#because she’s almost a decade younger than him and barely legal. but at some point she confides in katsuya about her feelings for him and | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Thoughts on “Auntie Soka and Little Leia” now that I’ve actually got it posted:

Call it a director’s cut! The process of actually writing the thing, and also jokes made along the way. Link to the actual fic.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy for image descriptions, even the text screenshots. Might come back that later. Most of this was DMs with @atagotiak.

This was an entire thing before I even started writing:

Before I decided on ages and stuff Ahsoka, to Jango, who has had zero contact with Kaminoans: Okay I know I'm a Jedi kid so you hate me but this toddler is your clone from the future. Jango, tired: What the FUCK are you talking about. Rex, barely able to talk: Don't you dare leave me with him, Commander! Ahsoka: I'm not going to leave you I just--I'm so tired I'm so fucking tired I haven't slept in five days and someone tried to kidnap Leia two days ago I am so fucking tired I need help

Ben: [twenty years of depression followed by a 'now I'm safe' breakdown over the course of weeks] Sokari: [whatever the FUCK this mess is]

When Ahsoka mentions there only being three other Jedi at the time of her death, I was thinking Kanan, Yoda, and Obi-Wan (Leia told her about the latter two living past her). She's not counting anyone that received training after the Temple fell, and she didn’t know about Cal.

When Leia says “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

Depa: I'm no therapist but I diagnose you with "incredibly fucked up." Ahsoka: yeah, that’s fair

"Why did you pick Depa for--" She's pretty and I'm gay. Also because of the Kanan thing But mostly I'm gay "It's not a visual medi--" GAY

Empty of context beyond general post-fic AU: "Hey Sokari, we need to engage in psychological warfare against this individual and--" "I'm going to break into his office and leave a threatening note on his desk and leave no other sign that I was there. He'll see that his security is nothing and the only reason he isn't dead is because I'm too nice to kill him." "...okay, not what we were planning, but that works. Why is that your first choice?" "I really like breaking and entering, it's soothing." Ben just standing there with a bland smile like This Is Normal.

"We need someone to infiltrate a highly guarded facility in hostile territory." "So we're sending the Torrent kids?" [sigh] "We're sending the Torrent kids."

Rex and Sokari insist on both going by "Torrent" even though Rex could be a Fett. Jango really wants him to be a Fett. Rex has too many grudges to agree to being a Fett for... a while.

I really hope it's blatantly obvious that Ahsoka's not a reliable narrator for some things Ahsoka: Fett could care less if I died Jango: jfc even if you are older than me I can see you're fucked up. Drink your hot chocolate. Hells. She's got good reason to expect him to hate her as a Jedi! BUT. THAT IS NOT REFLECTIVE OF REALITY

We don’t get a lot of actual characterization for Jango, but the way I played him out here is he has never really parsed that Jedi are people before all this. It's a lot harder to treat them as a monolith when the traumatized former child soldier is having regular breakdowns in your shitty little kitchen

Fett: I respect you Ahsoka: No, don't do that

Ahsoka’s vigilantism is something that, in my mind, she's associating heavily with Zygerria and then the clones.

I figured that she never bothered to learn Quinlan’s teacher’s name but in the process of looking up some basic facts (whether he had a surname), I found that Wookiepedia was forced to give us a VERY wide range of possible death in Legends.

Please take a moment to imagine Quinlan's FACE when Ahsoka initially dismisses him. Quinlan has put a lot of effort into being rogueishly charming! It's very useful for his line of work! He knows to expect either irritation or a return flirtation when he acts like this with people his own age! Ahsoka is not flustered OR rolling her eyes and insulting him, she's just ignoring him and it's a bit of a blow to the ego

This just makes me really happy:

This was the initial comment I made, as a joke What if Maul is just. There. On one of the planets they make a pitstop at. What if Maul exists as the walking problem he is, but fifteen, and Ahsoka immediately tries to kick his ass and drag him back to Coruscant. I do not have room for this plot but What If

Despite not having room for this plot, I proceeded to write this plot.

