had to get a new PO Box place where the owners have English as a distant 2nd language- or she will go through my friends list on social media and contact people to see if they will keep tabs on me for her and share her story about what a problem I am and how she is just a loving mother who I have scorned and of course people believe her. She said the magic word: Mother. Nobody would suspect what kind of Mother she actually is and they see me all angry, regressed emotionally like a child and so fucked up and struggling in the world so she must me right about me, yeah? Text book actions when you try to break away from a Narcissist)

So…I get into the studio and Im all set up for my show and she called me to say this: “So, youre having an art show huh? You think youre so great. Youre still alone though aren’t you? (the mean girl was jealous that I somehow retained a sense of self and did something neat to be proud and again, she wanted to punish me…the woman is demented.) You know, the longest relationship you’ve ever had is with that damn dog.” And then she laughed at me. Made some shit comment about my basement studio “not having air” and some other bullshit and we ended the call. My party guests were arriving. My self-confidence was missing in action for the rest of my night. Nice, right? That’s my mom.

Shortly after I get in to the Studio Milo got sick. Really really sick. As I promised him from day one, I would never let him suffer for my own selfish reasons…. So, I rented a car, took him to the vet and had him put down. The love of my life and my great protector. This sweet soul that was my constant source of love and hope for 14 years. When I posted on my facebook thread about his passing, mom commented that she was devastated at her loss. Because, you know… Milos death, this dog that she wanted me to throw away, was about how it impacted HER. …yeah….ok.

I want to mention out of the context of a clear timeline that somewhere in here I trained for and ran two Tough Mudders. They are 12 mile courses with 20 really fucking hard obstacles. They are designed to be run with a team. I ran them both solo because nobody wanted to join me. On the days that I went to the events, neither my Trainer or the man I was so in love with, Thomas, sent me as much as a good luck text to wish me well or acknowledge my accomplishment. My previously 215 pound ass had shrunk to 140 pounds and, at 40 years old ran a team event solo and made it through in TWO AND A HALF HOURS completing every single obstacle, no excuses…. And nobody who should have been excited and invested in my success said a word.

I was still invisible. I still did not matter. I was still not celebrated by the people who should have been there for me.

I want to point this out: Even I did not think I mattered or what I was doing was noteworthy. I was still so checked out and erased to myself that it didn’t click in my head that my life and all that I was doing and surviving was me doing the impossible.

My friend Luke (who I met online dating but I knew we were meant to be solid friends for life) made a point to come with me to the first Tough Mudder. He spent the entire day out there and he took photos of me… He is the reason that I can now reflect on what I did and actually SEE MYSELF. That gift is immeasurable. Luke evidenced me. Im here today as a whole person in part because of him. Also of note, the transition time between the apartment and the studio: Luke let me stay with him. He kept me safe and he was my sounding board and my true friend. I have nothing but the deepest most heartfelt love and respect for him. His story is equally harrowing and he is a miracle in action. Thank you Luke. I love you. Youre in my inner circle for life.

Now that Milo was gone and I was feeling somewhat more stabilized as a human, I knew it was time to make my career plan and try to get into massage school. Here is the next great stroke of luck in my lifetime: I went to Discovery Point and I talked to the women that run the school I explained my situation and that I was completely broke. They let me go to school for free in those 9 months with the understanding that I would clean the school on the weekends, make what payments I could as I went along and work out a payment plan immediately after graduation and that they would hold my diploma until that was complete. OH SWEET MERCY.

My days during those 9 months were 17 hours long. I would manage the café in the morning 5am to 1pm, go to the gym to lift and run from 2 to 4, then to school from 5 to 10pm…all the while walking to get to each place. I was getting something like 12 miles a day. I did it. I made my 9 months of cleaning the school and keeping my life on track ( no cheering section, nobody doing laundry, cooking, keeping bills paid or there to comfort me but me: Whats new?) , I passed my exam and I was on track to move my life forward.

I feel like there should have been a celebration when I graduated because that’s fucking astounding…. but, hey… nothing happened, nobody in my life said a word of congratulations about it. Surprise.

I live alone. I have no friends beyond those that exist on the computer, acquaintances from community, and a few co workers that I have hung out with from time to time and I always make a big deal about that on social media which gives the illusion that I have people, but I really dont. My only contact with others is at work. I go home to an empty room and there is no support or comfort. Its really impossible to describe to people who have people what it is like to live with this constant isolation and utter lack of emotional intimacy and how it eats you alive…but this has been my life.

People who don’t understand tell me to get a dog or volunteer or pay for therapy for companionship. That’s a cruel tone deaf response. People need people and it is reasonable to want to be loved, intimately, from the outside in. What I want is to simply matter, and be loved and valued, and have someone who is there without having to do something to receive that…..

Because I have yet to be understood when I talk about it, I have for the most part stopped talking about my isolation that is to this day very real for me.

Im so lonely I just want to die. Whats new.

In the next year, I was waiting tables still and somehow managed to pay off $10k for my license… on a year where I only made $24k. again, no celebration when I told my co workers about it…. I thought it was a big deal.

During that year I went to the doctor and discovered that I was literally malnourished. I was pushing it too hard with working out and keeping everything on track and my personal trainer wasn’t actually reading the food journal I sent him each night… so I got pneumonia as well….but just kept going.

I also got my Personal Training Cert and my Nutrition Counseling cert that year and started working as a Personal Trainer while I looked for a Massage job. Things were lightening up for me. The tremendous crushing weight of my entire life was lightening up.

But the reality of who my Trainer was and what a fraud he was came to the light. He was sleeping with some of his clients and I have a laundry list of unethical things he, and his business partner, were doing. When I held him accountable that was the last straw for him. He was sick to death of weathering my PTSD and how fucked up and sick I was and how fucked up I was over Thomas all the goddamn time… and additionally I was calling out all the ways he was unethical: I was bad for business. I was bad for him in the fitness community.

He kept gaslighting me to try to get me to leave but that was my community for 5 years and I didn’t know what to do…….So, Matt did whats guys do: Shes crazy… and shit talked me throughout the fitness community. He kicked me out of his gym and I now have no gym to work out at and no trainers willing to work with me. Thanks Matt! Super appreciate you!

I maintained my own lifting program for another year but honestly, I was in it for the community and sense of belonging that I never had before in my life. Without that and with Matt shit talking me in the background so I had no support elsewhere my program started to slip…. Add to that, I had begun working full time in massage and my shoulder got burnt out. I have a repetitive stress injury from my Amazon days that was made worse at Tough Mudder when I got my arm yanked nearly out of its socket in an obstacle… so, Lifting started to fade… and honestly, I was burnt out on the regiment of it all. I needed a break. I deserved a huge break.

I think it was right around 2014 when Mom had me come to Houston for Thanksgiving as though we are friends or she was a Mom. The highlights of that visit include her telling me the reason I wasn’t welcome in Houston during the Recession was because her husband Rumi forbade it.

(I forgot to mention that all through the years of her being with Rumi she has painted this picture of him being physically and emotionally abusive. That she was hiding money to escape him and what a horror he is. She had some secret email account that she sent me emails from at one point and told me that she was trying to hack his email to see who he was having affairs with or some other drama….. but you know if you ask Jim2 who his best friend is, its Rumi…apparently they text all the time…so, you know…she loves to lie and paint these horrific pictures of who people are to support whatever her manipulation is to get sympathy or whatever pay off)

Anyway, While I was in Houston visiting her she was acting like everything was normal and fine and that I had just made up whatever it was that I went through during the Recession. She reminded me that since I “left home” at 18 she has had to give me something like $20k in support and implied what a burden I am and how I always have my hand out. She has kept track of the financial support she gave me as a parent and wanted me to feel like shit for needing her. Cool….

Another example of how mentally deranged she is: While I was there we went out to lunch. Mind you, I have maybe $100 to my name at that time. I offered to pay for lunch at this fast food place and after we ordered she commanded me to go pick a table. So I got a booth with a chair. I sat on the booth side so I was facing the café and could see her when she came out of the restroom… I waved her over and she sat in the chair. Unbeknownst to me, the booth side made me taller than the chair side…. She got this twisted angry look and became livid that I thought I was better than her. Paying for lunch and sitting above her like that….. The next day Mom and Rumi started playing a really fun game where they forgot my name and kept calling me “Savannah” (my niece) for the remainder of the time I was there …. You know… because at 44, they saw me as a child. Nothing like a little game of erasing your daughter’s person hood and replacing it with infantilism to let your daughter know you really see her and respect her.

I really hope this is making clear why I have a strict no contact in place with her that I will never change.

Now its 2017 and I get hired at my dream job. The Spa that I am at is beautiful. My co workers are the best. I make really fine money. My mental health is slowly coming together. I got Thomas out of my life and have enough mental clarity now to really see him for who he is. I had spent yet another holiday season alone and the isolation was killing me, as per usual…so I decided that the best thing for me to do to help pull me out of my PTSD and stop being so scared to be seen or heard would be to go to music school…. Learn how to make friends for the first time in my adult life and be with people who were not my co workers. Try to trust people again. Try to trust that I could be liked for who I am….though rejection has been a very prevalent theme in my life… Try to learn some social skills that I missed out on basically my entire life.