Maul is kidnapped and it’s the best thing that ever happened to him HE'S FIFTEEN HE'S DUMB AS SHIT AND HAS A BAD ATTITUDE AND YEAH HE'S A DARKSIDER BUT HE'S FIFTEEN

Ahsoka: I sense... Maul [takes off sprinting] Rex: [immediately takes Jango's blaster and runs after her] Jango: Wait who Tholme: Who Quinlan: Who Jango: [looks at Leia] Leia: I don't know who that is either! Ahsoka, already wrestling a teenager to the ground: Oh no, you're a child, REX STUN HIM AND GRAB THE CUFFS, I'M SURE FETT OR THOLME HAS SOME

Fighting him isn't even legal, they have NO evidence of criminal wrongdoing, so first she needs to yell until he admits to something she can fight him about

Ahsoka: When I see Maul, it's on SIGHT Maul: WHO ARE YOU

Ahsoka: The Force didn't give me hands just to NOT throw them when I run into That Crafty Son Of A Bitch

Ben, when they arrive, after the tearful reunion: You... you brought Maul. Ahsoka: Well, yeah, he's fifteen and kinda dumb. I figured we could drag him here and force him into therapy, see what happens. Ben: I can't quite tell through the gag, but I think he's threatening to feed you your own spleen. Ahsoka: Lol, yeah.

Ben is absolutely on team "get Maul therapy" and will fight the Council on rehabilitating the baby Sith But also it's like. Here's your daughter! And your niece! And your daughter's QPP! Also your best friend, but baby, and his teacher, and the biological origin of a number of people you cared for deeply! AND ALSO THE GUY WHO SPENT LITERAL DECADES CRAVING YOUR DEATH, FOR SOME REASON

I just really want Ahsoka lovingly bullying Maul She gives him noogies and the horns don't protect him because girl has reinforced gloves

Maul's only allowed a low-power training saber and his fights with Sokari involve Much Taunting by her and Eventual Screaming by him, and everyone pops by to see: 1. Sokari doing the most absurd flips, for fun. 2. The bullshit that is ataru-shien reverse-grip jar'kai in the hands of someone who makes it work 3. What a Sith lightsaber form looks like 4. Just the general nonsense that is the way these two fight

Tia said “Wrt ridiculous flips. I'm remembering that time she beheaded four Kryst'ad at once.” and I just Rex brings up the quadruple beheading at one point to get someone to stop asking questions and the awkward, horrified silence almost makes him regret it. And then Sokari just snorts and makes a joke about how Rex once speared a slaver point-blank and everyone's just like hello??? "are you two okay" "no"

Maul absolutely starts crushing on Sokari after a 'sword under chin' moment and she's just very "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh you're fifteen, bye" GO MAKE PUPPY EYES AT OBI-WAN OR SOMETHING

The crushes are the worst part of everything, really, she's an attractive young woman that can kick a lot of ass, and a lot of people are into that! Unfortunately, most of those people are a decade younger than she is, mentally, because all the people her actual age look at her and see a child on account of the 17yo body.

It’s almost a good thing she’s in no place mentally for a relationship.

I just want Ahsoka to wear beskar.... I think that would be Nice........

This AU is also what caused this post.

I'm deeply enamored by the idea that Ahsoka can win fights against "older" padawans pretty much unilaterally, even when they team up 2v1 And then she offers to fight 5v1 "But only if I have permission to fight dirty." Ben approves it, a horror show full of "I fought many wars and will scream in your face or kick you in the balls if that's what it takes" follows She wins. There are no permanent injuries, but her reputation certainly gets weirder. Nobody under the rank of Knight agrees to let her fight dirty again. She just lets that stand because, well, she's not actually a padawan, she's thirty-three.