How to simply hang out and play….was brand fucking new to me. Music school was really really really hard… not to mention I have no musical ability and I get triggered by stress pretty quickly and freeze… but I knew it was the right thing to do to reparent the kid inside me who never learned to make friends or be in activities with others and who wanted to play drums…. So hell yeah. I did it.

Thank you to Katy,Tracy,Melissa,and Kiyan for coming out to see a couple of those shows and being there to support me. You have no idea how much that meant to me.

I thought if I could make friends there I would have people to go out with and maybe could have a chance to meet a man and have a relationship… but all the women there were married with children and had little interest in going out at night, and I still wasn’t fully integrated as a Self yet… so that was a bust.

Music school was really me making up for my 20s and 30s when I should have been out at shows and hanging with friends and making art and and dating but instead I was being mentally tortured by my entire life. I gave it a good shot, but Im a mixed media artist not a musician and that’s really that. I have to take it in stride: Bless my heart for trying. Thank you to all my bandmates for being so kind and supportive of me and for being stellar humans

I was in my first year of Music school when I met the most amazing man, Joe. He was magical. He honestly loved me for me and I loved him right back. It was fast and deep and I felt so completely seen and wanted by him and OH MY GOD I NEEDED THAT FOR SO LONG. He made incredible things happen and took me on dates that made me feel like a Queen…. But Joe was terminally ill and two months later took his own life. I was in shock again….but kept going as I do.

Also out of context of timeline: When I got into that sweet little apartment I would go down to Edge of the Circle which was just a couple blocks away and get Tarot readings from Raven and Kiyan. I didn’t know how to simply ask for friendship so I would buy Tarot readings to have someone to talk to. These two helped me so much in so many ways…through their compassion and through helping me develop my Self and my skills. Over and over again these two have shown up as real people who have treated me with integrity. People who genuinely care about me and support me in my developing personhood. Ive made it through because of them and so many others along the way.

The shitty thing about being knocked out of your self is that even though you have people around you who care, you often cant see it or feel it and like a dick minimize what people are doing for you because the all-consuming feeling that nobody is there is so much larger than the gentle loving efforts of those around you…. And what happens: you push away the people who are there for you because they have self-respect and youre unwittingly being a dick. I want to say Im really sorry about this because I know for sure Ive done this.

Also out of context of timeline: Somewhere in here I started working in Tarot and caught a lucky break and got hired at Percys to be their Reader. Huge shout out to Krista who made that so possible for me. That Tarot night did more for my sense of Self and well being than I can explain and I was a success there largely because Krista made it so beautiful and kept that night going for me.

I also want to say Thank you to Tracy, Katy, and of course Brian who were my friends and co workers at the RowHouse Café… through those early massage school years. Endless support and encouragement from these guys, even when I was too fucked up to really receive it or reflect it back. Im really lucky to have met you and have had you in my life.

It was right around the solar eclipse and the night before that hurricane hit and flooded Houston and moms house got flooded that I emailed her a long list of things she had done that hurt me and explained that I would be taking time away from her and Id let her know when we could speak again. The next morning after I sent that email I again felt puppet mastered…. But this time by the little kid inside me… I literally woke up, jumped out of bed and started to dance. I was filled with glee. I was amazed by myself. I don’t know where that came from except to say that the kid inside me was OVERJOYED to be free of her.

In the coming years I kept proving to myself that I wont let her back in and that Im safe now… and as I have been staying true to this practice of not letting her, or anyone like her, back in my life… I have become happier and more whole as a human being…. More capable of making good choices in friends and finances….

She made an attempt to contact me around the holidays this year. I saw her call but let it go to voice mail. The message she left was something to the tune of her wanting to know if I had forgiven her yet and gotten over it. …See, because its about me and what I need to do because its my damage that is the problem here…. Nothing had changed with her. It was still my fault. No apology. No self reflection. Had I forgiven her yet. For fucks sake: I will never forgive her.

I have learned to celebrate myself, take my self on vacations and to my great delight I had friends who spent time with me and took care of me!!!!!! Incredible!!!!!, give myself the compassion and nurturing that I always wished I had and reasonably should have had from my family. I have been working on being able to see the love that is there for me from the people that I have in my life, though I still struggle with that. I have been working so hard on Self Love, Self Respect, Healthy boundaries, creating safety and stability in my life in all way and I know that Im doing great work because my inner me, those little kids inside of me that needed a parent are really responding to the parenting Im giving them…. Check this out:

A month or so after I declined her call I was out at the café in my neighborhood, having a treat and a coffee and doing some writing. I was sitting at the table and this incredible feeling came over me as though a golden light was shining on me and I could see it glittering down on me. I started laughing and crying like when you cum really hard and youre filled with ecstasy and bliss. And then I had a vision of being in a hospital room that was in the forest… it was just two walls of the room and then the woods…I could see deer and birds. In the hospital bed there was a person in a full body cast. The cast had moss growing on it and tiny sprouts of pine trees. The Doctor walked in to the room to check on the patient. I was both the Doctor and the Patient. I told myself: Hey, its time to get you out of there. And I grabbed my circle saw and started to cut my cast from end to end and crack to open like a sarcophagus. I told myself Welcome Back! We are so glad you are here!!! Go slow, take your time getting up. No rush.

I was so elated. I walked home immediately. Upon arriving at my studio I had another vision of all the ages of myself, down to the youngest and up to the oldest and wisest all linking hands. I recognized these women as my Sisters/MySelf… all of us agreed that the next would watch out for the next and that nobody would ever hurt us again. SOUL RECLAMATION.

For the first time in my life I am here, in this body, in this present moment. The first time in my life I am ME. Im currently 6 months in to my actual LIFE. THIS IS ME. I AM HERE. OH MY GOD. I MADE IT.

Yes now, of course, the world is ending and my career in massage is tenuous at best and I might be fucked again…. But so not worried because honestly, Ive survived worse with less. So I will figure this out and keep myself alive, housed and fed.

Over the years my attempts to talk it out with Mom were pointless… she would erase my feelings and angrily tell me that it was hard on all of us. She would hold no space for me and just be my mom and have some compassion for her baby girl. Nope: It was hard on all of us so stop complaining… but see, I was a child and they were my parents and that was my family and I had no choice…. So really, at this point, Im done. Im better off on my own.

I don’t know what else to say other than those yearly years were tremendously bad for everyone in my family, yes. I can now at this time in my life see and understand why everyone did what they did…. That my parents were also victims of abuse from their parents and all that and yeah, I have compassion and Im really sorry they had to go through that….But it doesn’t make it ok or make mom someone I will let back in my life. I mean, I went through it and Ive dedicated my lifes work to helping others heal and I try to be so good to everyone around me so…. No excuses. And, I still have questions like: Fuck, why did dad never go to jail? Im guessing it was about the money…..and really, how did nobody in my family see that I needed help?

Anyway… Ive done epic amount of self work to be here today as a whole person and really change my reality to one where I have value and can share love. Im still working on it… My social anxiety is still the worst. I can barely form words into sentences when Im out in public and I dont have a job to do as my role to play....but you know, I keep trying and its easier and keeps getting easier… and I have amazing friends like Brad to have mini adventures with… and I have my Studio to do my art in and now that Im feeling so much more whole as a person I think I might actually see some work through to completion that I can be proud of… and I have a job that I love and Im getting training for some other skills to expand my skillset and I feel that things can only get better from here so

I feel so lucky to be alive and so fucking grateful to be me and I really like myself. It’s a miracle. All things are possible if you just remember: LOVE IS THE KEY and keep moving in that direction.

That’s my experience and now you know.

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 2 of 21

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DARING DO and the

ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck) @ask-de-writer

And

Carmen Pondiego @askcarmenpondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

Writing begun 08/26/15

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The partners opened the door to enter impressively. They tripped headlong on their own wastebaskets! She made a point of looking up disapprovingly and said sternly, “Please be seated. I will be with you momentarily.”

She continued to study and sip the expensive juice. Shaking her head in mock frustration, she glared up at the dismayed partners. “You really do need a better translator for X'ibian. This farrago is nearly hopeless.”

Before any of them could respond to the multiple outrages that they were experiencing, Daring Do snorted, “Don’t like it when the intimidation is happening to you? Neither do I. The difference is this. I DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT IF I GET BORED!

“To business. Now.”

“Um, that is my chair, Miss Do.”

“And you may have it back as soon as the conference is over, Mister Tyranny. Along with it, you may have the juice, if any is left. The longer that this takes, the less you get.” She pointedly sipped more from the snifter.

“The FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS will be the payment of the sum of fifty thousand golden bits directly to my account at Equestrian National Bank. This is repayment for your clumsy break-in of my office.”

“Now, Miss Do, you are making wild accusations that cannot be proved at all!”

Raising her eyebrows in amusement, Daring Do retorted, “Really, Mister Overthrow? I know that this will not hold up in court because no warrant was used to obtain it. Trust me, I have more. Enough to put both you and Mister Robber into jail.”

She shuffled through the stack of purloined documents and held up a map and a parchment, both sealed by chop and brush written. The parchment was in Chineighese and the map notes written in X'ibian.

“Besides these, I have your accomplice who used a key to open my door, already in custody under the Royal Wing. In Celestia and Luna’s Evidence are certain other things that can be traced to you both.”