I’m not going to write this but my brain was EVIL and suggested it:

IT WOULD BE REALLY SAD IDK maybe 9yo Anakin has nightmares about what's happening to baby Ahsoka because bullshit about time-traveling force bonds IDK ANYWAY he cries to Sokari about the nightmares and she's like "oh shit" and it's time to go rescue herself from motherfucker unlimited

It's either that or she's like, expecting to welcome mini-me aaaany day now, for like, several months, before she realizes Something Went Wrong. Anakin’s dreams could even start right as she’s starting to realize something’s off.

Obi-Wan has never had a padawan that doesn't at some point bite Even Luke will, when pushed

OH also once the twins get Baby's First Lightsaber (training sabers, not real kyber), Sokari begs to borrow them for a dumb joke and tells Rex to get on her shoulders for a "Grievous Greeting" and they do The Thing

Jango and Ahsoka wrt Quinlan is just “Do I need to beat him up for you” “You realize I’ve beaten up sith lords before?”

JANGO'S TRYING He's just. "Can we be friends? Can I--can I be the guy that just noticeably gets in the way of a creep on the subway so you can be more comfortable without someone making a scene? I'm fucking trying here, give me a hint."

We didn’t actually figure out Jango’s age until this point. The only reason Fett's age matters is for Quinlan making a Wild Oats quip after Jango says he didn't know about Rex until a few weeks ago, and Fett going "How old do you think I am? And how old do you think the kid is?" and Quinlan getting Very Awkward as he does the math. Rex overhears and lets Quinlan sweat for a bit before saying "I'm a genetically-modified clone someone grew in a tube, he didn't know or have reason to know until he saw me with Sokari." Which is like. Eight additional layers of WTF, obviously, but at least Jango gets to avoid awkward wild oats jokes

Like, you’d expect the rebuttal to be ‘he’s my brother just with a biiig age gap’ or ‘he’s my nephew’

I find it very unfortunate for Quinlan that I've decided his defining characteristic in this context is going to be repeatedly putting his foot in his mouth

He’s trying so hard but "That sounds like a cool thing, maybe I'll ask ab--and it's another fucking trauma."

I'm doing Ahsoka&Jango t w i c e (there’s another fic where I’m doing it)

It’s just a fun dynamic! So much resentful respect.

Like she's twenty seconds away from calling him a bitch at any given time and he's just there like "I don't like you but I do see you move like you're about to tell an entire building to get on their knees with their hands in the air and I can respect that" Also she's probably much less judgmental about using blasters than Obi-Wan is The Maul subplot actually started with me daydreaming about Ahsoka grabbing a blaster for Reasons

I like the idea of Jango just deciding the most Useful thing he can do is help teach the Smol how to fight. He's AWKWARD around Rex and Soka because he doesn't know if there's anything he CAN teach them.

I didn’t actually plan for Tholme to figure out the age thing, he just SAID it and I had to sit there like Wait.

Ahsoka, Rex & Leia: ahhh, children Tholme: you say that like you aren’t children

I liked getting to write Rex's little "I have worked with all of them, and they're all Terrible" He loves them But They once got stranded on a planet that didn’t exist and Ahsoka died and Anakin killed a god.

There was research and discussion as to whether Ahsoka could win against Tholme but seeing as she held her own against Vader, and fought Grievous at that physical age without dying, etc.... yeah, the only thing holding her back was her body not being what she was used to, and she’s had a few weeks go adjust.

“I miss being able to just jump off skyscrapers” is such a jedi thing

Jango: I'll take the gun back if he tries to leave, they can't get far before--WHAT THE FUCK He knows Jedi are scary but he’s still not really used to just how over the top ridiculous they are He knows how to deal with Jedi in battle, not Whatever The Fuck These People Are Doing

Rex isn't even a Jedi, he's just so used to working with them. “Oh yes time for free-falling without a parachute again, same shit as always.”

Tia: I’m imagining Jango freaking out and Quinlan and Tholme being like. Concerned but mostly exasperated Clearly if they’re jumping off buildings it must be serious? But jfc they could’ve maybe communicated a bit more?