Outraged, Mister Tyranny demanded, “What puts a minor break in at the University under the Royal Wing?”

Smiling sadly, Daring Do replied, “The fact that the broken figurines that were on my shelves were genuine antiques belonging to Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. They were gifts that I gave them and are formally recorded in the Royal Register. That is where the bulk of the damages come from.”

Hardening to solid steel, her voice demanded, “NO CHECKS OR DRAFTS ON YOUR FIRM! No PERSONAL ONES, either. Irrevocable gold transfer orders to the Bank, now! The Princesses have already given the Bank their authorization for the size of the sum.”

“We will need to confer on this!”

“Confer away! Just do not take too long nor leave this room for any reason. The building is already surrounded by units of the Royal Guards backed up by the 23rd Airborne Armored Pegassi and the 4th Royal Armored Heavy Infantry. Don’t believe me? Just look out the window at the streets.”

They looked. And shuddered. “What happens if we do the transfer, Miss Do?”

“It will reduce the issue to an out of court damage settlement. The evidence will be kept in the case of violation or future charges from other misconduct.”

Glumly, Tyranny tapped codes into the Magic Net mirror built into his desk. He spoke briefly and bitterly. A few minutes later, Overthrow reported, “The armor is pulling back.”

There was a signal from Daring Do’s mirror. She spoke briefly. Looking up brightly, she reported, “The transfer is done and the military units will withdraw completely after our business is done and I am safely out of the building.”

Tyranny’s brow clouded with fury. “We have paid! Don’t you trust us?”

With an angelic smile, Daring do returned, “You are LAWYERS. NOBODY in their right mind trusts you!

“Now, about this business that you wanted to hire me for.”

The three partners glared at each other first and then unified their hateful stares at Daring Do, who responded by by pouring another shot into the snifter and sipping appreciatively.

It was Robber who snapped, “After this extortion, why would we even consider you for anything?”

“You broke into my office, faking the breaking of the dead bolt and the frame to obtain information that you have totally failed to get. You did find this map which you could have got a copy of for only five silver bits from the Antique Sites Registry. You also stole a letter from my friend and guide, Sang He. I suspect that you took it because it was in something looking like Chineighese. It’s not. This is modern X'ibian written with Chineighese characters. Sorry.”

Sourly, Tyranny said, “That map has the exact location of the artifact that we are looking for. It is at the X.”

Daring Do almost spit out her juice, she was laughing so hard. “You have marked the ancient Imperial city of Hong Wa! Do you have any idea what the scale of this map is? Your X marking the exact spot covers a radius of 15 kilometers from Hong Wa!”

Glaring at Daring Do, sitting in HIS chair, sipping His expensive juice, and laughing at him was not to be borne! He haughtily informed her, “It is buried in the necropolis, a graveyard, just out of the city. All that is needed is to find the appropriate tomb or grave and dig it up!”

Daring Do stopped laughing. She was staring at Mister Tyranny as if she was looking at a retarded colt. Jaw dropped, she asked, “Are you serious? You should have bought the map from the Antiquities Site Registry. You would have gotten the main site list along with it.

“Inside the radius of the X on the map, there are 14 necropoli, each housing over 2000 tombs and shaft graves. This does not count the simple burials. If you extend the search radius only a little, you also include the cliff burials. We cataloged over 300 caves, both natural and carved into the stone. The caves that we sampled had upwards of five hundred skeletons each.”

It was Mister Overthrow who dropped the bomb, so to speak. “It should be easy to locate. It is in the tomb of Im Farst, the founding emperor of the X'ibian Empire.”

Daring Do put a hoof over her eyes. “You do know that that Im Farst is basically a partly documented legend, don’t you? His tomb is RUMORED to be somewhere within three days walk of Hong Wa! It has never been found. Over a hundred legal expeditions have spent more than 3.5 million golden bits trying to locate it without success. Luna alone knows how many illegal ones there have been.

“Among the over 2,000 artifacts that are supposed to have been interred with Im Farst, what precisely do you want found?”

Mister Robber growled as he held out a picture. “This. The small blue, green and white vase in the corner of this wall painting.”

Daring Do took one look and nearly fell out of the chair, laughing. When she got herself under control, she chugged a big slug of juice before snickering, “The Heart of Discord!? You want that!? That wall painting is the ONLY record of its existence from the Ancient X'ibian Empire! All of the mentions of it and claims about it and its mystical powers date from just after the Second Nightmare War, over 750 years after the Heart was supposedly buried and lost for all time!”

Tyranny gave Daring Do a squinty eyed stare. “IF you can find it, we will not quibble the cost. Let us know how much you will need to mount the expedition and we will give you 50 percent up front and not worry about the recovery of it if you fail. We do know your record for finding things that others have sought and failed to locate.

“If the Heart is found, we will pay the full balance and add ½ million gold for your service. Just sign this payment agreement and non disclosure document and we will be in business.

Daring Do took the papers and neatly folded them. “I will keep things confidential, gentleponies. I will have MY lawyer look them over and advise me about proceeding or not.

“If I go ahead with this, I will deliver this and my expedition workup to Horsetense, the receptionist in the lobby. Please please be prompt with the payment.”

Getting up and leaving, she said over her shoulder, “Your chair, Mister Tyranny. I am afraid that there is little of the juice left. It was excellent.”

Down in the lobby, Daring Do asked a shaken receptionist, “I do hope that the Armored Infantry were polite to you? I told them to be!”

“They were totally polite, except for setting up the sixty mm Mage-Mortars over in the park. That was not too reassuring.”

“I can see that.”

Daring Do left the building and sauntered up to the Colonel in charge. “Very well done, Sir. I will see that the Princesses get a truly favorable report of this action.”

He nodded with a smile. “Thank you, Miss Do. If all is in order, we shall withdraw at once.”

A while later Daring Do was staring at her mother’s Canterlot Headquarters. She shook her head. The building itself, in the poor light of evening was nearly black. It loomed above the street. No other word would do; it loomed. There was a relatively huge planter/light box on the front of the building. It was a pale purple, almost white. The lights in the box illuminated huge letters spelling out, V.I.L.E. The V was red over a gray circle with an off white interior. The remaining letters were the same purplish off white as the circle’s interior.

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#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #Part 2 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

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bigsnzstanacct · 5 years

Text

Richie Robbins

Here’s my first, totally unfinished sneezefic. It’s all about loud sneezes, I haven’t edited it at all and tbh I found it on some random blog that had clearly grabbed stories from the forum bc I didn’t want to dig through all my old computer backups so ya know if it’s screwed up it’s not my fault.

As passionately as he desired to, he knew he wouldn't be able to evade it. It would come, as so many times before: unavoidable, uncontrollable, unstoppable. He closed his eyes, tilted back his head, let the itch like fire at the edges of his nostrils expand to set his whole nose ablaze with a tickle so strong, only a monstrous explosion could expel it. And monstrous explosions were his stock-in-trade.

"hehh...hehh...HEISSSHOOO!" he exploded. His stunned professor stopped her lecture, as the noise rang out through the huge lecture hall, waking up quite a few drowsy (hungover?) students. Flummoxed, she lost her place in her notes, as the boy sitting next to him, a jock, last name Stevens... first name he couldn't remember, muttered, "Nice one, Robbins. You planning to blow any houses down any time soon?"

Richard Robbins waited a moment before he replied, hoping to make sure the one great sneeze had been enough to expel the full magnitude of the tickly sensation in his nostrils. He sniffed before opening his mouth to reply, which was, as always, a huge mistake.

"Yeah, Ste-st... stevens... I... hah... I...iiegh...ieghhh..ihhh...ihhh..." He thought for a moment he'd gotten it under control, rushing a firm index finger to his quivering nostrils, but it was too little, too late: "Y-yeahhhh... ahhhKESHHHHHuuuhh. HEYY-SHEEUUUUEY!" Another of his roaring sneezes rang out through the room, again startling Doctor Renyolds, who had just managed to get herself composed enough to begin lecturing again. And the sneeze came with a brother, a great screaming affair which appeared to have erupted from the very depths of Richie's being, and, luckily enough, had carried with it sufficient force to finally blast out whatever was causing the terrible tickle in his nose.

"My!" Doctor Reynold's voice came, after only a few seconds, "Whoever has been exploding in my has thoroughly put me off my lecture. Were we speaking about Hamlet or 'The Waste Land'?"

Richie sank in his chair. He had hoped to avoid this, this time. All throughout high school he had been known as the school's sneeze factory, variously going by nicknames from Sneezy to Big Bad Wolf to Johnny Tsunami--that particular psudonym coming from a quite unfunny teacher--but in college, he had hoped to avoid being identified primarily by his nose.

Of course, when you had a nose as big as Richie's, it was rather difficult not to notice. It was nearly always the first thing people noticed about Richie, either because he was busy sneezing or because its moderately thin but hugely protruding shape, rather like a right triangle seen in profile, was the most commanding thing about his face. And his nostrils: they were great, wide, massive things, sucking up irritants with an unholy frequency, tickling with an unthinkable burning fury, exploding with almost unimaginable, messy force. There were times when he felt his older brothers' insistence upon calling his nose Mount Vesuvius was not wholly inaccurate.

Not that any of the men in Richie's family had room to complain about his sneezes. While Richie may have gotten a double portion, this was surely a family curse: when the six Ritchie men--three older siblings: Tristan, Adrian, and Sebastian, Richie himself, his little brother Max, and his father--were united in colds and allergies, it was a wonder Richie's mother hadn't gone deaf. All six of them complained of unusually strong itches that developed deep within their nostrils, which could only be expelled by their characteristically loud sneezes. Stifling or containing the sneezes would never do; it would only intensify the tickle--and the resulting sneezes--by several orders of magnitude.

No, there was little Richie could do in such a situation besides let himself sneeze and hope that no one would notice. Which, thus far, had never happened.

"Hey, Robbins," the jock queried, "should I send out the storm warning to little pigs?"

After class, Richie walked out onto the campus, on the way to his dorm room. He was hit full in the face by the bright September sun, and by his furious nasal tickling.

"Nodda... hiihhh... nodahhh... again... HEEEYY-SHEEUU! HISSHHH! ehh... ehhhSHIIEUUU!" He let the sneezes erupt into the open air, giving them free reign to bend him in half, three times, each sneeze bigger and louder than the previous, though, for Richie, they were comparatively light, more like minor aftershocks than the sneeze-quake itself. He wished these would've hit in the lecture hall, rather than the nuclear blasts he had actually let out.

"Well, you can't always get what you want..." Richie muttered to himself.

"But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you just might find...!" Sing-shouted Richie's best friend, Adam, who had, as ever, appeared behind him.

"How do you do that?" Richie asked, "Do you stalk men unawares in the night by custom? I'm beginning to think you're practicing to be Batman."

"Richie," Adam paused to say, mock-serious, "I am Batman. And even if I wasn't, I'd be able to locate those sneezes from halfway across the campus," laughed Adam. "But anyway, what's up?"

"Well, I exploded in the middle of my Poetry and Drama class, and I'm pretty sure Professor Reynolds hates me, but besides that, not much."

"Old Vesuvius come back to life? Well, no shock there. No offense dude, but your nose has been permanently set to stun since high school."

"Yeah, I've noticihhh... ihhhh... ihhyahhhhhhhAAESSHUUU!"

The pair began walking down the cobblestone path of the university, presumably towards the dorm rooms, then cut through the quad, where, of course, the flowers begot a huge tickle in Richie's nose. "Oh! W-waaahhh... ahhh..." He tried to get the tickle under control long enough to utter the phrase "watch out," but Adam had long since learned to gage when Richie was about to embark upon one of his voyages to a Byzantium of Richter-scale rocking sneezes, and had promptly set his fingers in his ears, got down on his knees, and, in a grand military manner, announced, "Cannons are aimed! Target has been acquired! Fire at will! Fire at will!!"

The fact that he had never, frankly, fired at will, passed quickly through Richie's mind before the sneeze washed over him, washing away all thoughts other than the sneezes, and all quiet in the quad: "yyeeaaaaaaHHHCHOOOOOOOSSSHHH"

Several stunned students turned around to locate the source of the booming noise, and Adam thought that he heard a "wow," somewhere in the distance. A few birds, it seemed, started from the trees. Adam wasn't even entirely sure that he had imagined the swaying he thought he saw in a few of the trees. There was no doubt about it: Richie could sneeze. Ever since they met in freshman year of high school, Adam had seen Richie's nose at the epicenter of a daily series of frightful detonations. This particular sneeze had been not only monstrously loud but torrentially wet, leading Adam to celebrate his decision to crouch at Richie's side; he did not want to get drenched, as he had been on more than one occasion. Ever since freshman year.

"Geez, Rich, you done?" Adam asked, after giving Richie a few seconds.

"SHEEEOOO!" Richie exploded, if possible, even louder.

"Guess not." he chuckled. After Richie (and Adam) felt sure that Richie's nose wasn't about to go nuclear again, Adam stood up, began walking, and quipped, "You know, I'm looking for a side-kick; before I swoop in and lock up the baddies, maybe I can get you to sneeze and blow 'em down!"

"Shut up, Adam." Richie joked, giving Adam a playful slap on the head, before the two rushed off trading barbs as they went.

—-

Richie reached the dormroom with comparatively few incidents, although he had to force himself more than once to obey his father’s favorite dictum: don’t stifle your sneezes. Don’t even try. Richie’d heard that particular sermon preached any number of times, along with his mother’s story: “When your father went on our first date, he tried to hold those things back, and when they finally came out”—“when she smothered her spaghetti in pepper,” his father would always interject—“I thought he was going to blow everything off the table! He sounded a little like you, actually, Richie.”

So, with his mother’s slightly nasally voice ever ringing in his ears, Richie forced himself to let out a series of noisy nasal explosions, in order to satiate his nose’s uncontrollable need for relief from its buzzing, burning, incredibly tickly itching sensations. Few people could imagine just how strong the tickles in Richie’s nose got; perhaps the only way to truly represent their magnitude was their own self-expression in his explosive sneezes. He felt fairly lucky that he'd only had to give in to three or four on his way back to the dorms, although the gaggle of women who had clearly bathed in perfume were less than joyous at the sudden, shocking explosion of elephantine nasal trumpeting which had suddenly erupted to their near right, and each had jumped at least a foot in the air, much to the amusement of Adam, who'd laughed almost as loudly as Richie had sneezed.

Adam and Richie had reached their dorm room, and were sitting about, not really doing anything, as college students are wont to do in lazy afternoons, after classes but before the dinner hours. Of course, they could have been studying, but who’d want to do that? Richie was busy plotting ways to avoid blasting the cafeteria during lunch (take an extra dose of Claritin, bring a handkerchief, and always avoid pepper like the plague), while Adam sat on the bed, debating with himself about whether or not to take a nap, when he felt a tickle invade his nose. Adam’s sneezes, while certainly not tiny, couldn’t compare in the slightest to Richie’s nasal artillery, and the “ihh… ihhhh…IT-CHEEOOooey” he released was nothing compared to a Richie sneeze.

But Adam’s nose wasn’t done yet; the tickle returned, the previous sneeze having done nothing to alleviate it, but rather seeming to have augmented it: “nyehhh… hih! hih! hehhh…” Adam’s nose vacillated on the edge of a relieving sneeze, its power building with every hitch of his breath, “nighiiee…hiegh… ighhhiee… iiiaaAAAAAHHH-CHOOO!” Adam sneezed, much harder than normal.

“Woah, buddy,” Richie murmured over his shoulder, “You really let that one go; you aiming to start a sneeze fight?”

“No, no, no, no,” Adam said, still feeling a bit lightheaded from the sneeze, which had taken more out of him than usual, “getting into a sneeze war with your nose is like bringing three sticks and a baseball bat to the Crimeahhhh… Crimeaaaaahhhh… Crimean... aayyYAH-SHEWWWESSH!” Yet another draining sneeze burst from Adam’s nose, this time with some considerable spray. “Yeesshhh,” Adam said, “that would would’ve drenched a tissue almost as bad as you would! I’m turning into a fire hose sneezer like y… you… you… Ah-CHOOeeeyyy!” Adam let out yet another sneeze, although this one was comparatively light, more in keeping with Adam’s usual sub-volcanic sneeze level.

Thus far, he’d been able to avoid it, having long since learned that if he was to ever do anything except sneeze, he’d have to suppress his sympathetic sneezing reaction. But ever since he’d been a teen, Richie’s nose had been envious of anyone who let out too many sneezes around him, and desired to experience such enormous relief as came with his hurricane-strength achooeys. Thus, he felt a slight tickle brewing when Adam had released his fourth sneeze, and when he heard Adam hitching up to a fifth—“ahhh… ahh… am… ah… am I ever gonaaaahhhh stahhh… stahhh… stop… ahhh…”—he feared his nose too, would begin to go into sneezy paroxysms.

“Adam, man, ah… ah… can you get a hold on those sneezes… my n-nose is starting to tickle too… hoohhhh… ohhhh…”

Richie struggled to get a grip on the still relatively slight tickle that had invaded his nose, as Adam did his best to hold back his sneezy nose from the delightfully relieving fifth sneeze that he knew was on its way. “ahhhh… ahhhh… I-I dunno… ohhhh ahhh… hah… It ruhhhh… ruhhhheaalllly tickles. Ahhhhh… AHHHH… AYYY-CHEOOOSHH!” He let out another sneeze, the strongest, wettest, and most forceful of the bunch, although not spectacularly loud.

But anyone waiting for a noisy nose would have little time to wait. Adam’s fifth and final sneeze had sent Richie’s sympathetic tickles into overdrive, and with almost no buildup, he reared his head back, nostrils flaring wildly like a bucking horse, and bellowed out an enormous, “CCHHHHEEEOOOOOOOO!” Followed by two more, slightly less loud but torrentially wet, “PLESSHEWEY! IT-CHEWWW!” Each sneeze was a spectacularly loud, messy affair, though they were commensurate to Richie’s normal sneeze volume, which, of course, approached the ear-splitting at close ranges. It was more than enough, Richie realized sheepishly, to sound throughout the entire dorm room floor, and maybe the floors above and below. He remembered to make a mental note to avoid staying up late nights—a late night tickle could easily turn peaceful dorm-mates into irate potential tormentors, irritated by being woken by Richie’s cannon-like sneeze. He realized, too, that he might’ve shaken people from any number of midday naps.