Leia: I want to finish my juice Tholme: Quin, stay with her while we go figure out what those two are doing. Quinlan: Wait what

Jango: Oh now he’s jumping off a building too??? Tholme: Sokari, you are not registered! You can't legally jump out windows yet! Jango: What the hell is going on? Is this normal?

We don’t necessarily know how often Ahsoka and Maul ran into each other after Mandalore. There was the later thing on Malachor, but other than that I'm just going with the idea that they ran into each other every year or two and just went for the eyes like feral cats

Ahsoka: I need to kick ass and you're coming with me. Rex: Yeah, okay. [several minutes later] Rex: Whose ass are we kicking?

Ahsoka and Rex

Neloms aren’t a SW fruit to the best of my knowledge, I just wanted to mess around with lemons/melons

Jango: you didn’t think any of this through, did you? Rex: you were there, you know we didn’t "When the Jedi says to jump out a window, I jump out a window."

Tholme’s real composed about stalking the ancient nigh-mythical enemy of his people, very “Life is already so goddamn weird”

This fic has been so heavy on the trauma but then I introduce Maul and suddenly it's the worst kind of comedy Nobody is competent, everyone's a little dumb, the bad guy is just grocery shopping

My propensity for banter has turned this into a six-person buddy cop comedy about Maul buying grapes They spend a significant amount to time ineffectually stalking Maul before Quin suggests the sensible option Quinlan just "You remember this is my literal job and specialty right"

Ahsoka sees Maul and all her brain cells go out the window except "Fight good" Usually she doesn’t need to worry about doing things legally. Maybe she needs to worry about someone seeing her do illegal things but she spent the past 15 yrs in a place where her existing was illegal

I feel like he’s also maybe kinda wanting to reassert that yes he is competent. Bc like. Ahsoka’s been kinda condescending this whole time and also can beat everyone up so. It's not his fault that he's actually the youngest person there, but.

Jango is finding this whole being friendly to Jedi thing a lot more overwhelming than he thought it would be. And overwhelming in different ways.

Maul usually signifies things getting worse and more horrifyingly tragic but he's just a dumb teen that they needed to arrest for his own good.

Quinlan: Look, I'm useful! Ahsoka: I've been through hell, wanna hear? Quinlan: NO. I DON'T. WHY.

Quinlan: I understand the concept of joking about your traumas, I do it sometimes myself! But sith hells that’s a lot of trauma.

Quinlan just wanted her to treat him as a Competent Individual, and here she is whipping out stories about Dying and Gods and the Force insists it's the truth and he just???? And apparently emo darksider over there is a Sith. And just, sure. Why not

A lot of people’s interactions with the time travelling disaster lineage is just

Tholme and Fett arguing and Ahsoka's just waiting for a moment to pop in with "Hey, when's the last time either of you worked with the other's culture before this mess? Yeah, that's what I thought."

Much like Leia and Ahsoka hurting each other earlier, and Tholme figuring out the de-aging, we ALSO have Fett’s confrontation with Ahsoka being something the characters just did, rather than something I planned.

FTR the only time I managed to trigger myself while writing this fic was the “your behavior isn’t actually acceptable and we’ve all been trying really hard to give you room to recover but you have to at least make an effort to not be a bitch”

Writing about people having PTSD and symptoms of such: Yay! Writing about people having PTSD and engaging in toxic behavior to cope: Shit Ahsoka had... basically my exact reaction. It's "remind yourself that you're in the wrong, that they have a point, and then be overly formal in the apology because fuck if you accidentally make them feel sorry for you when they're the injured party"

Quinlan: Can we be friends? I mean, you're an asshole, but you're really cool. Let's be friends. (He MIGHT be nursing a crush) (Neat mysterious girl who can beat him up.)

Also he realises she's probably nicer when not having a slow-motion breakdown He's like "Huh, you'll probably be less of an asshole once you've gotten therapy."