When Richie’s series of explosions were done, an affair which sent Richie’s body completely out of control, rearing back and exploding forward with abandon, his entire body at the mercy of his monstrously powerful lungs, mouth, and most of all, nose, Adam couldn’t resist making a quip. “See why I don’t want to get in a sneezing fight with you?”

“Yeah, I know. I hate those sympathetic tickles. Gotta keep that under control,” Richie said, as much to chide his nose as anything else.

“Under control? Your nose? That’s like keeping a bull in a china shop from disturbing a single piece of porcelain. Really wish I could find out why I was sneezin’ though. Those were pretty big for me, though for you it’d be like taking an earthshaking thunderstorm and replacing it with a light, pleasant summer rain…” Adam laughed, but paused when his joking was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Richie shouted, fearing that it was an irate neightbor, awoken from a nap. This had been one of his many fears about college; each of his older brothers had brought home several stories of how they had woken up between one and several fellow dorm-mates, roommates and apartment neighbors (not that the Robbins boys needed to be in the same building with a person to make themselves known by their noses; the family’s suburban neighbors had revealed on several occasions that someone, usually Richie, had been audible through the windows). Tristan, the oldest, who had, after Richie, the second most Vesuvial nose in the family, once told the story of how he had woken up, very literally, his entire dorm with a series of cold-inspired sneezes, and how only the awesomely pathetic sight of his sickly state, ensconced as he was in blankets and almost covered in used tissues and hankies, had prevented him from receiving one of his dormmates infamously cruel practical jokes.

Richie hoped to avoid such a situation, and so it was with apprehension (and desperate attempts to remember his self-defense classes) that he opened the door.

“Hey, dude!” Said the surprisingly pleasant and excited looking young man at the door, “was that a sneeze, or did somebody set of a nuke in the room next to mine?”

Relieved as Richie was by the friendliness of the visitor, Adam slightly sluggishly slid out of bed, laughing as he did, “That’s my man here, Richie, the Nose extraordinaire, the loudest sneeze in the west, superman of sneezes, the titan of ticklish nostrils, Sir Vesuvius himself, the leaf-blower…”

“Richard, just Richard is my name.” Richie cut in, eager to cut Adam off before he got to the detested “Johnnie Tsunami” epithet.

“Well, Richard-just-Richard, I had to come over here to see if that nose actually just came out of a person!”

“Sorry, I can’t help it…” Richie said, suddenly blushing slightly, “I hope I didn’t wake you or anything…”

“Nah. I wasn’t doing anything. But really, you just sneezed that loud? You got some kinda supernose or somethin’?”

“Well, it’s not exactly thin, as you can see,” Adam began, with a professorial air, “and the protruding shape and large nostrils provide some explanation as to its loud-speaker like qualities…”

“It’s just been that way since I was a kid,” sighed Richie, mildly put off by the awkward conversation.

“Dude, I haven’t heard a sneeze that loud since, like, ever, probably. Although my dad sets off some real firecrackers back at home… I didn’t think I’d hear anything like that for another few months. Kinda reminds me of home, actually.”

“Well, anytime you get homesick, just give us a ring and bring the pepper, though you might wanna bring some earplugs actually…”

“Adam. Geez, do you ever run out,” Richie inquired, with an irritated air.

“Not really.” Adam replied straightforwardly, "I'm a joke machine. And a love machine. Just FYI, let the ladies know..."

“Well,” the visitor declared, “Adam, Richie, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jerry.” He stuck his hand out, and Richie shook it forcefully, though he found his grasp met with a vice shaking like a centrifuge.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Richie said, wincing slightly from the handshake.

“Hey, dude, we’re headed to lunch soon, wanna come?”Adam asked cheerfully.

“Yeah, totally. I was actually kinda hoping to avoid eating lunch alone,” Jerry confessed, “though I don’t know how you get through lunch, dude. Better warn ‘em: hide the pepper!”

That’s a joke I haven’t heard before Richie thought to himself. But, though not original in his jokes, this new acquaintance wasn’t half-bad, and was certainly an improvement upont the angry neighbor Richie’d feared he’d encounter. And speaking of curing homesickness…

“Are you wearing co-cologne… cologne… ehhhhh… ehhhhhhh… EHHHHHSSSSHOOOO!” Richie erupted another characteristically noisy sneeze, which, at unusually close range, prompted both Jerry and Adam to dramatically cover their ears to avoid the full blast of Richie’s nasal explosion, which was easily a nine on the Richter scale, probably a ten.

“Geez, man, I thought they were loud through the wall!” Jerry said, awestruck.

“Richie’s nose? Man, you haven’t seen anything yet. He’ll blow the paint off the walls before we graduate,” Adam joked, yet again.

“I think I might go ahead and take a shower,” Jerry responded, “I’ll meet you guys in about thirty minutes, alright?”

“Sounds great!” Adam said.

Richie would’ve replied, but Jerry’s cologne hadn’t yet finished with Richie’s surpassingly tickly and tickle-able nose. “hahhhh… HAHHHHH…HEHSHOOOH!” Richie erupted again, thanking his lucky nasal stars that his nose had seen fit, for once, to not let out a great big wet one while he was right in someone’s face. He opened his mouth to say, “nice to meet you,” but what came out was another, “TITCHEWWWEY! SHEWWWWWSH!” It was hugely, horribly wet, and in his zeal to avoid blasting his new compatiot, he had turned and, inadvertently, sprayed a great, big wet one into the face of his good friend Adam.

“Well… um… are you trying to tell me you don’t like my jokes, buddy?”

Now, getting sprayed by a sneeze was usually a messy affair, but getting sprayed by a Richie sneeze was pitched somewhere between “elephant sneeze” and “sprayed by a fire hose”. Adam was drenched, and Richie found himself reflecting yet again as to why he never, never attempted to use a pathetic tissue to hold up against the surpassing force of his all-powerful nasal eruptions, the tickly twin cannons of wind, wet, and sound that had taken up residence on his face, began full-strength operations in high school, and seemed to grow in power alone as their experience increased.

“Well, I think I’ll be taking a shower too.” Adam said, before promptly turning around, grabbing a towel and some clothes, and rushing to the bathroom, letting out an irrepressable, high-pitched, and surpassingly effete “EWWWWWW!” which sent Richie and Jerry into shaking convulsions of laughter.

—

After cleaning himself off from Richie’s hurricane-force discharge, Adam proceeded to the downstairs dining hall to meet both Richie and their new friend Jerry. Of course, he heard Richie before he saw him. “heh… heh… HAT-CHOOO!” It was a comparatively small one for his good friend Rich, but the noise still carried well out of the dining room and into the hallway. Adam often kidded Richie about his sneezes, but half the time he genuinely felt bad for the guy. After all, those massive eruptions that had punctuated almost his entire high school experience weren’t just occasional explosions, they were daily at the very least. Any number of things lit Richie’s sneezing fuse, setting off a chain reaction inside Richie’s nose that led inexorably to a blast of such volume and violence that people often inquired of Richie how such a loud noise could come out of a 45-year old 6’ 10’ two-hundred-thirty-pound ex-logger construction worker with a bad head cold, much less little old Richie Robbins. Every time he sneezed with people around, Richie would blush, shrug, and, Adam knew, mentally wish himself out of the room. It wasn’t easy having a semi-superpower—not that it’d do any good in a fight, Adam mused—for a sneeze. But it was life for poor Richie, and that was simply that.

For Adam’s part, he’d never been particularly bothered by his best friend’s outrageous a-choos. Maybe he just had ears of steel, but the volume didn’t bother him, and it did provide a decent shake-up during lulls in conversation. Heck, he’d been a regular vistor to the Robbins household, and that was an experience unto itself. Multiplying Richie’s sneezes with a father, three older brothers, and one younger made a ruckus that just didn’t make sense. If anyone needed proof that sneezes were hereditary, well, Adam knew where to bring them. He’d heard the same story from all six Richie men: it’s the tickles. The tickles, itches, tingles, and twinges that invaded the Robbins family sinuses were purportedly unbearable, like a thousand invisible brushes sweeping all the way up the nasal cavity. And the only way to get those brushes (temporarily) out was to let out a blast that could be heard across three counties (or at least a small suburban house… and a few of the adjacent ones.) Their sneezes came from their toes and then some. But the big sneezes were just the only way that they could relieve the incredible pressure and the tickle that built up in their large, protruding nostrils, swishing around their noses with an unimaginable irritation. The ones with long build-ups were the worst. He’d seen Tristan and Adrian, Sebastian and Max, even Mr. Robbins, staring up at lights, forcefully fanning under their noses, doing anything to tip the tickle out of the gate and onto the flight ramp, at which point a sneeze would shoot out from their nostrils of which any elephant would have been proud.

It was thoughts like this that preoccupied Adam as he sat down with Richie and Jerry, who were discussing the finer points of eruption-inspiring allergens.

“For my dad, is the dogs that are the worst, man, get him within ten feet of a dog, especially one of those great big shaggy things, and oh man… it’s time to break out the protective earmuffs, I’m tellin’ you…”

“Yeah, dogs get me bad too, but the cats… oh… waay… wait a second… I’b gonnahhhh… ahhh… HASHOOOEY!” Richie gasped out a “’nother… nothaaahhh” before bursting into a second tectonic shift of a sneeze, “YASSSHOOOOOO! Oh, I’m so sorry, that was a big one.”

“They’re always big ones, Rich!” Adam said as he sat down.

“Can’t argue with you there.” Richie sighed. While he often wished he could just get rid of his charateristic sneez-plosions, Richter rockers, or Richie Roars, as his nasal expulsions were variously called, Richie was grateful for friends that weren’t repulsed, shocked, or amazed by his sneezes, and he felt much less self-conscious about lettin’ it rip when Adam, or, as of today, Jerry, was around. Not that he had much (or any) choice.

“So, you two comparing notes?” asked Adam.

“Yeah,” Jerry said, “so far, we’ve mentioned flowers, pepper, animals…”

“Actually, most spices get me, red pepper worst of all.” Richie began, “In fact, the reason I sat down at this table is because it doesn’t even have a red pepper shaker, thank goodness. But I’ve blown back the fur and feathers on just about any pet you can imagine…”

They continued on talking like this, unaware that at the table just behind them, the very jock that had filled the standard role of Richie’s sneeze tormentor was subtly listening in on their conversation. Ashton Stevens was his name, and he, like Jerry, had also had a big sneezer at home. But he didn’t have such generous memories of his parents’ noisy noses. In fact, he had been driven nearly insane by his mother and father’s constant loud sneezes, which, unlike Richie’s, seemed put-on, fake, as if they both just wanted to announce to the world how noisily they could sneeze. The crowning moment had been that day, the day of senior prom… but Ashton tried not to think about it. For his part, he had rather dainty sneezes, somewhat at odds with his large and muscular build. He, of course, had never been plagued with allergies on the level of Richie’s, but he had gone through an allergic phase as a teen. During that time he constantly focused on controlling his sneezes, squelching them down until they were little more than a semi-audible, “chuh”. Richie’s gargantuan gale winds had brought him right back to that moment at the senior prom, and he secretly seethed inside every time Richie’s nose went out of control and spasmed with a silence-smashing sneeze. But he was formulating a plan, in the back of his mind, that would shame Richie into shutting up, as his parents never would.

Meanwhile, as Ashton Stevens seethed, Richie (predictably) sneezed. “yeaaaahhhh, ahhhh… aaaaahpppppSHEWWW! Uh, another one. I don’t know what’s making my nose so itchy!” The sneeze, honestly, had been the lightest one he’d let out in a while, only audible above speaking voices at the end, indicating a comparatively low-level irritation. Probably a stray flake of black pepper. While he reacted to pepper as much as anybody else, Richie had never had nearly as much of a problem with pepper as he did with dander, other spices, and the dreaded perfume and cologne.

“So,” Adam inquired, “what are you boys up to this evening. It’s Friday night, and ah… ah… HAT! CHOO!” Adam let out a neatly segregated sneeze, a firmly punctuated breath drawn in followed by a neat and tidy choo, which, although somewhat wet, was not extremely loud, as per the normal pattern of Adam’s sneeze. “Woah, I don’t know why I keep sneezing.”

“Yeah, come to think of it, neither do I,” Richie added, “do you think you’re allergic to something up here?”

“Nah, I’m as hardy as a bull, allergens can’t get me down. Try as they might, they cannot invade the fortress of my mighty nasal guard. Granted, they don’t have as big of a target on mehh… on mehhhh… me… as…. BAA-shewww!” Adam sneezed again, with a sound that sounded utterly fed-up with sneezing.

“Any chance you might be getting a cold?” Jerry inquired. Adam and Richie exchanged anxious looks. Each knew what the other was thinking: if Richie caught a cold, his sneezes, seemingly impossibly, would grow significantly in strength, volume, and mess.

“No,” Adam said, attempting to laugh away the possibility, “No way! The last time I had a cold was…”

“The camping trip in eleventh grade. And I promptly caught it and nearly blew down our tent on several different occasions.” Richie finished for him, “And I hope it’s not happening now,” he moaned, “because if you get sick, then I’ll get sick, and if I get sick…”

“Don’t worry, Rich!” Adam insisted, “I’m not getting sick! But so you don’t worry, I guess I’ll take some vitamins, and call it an early night, I guess…”

“No way, man!” Jerry interrupted, “we’ve barely been in college for a week. We’re goin’ out tonight. We’re going somewhere, and if you don’t like it, mister, too bad!”

Adam laughed. “Well, can’t argue with a command like that, sir. Where do we go?”

“There’s a nice bar nearby,” Richie offered.

“No, no, no, I mean a real club: loud music, sloppy drunks, and scantily-clad women.” Of course, at the mention of women, all three hormone-addled brains perked up instantly, and any reluctance at club-going was instantly erased.

And, Adam saw another perk:

“Plus, the club’s so loud, Richie, that it’s probably one of the few places on earth where your sneezes can’t carry. You know, places like construction sites… death metal concerts… one of my sister’s shouting—I mean singing recitals…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But that’s actually a good point, and the sneezes have actually been comparatively light...” but suddenly Richie’s eyes got a distant, faraway look. His nose scrunched up, and the itch exploded in his nostrils like a thousand buzzing tiny, invisible flies, sending his nostrils into a rampage of twitching, his upper lip, his entire face swishing and moving with the enormous need to sneeze that had burgeoned so suddenly in his nostrils. This was gearing up to be a real monster; his breath hitched, “hahhhh… hahhhh…,” his eyes bulged. He reached his hand up to try to scrub away the itch, although he knew it was useless. This was shaping up to be the biggest sneeze that had hit him all day… “hih! hih! ah! ah! ah! ooooh, it won’t come ou… outahhhh… ahhhhhh… ahahhhh… ahahhah…” the sneeze stuck for a moment, leaving Richie’s face in a mask of sneezy agony, the corners of his mouth turned firmly down, his eyes tearing and glancing upwards, searching for a light bright enough to send his brewing eruption into its final stages of detonation, his eyebrows severely arched. His watering eyes rapidly blinked for what seemed an eternity, before he gave his nose one more good sniff and gave in to the inevitable detonation: “hhhhaaAAA-AARRSCHOOOhhh! HAAA-HOOOOOSH-SHOOOOEY! Ahhh… igghiee… hah…" He hitched for just a few seconds before absolutely roaring out the thermonuclear explosion of his final sneeze: "RAAH-SCHOOOOOOOOHH!”

“Woah.” Said Adam and Jerry simultaneously.

The sneeze was so big, it left Richie panting a little after. It wasn’t just the biggest sneeze all day, it was the biggest set of sneezes he’d had in a month! Richie had rocked back and forth with each colossal sneeze, giving his tickly nose complete abandon. The sneezes took him over, and each was a nearly-shouted affair that was louder than most people can shout. Those sneezes seemed to come from his whole body, his nose being merely the epicenter of the eruption. He was completely out-of-control for each massive gusting sneeze, his whole frame shaking and swaying at the mercy of his king-sized schnoz and the unbearable itch that had taken three of Richie’s most powerful sneezes to expel. When he opened his eyes afterward, he was half-afraid that he’d blown the table away!

Adam and Jerry, prepared by experience, had covered their ears, but the rest of the dining hall… well, being unprepared, some had dropped forks, plates, and cups, most had stopped their conversations, and quite a few shocked “what was that?”s sounded around the room. Those had been big even for Richie, far too loud, in fact, for anyone to hear the near-simultaneous soft, tickly “chuhh! ch-hoooh! chuhh! ka-chuuhhh!” that had come from the next table over, soft barely-there puffs of air in comparison to Richie’s Kansas twister sized sneezes, which he swore would have been big enough to send Dorothy not only to Oz, but to the other said of Mars.

“Dude,” Adam said, as the dining room slowly went back to normal, after being rocked by Richie’s “You totally shouldn’t have jinxed it.”

“Ha-ha,” Richie said, not feeling exceptionally prepared for laughing after single handedly—or rather, single-nosedly”—overpowering an entire dining room full of noisy college students in volume. “Let’s just get out of here as quickly as possible. I don’t want another one of those to happen… and I think… there might still be the beginnings of a… ah…” Richie quickly clamped his hands over his nose, hoping that he might fight the tiny residual tickle back before it became another of room-rocker, or at least get outside into the open air to release the beast.

Adam, Richie, and Jerry hurried surreptitiously out of the dining room. At the table behind them, sat Ashton Stevens, face upturned, irritated tears forming in his eyes, but a smug smile on his face, nose twitching and jerking with otherwise imperceptible “chooh! chuh! ha-hushh!” sneezes, with a plate of spaghetti practically drenched in red pepper. His little “experiment” confirmed, he threw the plate away, which promptly cleared up his sneezes, and walked calmly out of the dining hall, but not before slyly sliding the red pepper shaker into his waiting pocket.