...also, she pretty and got Nice Biceps

I love writing a good mental breakdown

I was so close to including a "he tried to kill me" just early enough for Jango to wildly misinterpret as her thinking Quinlan tried to kill her. He'd have been very confused, considering Quinlan's the one that called them down in a panic and currently has Ahsoka having her massive breakdown in his lap But

Tia: I could see Jango interpreting it as idk, Quin resembling someone or for a moment acting like someone who tried to kill her and she had a flashback or something like that

There's absolutely room for a couple reasonable interpretations there And "trapped in a flashback about someone who tried to kill her" is absolutely what's happening! Just. You know. For a different reason. Jango probably wouldn’t assume Quin would hurt her, for one thing he seems to like her, for another even if he did he’s smart enough to pick a way that wouldn’t be so likely to get him caught

I had to step back and actually say “Also I'm just. Wow. I'm really just shoveling QPP Rex&Ahsoka at full speed”

Me, a few weeks ago, joking: Two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist Me, now, entirely seriously: Two halves of the same idiot black ops specialist

Me, belatedly: Oh, Ahsoka being joyfully mean to people was a form of mania she was unconsciously using to build a barrier between herself and her impending meltdown

She went from "just died" to "in charge of Rex and Leia" in like. Two minutes.

Confession: I've been delighting in the mental image of this whole Mess leading Jango to try to retake Mandalore, and Ahsoka loans him a saber for a 1v1 to get the darksaber.

“Can’t I just fight him barehanded? That’s how I did it on Galidraan.” "But the drama, Fett!"

Probably Rex has learned how to use a saber as well, because you never know when you have to borrow a weapon

I later changed my mind to Jango asking her to help, rather than her just sneak-teaching him, but it was funny.

Background nonsense to all this is Ahsoka and Rex, despite Rex being as force-sensitive as a lump of coal, having developed a process where she can extend her sensitivity to him mind-to-mind for weird symbiotic battle trance that scares everyone around them. It’s very similar to Battle meditation.

CONTEXT FOR LEIA BEING WORRIED ABOUT THOLME HIDING THINGS: Tholme is hiding the fact that the Council reached out and told him that the people he picked up might be connected to Ben and Luke, who showed up after the Depa thing but a solid week and change before Jango's ship makes it to the Temple. They asked that he not share that information to avoid getting anyone's hopes up in case the two situations aren't related. Ben and Luke haven't shared enough information for anyone to really be sure if the other three are connected Because the info Tholme has isn't quite the info Jango has, etc. And they can't just say Ben is a future Obi-Wan over comms

I just have a lot of feelings about people trying to do something right and just. Nobody's at fault! Not really! It's just complicated!

Tia: I like how when Ahsoka isn’t doing maladaptive trauma response stuff she’s very mature. And of course she’s had to be but it’s a good like, contrast. Where when she slows down to think about things she’s very sensible

Jango just spends most of this story lowkey wanting Ahsoka to Be His Friend but there's too much baggage that he's only metaphysically responsible for

Local aroace(?) has a squish

Ahsoka: He just wants to get on my good side because of Rex. Jango: I'm pretty sure you could kill an entire army without trying but you wouldn't because you have actual morals and stuff... and when I met you it was because you were killing yourself trying to keep (what appeared to be) children safe... you seem cool please be my friend.......

Ahsoka’s #1 weakness: mountains of trauma Ahsoka’s #2 weakness: she just doesn’t get why so many people think she’s cool and want her to be their (girl)friend

Jango, a 27yo massacre survivor who's killed Jedi masters with his bare hands: [gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly]

Ahsoka was raised in a religious meritocracy but developed all her opinions during a galactic war and then became a vigilante spy, Rex comes from a military cult, Leia is from an inherited monarchy that participates in democracy, Quinlan was originally from what appears to be a dynastic dictatorship, and IDK about Tholme other than that he is also from the religious meritocracy. And in legends Quinlan came to the religious meritocracy after his aunt sacrificed his parents to a vampire cult and then forced him to experience the psychometric echoes of that. There's just. A lot going on.

Leia at least has knowledge about structure and admin in theory that isn't based in either the military or populations under 10k

Jango: I want to be your friend. Ahsoka: Sounds fake.