Richie had, of course, erupted again outside, although once out of the range of the red pepper flakes that were like gunpowder for Richie’s cannon-like nostrils, the sneezes hadn’t registered quite so high on the Richter Scale (“a minor aftershock!” Adam had quipped). But sneezes that huge left Richie concerned; could he be catching a cold? That would be disastrous. Besides feeling bad, he could hardly go to class, detonating another sneeze every few minutes, sneezes that would rock a three hundred person lecture hall and perhaps even send his papers flying down to the row below, sneezes that would throw even the most concentrated lecturer off of his or her game, sneezes that, in a smaller classroom, would probably disturb not only his own class, but all the classes on the floor! Of course, he’d had mega-sneezes like that before, and it didn’t always mean he was catching a cold, but if he was… well, he’d just take a lot of vitamin C that night. But going to bed early wasn’t an option. Richie, Jerry and Adam were going to a nearby club, Club Z, for a night on the town. After running back upstairs to change (again), the threesome left their dorm and headed towards Club Z, chatting all the while.

“So, Rich, how are classes going?” Adam asked, to get the conversation started.

“Oh, pretty good, when I’m not busy sneezing through them. Sebastian warned me that his sneezes tend to disrupt standard professorial activities, so I knew mine would probably blow out a few eardrums. Not that I’m not used to that sort of thing.”

“How about you, Jerry?”

“Oh, things are going well for me too. Chemistry is kicking my butt, but besides that I’m doing pretty well. That class is so boring! I almost wish that someone would come in there with a great big Richie-cane kinda sneeze. At least that way things wouldn’t be quite as boring!”

“Oh, you would have loved our high school then,” Adam cut in, “Almost every time I fell asleep in class, Richie’s nose would get an itch and once the nasal volcano got going, sleeping was not an option.”

“Whatever, Adam,” Richie said, blushing slightly at the extended discussion of his nasal… ahem, prowess, even among friends, “I didn’t even have a half of my classes with you.”

“Exactly.” Adam replied, smiling. *** Soon, Richie and company arrived at the club. However, they were still several feet away when the perfume started getting to Richie’s nose: “ah…. ahhhh… agghhha… igghhiiie… AAAA-CHOOOOH! heh… heh… AHHH-CHOOOOOH!” he sneezed, blasting out the tickly perfume smell as hard as he could. When Richie sneezed, his whole body was involved; in fact, Adam was surprised that Richie didn’t have a six-pack from all the forceful contractions of his stomach and chest as he roared out all that sneezy air at obscene velocities, and decibel levels.

“Bless ya, buddy. Are there some flowers around,” inquired Jerry.

“Na… no, nahhh.. ahhhhh WAAAAAASSSHOOOO! ARRRR-CHOOAAAYYYY!” Richie screamed out each sneeze. While not as loud as the true Richie-canes of the dining hall, these sneezes produced more than enough volume to echo loudly off of the nearby buildings and turn quite a few heads. Richie was quite afraid that an irate head would poke out of one of the windows of the high-rise apartment buildings on the street to demand that he achieve the impossible feat of quieting down his great lion’s roar of a sneeze. He’d been asked by more than one teacher (and moviegoer, and theater patron, and restaurant waiter, and even, on one notorious occasion, a few patrons at just the sort of rock concerts that Adam had supposed would be loud enough to drown out Richie’s roars, but then again, not only were all the people there drenched in cologne and perfume, but Richie had left from a friend’s house who had a very furry german shepherd, and Richie had the beginnings of a cold) to control his thunderclap sneezes, but, like the thunder, Richie’s sneezes were a force of nature, and could not be quieted down or controlled any better than the wind.

Hoping he’d gotten his nose under control with that last massive sneeze, Richie ventured to speak, “No… it’s the perfume... oh, wait… ‘nothing one’s cahhhh…. coming…. RAAAAASSSSHOOOOOH! YASSSSSSHHHHHHHH-OOO!” Richie sniffed loudly, as two girls, one of who was probably wearing the sneeze-causing perfume, looked around. The girl wearing the perfume, alright slightly tipsy, half-spoke, half-shouted, “Ugh, I can’t stand it when people exaggerate their sneezes like that! Can’t he control it? That’s just too loud!”

Aside from the irony of the woman commenting on Richie’s loud sneezes with her loud voice (although Richie had to admit that even a trained opera singer would have difficulty keeping up with him in volume when he really got going), Adam was offended by her comments about his friend, and was about to walk up and give the perfume drenched woman a piece of his mind when her friend abruptly did it for him!

“Oh, Charlene, be quiet! They can hear you. Besides, how can you expect a poor kid to control his sneezes when you can’t even control your big mouth!” Adam had to admit that he was impressed, and as Charlene and her assertive friend got in line for the same club as Adam, Richie, and Jerry, Adam made a mental note to “bump into” her at some point that night. Maybe Richie’s wind-machine strength allergies would flare up again and give him an excuse to talk to her?

Meanwhile, Ashton wasn’t far behind the trio, cringing at each of Richie’s elephantine sneezes. He thought to himself, “This is ridiculous! He sneezes even louder than my father! How embarrassing! I don’t even know how those other goons can stand to be seen around him. I’ll teach him not to be so disgusting with his sneezes.” As the perfume got to his nose, Ashton harshly muffled three sneezes by pinching his nostils, “shhhmp! chikkk! ch!” They were barely audible. Ashton fingered the red pepper in his pocket as he watched Richie and company walk into the club. He bided his time for a few minutes, and then, after walking around the block a bit, went in as well.

—-

As soon as the threesome entered the club, Ritchie rushed off to the restroom, hoping to give his nose a good, strong blow to clear his nose of perfume and pollen, so as to head off the sneezes at the pass. But by the time he reached the restroom door, his twitching, tickling nose had had too much, and, bleary-eyed, Richie let it take over for six full-strength sneezes: “HAASSSSSHHHHHOOOooooo… hh… hhhiiiiiIIIIIIIIICHOOOOOOO! Ih-CHOOO! haaahHH-CHOOOOOO! ahhhhhHHH-CHOOOO! HAHH-CHOOOOOOOhhhhheyyy” That last one was a monster, making a gutteral, throat-scraping sound as the normal “choo” was twisted by Richie’s awe-inspiring lung power into a growling, snarling shout of a sneeze, leaving Richie somewhat lightheaded and dizzy. And of course, he immediately connected the number of sneezes (Richie rarely let out so many all in a row like that) to the head cold he was desperately afraid was brewing in his firecracker nostrils, those wide, vacuum-like tunnels where tickles went in, and sneezes came out that were second only to the Big Bad Wolf with a bad cold.

And speaking of colds, Richie was terrified of developing one. Every cold he’d ever had had settled directly in his nose, causing a near-constant tickle that he could only blow out with his biggest, most ear-drum busting, dorm-wall rattling, earthquake-causing sneezes. Even Richie’s biggest sneezes could only provide momentary relief from the tickle; minutes later, the tickle would come back with a vengence, and so would the sneezes, until Richie would deliberately blow them out as hard as he could, just to get the tickle to stop for a few minutes. Richie’s colds were events in the Robbins household (and every house on the surrounding block); he hoped and prayed they wouldn’t become events on-campus too.

Looking around the restroom and finding it (thank goodness) empty, Richie marched to a stall to give his nose a few of his patented, honking nose blows. While not quite commensurate to his sneezes in volume, those bass-note honks of his could certainly send a rumble through any room, and Richie was glad that the room remained empty as he did his best to keep his nose free and clear, so as to minimize sneezing episodes.

Meanwhile, Adam and Jerry were on the prowl, and getting shut down all the time. Jerry had offered to buy drinks for no less than three women, with no success, while Adam’s jokes were falling unusually flat, perhaps owing to the volume of the music and the near-impossibility of hearing anything (except perhaps for Richie) over the thumping bass and wailing noise of the speakers.

So it was that Adam and Jerry had given up and begun dancing their way into the morass of people at the center of the club, when Richie went searching for them. Of course, hidden as they were in the mass of people, Richie had no hope of finding either of his friends, and sat down at the bar, quickly flashing his (fake) ID, and ordered a beer. He figured he’d wait until he found Adam and Jerry to start dancing, and he was sure that his nose would give him ample opportunity before then to test Adam’s theory that the noise of the club would muffle the rumbling explosions of his nose.

In fact, as the bartender slid Richie his beer, Richie felt his nose flaring into life. His breath hitched, his face contorted, his nostrils assuming control of his face, twisting this way and that as though they had a life of their own, reacting to the bucking bronco of itch that had, as always, brushed ferociously against the twitching walls of his sensitive nostrils. And as Richie’s face contorted, his watering eyes slid closed in preparation of the great big sneeze to come…

…and Ashton Stevens saw his chance. He’d been sitting at the bar, plotting how he could cause misery for Richie at the club. Luckily, he’d been at the bar while Richie had erupted in the restroom (especially since the only thing Ashton found more disgusting than sneezes was nose blowing), but now he was sitting not too far from Richie, and had been spying on him out of the corner of his eye since Richie had sat down. Now was his chance. He slid the small shaker of red pepper out of his pocket and sent a cloud floating up into the air, knowing that the strong air conditioning in the room, as well as the breeze from the constantly opening front door, would waft the tickly spice straight into Richie’s all-too-combustible nose.

And he was right. Seconds later, Richie froze, as he felt the tickle in his nose multiply exponentially. The itch in his nose, already monstrous, became a thousand buzzing flies, scurrying through his nasal passages, wreaking havoc on his sensitive sinuses, creating such tremendous pressure in his nose that he knew that the only way to get any relief would be to blast out a sneeze at full-strength. He felt it gearing up to be as big as the one in the dining hall, if not bigger. Out of his watery eyes, he took a quick glance around him: there was no way he’d get to the restroom before his Vesuvial nose gave an eruption that would put Mt. St. Helens to shame, and the way his nose was feeling, it’d be wet enough to outshine Old Faithful. But there were so many people around. Richie had been warned about it time and time again, and he knew he shouldn’t… but he didn’t want to spray any strangers! So… he stifled.

“ahh…. Ahhhhhh… AHHHHHHHHH… AGGGHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAA…” He wound up, with huge, powerful breaths, and then… “chhhmmppppppppppp!” He sneezed, somewhat wetly, but contained, and with nowhere near enough volume to be heard over the noise of the club. Stifling successful.

But his nose was on fire. It was as if he had quadrupled the already unimaginable tickle. If he was going to fire off one eruption before, now he was preparing for a twenty-one-gun salute. Finger struck firmly beneath his nose, Richie rushed to the restroom as fast as he could, pushing past the clubgoers in the crowded club, afraid to give so much as an “excuse me” for fear that speaking would tip the sneeze into the uncontrollable zone. Richie forcefully pushed the door open as he marched into the restroom, which was, of course, filled with people. In the already small, echoing restroom, Richie’s sneezes would probably reach ear-splitting volumes and annoy, if not terrify, every patron in the restroom. But it wasn’t as if he had any choice; he had to let the monsters loose.

Richie quickly swung a stall door open and closed as his breaths became audible, and grew louder, and louder… “iiihhhhhh… HHHHHiiiiIIIHHHHHH… HAHHHHHH… HAHHHHHHH…. HHAAAAHHHHHHHHH…HAAAAAAAAAAAAA-SHOOOOOOOOOOOOO! BAAACCCHOOOOOEEYYYY! HASSSHHH! HAHHSSHHHHuuhh… OOOO-SHOOOOOOOH! USSSSHHHHHH-CHHAAAHHH! Ahhhhh… Ahhhh… ahhhhh…CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

They came, sneeze after sneeze after sneeze, outrageous in volume, hurricane like in spray. Richie heedlessly swung backwards and forwards, gulping in air to fuel each massive explosion. He knew now why his parents had warned him to never, never hold in his sneezes, because this was the result: a constantly seizing nose in a fit that would last for minutes.

The reaction of the men in the restroom, as expected had been vocal and noisy. The already somewhat drunken patrons had no trouble voicing their disapproval: “What the hell?! Did somebody drop a bomb in here? Shuddup in there, I can’t hear myself think!”

But Richie, whatever he wished, he no ability to shut up. His nose was in control now, and it was going to blow, and blow, and blow until the pent-up tickle was blasted out, full-strength.

“Hehhhh… ehhhhhh… EEHHHHH-SHOOOOOH! EH-SHOOOH! Eghhhhaaaa… haaaa… haaa… YAAAAAAA-SHHHEEEEEWWWWWWWW! SHIISSSHHHHH! ISSHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH-SHOOOH! AHHHHHHHH-SCHOOOO! AH-SHOOOOH!”

The sneezes just kept coming, unbelievably loud, unbelievably powerful. This was one of the longest fits Richie could remember (though probably not the worst he’d experienced). Gradually, the sneezes grew farther apart: “haahhhh.. hahhhh.. HA-SHOOO! Ahhhhh… HA-SHUU! iiSHHHIIII-OO!”

Each sneeze, though still loud enough to echo through the restroom, was at a more manageable volume. Still, Richie was exausted from firing off sneeze after sneeze, and as his nose finally let out its final “heh… heh-chhh-EW!” Richie just wanted a nice long nap. He sat in the stall for a moment to survey the damage. He had been right about the spray; he could see the glistening drops decorating the entire stall door as though it had been hit with a hose. He still heard the men grumbling and muttering about his sneezes, and he was sure that those who were in the restroom (and probably those near the door) would spread the word to their friends about Richie’s incredible eruption. Sometimes, Richie just wished that his nasal curse could just go away. Why was his family cursed with the world’s most massive sneezes? Why was his nose the epicenter of such eruptions? But, as he sniffed gently, preparing for a nose blow to clear the last bits of congestion in his nose, he was glad for one thing: the tickle was completely gone.

Meanwhile, Ashton had been standing near the door, and had heard Richie firing off sneeze after sneeze after sneeze. He was red with rage; that fit had been exactly like the one his dad had blasted out at Ashton’s senior prom, in the middle of Ashton’s prom king acceptance… all over the prom queen. She dumped Ashton within the week.

Turning violently on his heel, Ashton marched out of the club, certain that he had a new secret weapon to use against Richie: if he could get him to clam up those sneezes, just once, then he knew Richie would fire off a show of sneezes so loud that Ashton could use it to embarrass Richie in front of anyone within earshot; in other words, Ashton grimly laughed to himself, anyone within a five-mile radius.

—-

Ashton, however, had not been the only person close enough to the restroom to hear those gale-force blasts trumpeting out from Richie's nostrils of fury. In fact, just as Richie was beginning to launch into a fit for the ages, Jerry had decided he ought to slip off to the restroom; no need to "break the seal" yet, but Jerry had anticipated he was in for a fairly long night, partying with his newfound friends, and--hopefully--with a few more newfound "friends" from among the club's very attractive female population, and as such wanted to make sure that his tiny bladder would not interfere with his very large-sized dreams---oh, alright, fantasies---of what would go on that night.

But Jerry was pretty far from the door when he heard that tell-tale eruption coming from the men's room. He quickly stuck his head into the restroom and knew immediately the source of the disturbance. He would scarcely have believed that even Richie could sneeze so forcefully. He was putting up a good fight with the music in the club, and that was deafening as it was. Heck, at close range, Richie's nose could have outdone a shotgun, a leafblower, a small nuclear explosion... but in the midst of these musing, Jerry noticed Ashton. Unlike everyone else in the restroom (and nearby), who were scrambling to get away from the noise, Ashton seemed transfixed. He was just standing by the restroom door, not going in, didn't seem to be coming out, and he had the most peculiar, almost devious expression on his face. Of course, Jerry knew Ashton somewhat---Ashton was touted as one of the most talented football players of the freshman class, and at their D1 school, that meant a lot. But this threw Ashton in a completely different light. Why on earth was he just standing there? And what was that strange look that passed across his face each time Richie bellowed out another monsterous, "HHHHHEEEEEESSSSSSSSCHHHHHOOOOOOOOoooooh!" Jerry was not a suspicious person by nature--and as Richie's twenty-one gun salute went on, he knew he had to check and see if Richie was alright--but he filed that instance away in his mind as yet another strange happening of college life.

The more important thing was to check on Richie. When it finally seemed that Richie's nose had calmed down enough that he'd be able to speak, Jerry ventured forth a, "Hey, man, you alright in there?"

"Jerry?" Richie responded, fearing the worst, "oh, god, don't tell me you could hear me all the way out..."

"No, no, man, I was just heading to the restroom when I heard the big bang from outside the door, don't worry. But what happened there? I didn't think you were ever going to stop!"

"N-neither did... oh, god, h-here ihhhh... here it gooohhhh... ohhhhh... oohhhhhh... ahh... HA-CHOOOOH! Man, thought I was done there," Richie give a liquid sniff, "but the aftershocks just sneak up on me."

"And speakin' of sneakin', there you guys are!" Adam quipped.

"Are you just everywhere?" Richie asked, half-laughingly, half-exasperated. Adam had the strangest habit of popping up everywhere.

"A magician never reveals his secrets, young Richard." Adam gave a sudden gasp before, "Ha-chooOOSH! Huh... hashhhooo! Ugh, must be in the air," Adam said, as he grabbed a tissue from the sink counter to blow his nose. He was a bit of a nasal honker, and his blows were decidedly louder than his generally quiet, gentle sneezes (although, in comparison to a Richie-cane, your average elephant was pretty quiet and gentle), and were much louder when he had a cold---because he didn't have Richie's almighty, head-clearing sneezes, he relied much more on forceful nose-blowing to blast out the itch from his nose, and still had far less success--unsurprisingly--that a full-force sneeze from Richie, even without a cold or that dreaded red pepper.

Richie, however, wasn't so sure that something was "in the air"; the humongous fit he'd just succumbed to made him almost positive: he was catching a cold.

"No, Adam, it's not 'in the air'--we're sick, and I'm going home." Richie declared. Adam was somewhat taken aback at his friend's unusually forceful tone, but he knew that, as always, he could joke his friend out of his resolve.

"Oh, you're not sick---granted, a 300-pound body builder with a bad head cold and a wind machine up his nose probably can’t compare to the ‘ol schozz-cannon you’ve’ got… but those, my friend, were not cold sneezes.”

“How do you know?” Richie demanded.

“I still have hearing in my right ear, obviously.”

#snz story #snz fic #male allergies #male cold #wow I haven't read this in like a decade #I should reread it maybe #old fics

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