I am unfairly fond of "Rex destroys a conversation by bringing up his own horrifying childhood and calling it a cult"

"Why does Sokari call you 'Rex'ika'?" "Because she's older than me." "...can I--?" "No."

Nickname privileges are extended ONLY to Ahsoka and older clones. There are no more older clones, so it's just Ahsoka.

Me joking about Star Wars AUs: Would you like a crackship? Me writing actual Star Wars fic: My favorite character type is apparently “too traumatized to have a relationship” so this is at least 90% gen.

I had to pull a scene opening at one point because Ahsoka's skill with not getting shot is actually much less useful than Tholme's clearance levels.

Now I really want a team-up of Ahsoka, Rex, and Jango where they do have to get in a dogfight of the "she flies, we shoot" variety and Fett just has to scream because the speeder thing to catch Maul was one thing, but this....

Ahsoka, before TCW: I know all the traffic rules but I'm not that great at flying! Ahsoka, after TCW: I'm great at flying but if you let me behind the wheel we are absolutely getting arrested.

She went from "knows the rules but doesn't have the skills" to "has the skills but primarily in the form of not getting shot" which! Is delightful! "Bet I can get us through that alley--" "DO NOT"

Jango and Ahsoka are both just very "Is this friendship? Is this camaraderie? My heart's been fried on platonic love by so many murders that I'm not sure anymore." "I've lost a lot of friends. I kind of forgot how to make those."

I have no idea if "hasn't been closer than Alderaan except that one trip to Chandrila" is canon-compliant but ehhhhhhhh It feels plausible enough?

Belatedly realized that I could just explain my optimal Rex&Ahsoka dynamic as just... drift compatible. It's vague enough on the specifics while still digging into the meat of what they mean to each other and how they work together. The terminology is already in existence. I can just use it.

Romantic? Platonic? Familial? Doesn't matter! They're drift compatible.

They are important to each other and that is what matters

I really like the Leia&Quinlan thing. He's just like "This small child needs a friend that isn't super depressed," and decided he's going to be her friend. I keep trying to toss in "Quinlan volunteers to 'baby'sit." She's not much older and she has a Baby Brain, it works out

There's a running bet as to whether Leia will leave the Order the second she turns thirteen, or if she'll let Sokari "train" her for a few years first. And... that’s how I came up with Leia Antilles, Senator of Serenno.

They'll be bullshitting Ben as her new master to "finish out the padawanship" since they can't tell everyone she's really in her thirties and he's conveniently there and already knows everything and was half her master anyway. Like Ben was planning on taking on Luke, but Luke is "six" and even he can't swing that as old enough to be a Padawan, and it's not like Sokari will take more than a handful of years to justify knighthood, sooooooooo

#Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Leia Organa #Jango Fett #Obi Wan Kenobi #time travel #de aging #Phoenix Babbles #Uncle Ben and Little Luke #Auntie Soka and Little Leia #I need to excise the bits that are actually funny on their own

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no-mourners-at-my-funeral · 3 years

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Careful - One Shot

Summary: Why did she even care? She told herself it was because her reputation relied on him. As long as Kaz Brekker was considered dangerous, his little spy would be feared as well. And fear was the surest form of respect. Without him, she could very well end up back where she started, or maybe somewhere worse. But it was more than that. She didn’t want him to die because… because…

Pairing: Kanej (Kaz Brekker & Inej Ghafa)

Warnings: Violence, Implied PTSD

Author’s Note: This is my submission for @weeklygrishaprompts‘s Week 1 challenge. The prompt was to have a torn piece of clothing, counting down from ten, and hiding under a bed or in a closet. I hope I got this part right, at least. I notice that in the books, it’s always Kaz freaking out when Inej is injured, so I decided to reverse that, so now Inej is freaking out while Kaz is injured. Enjoy!

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3.

Careful

There was an itch on Inej’s foot.

She had been hiding under the bed for the better part of an hour. Laying under her back, barely breathing as she listened to the conversation going on around her. If anyone found her here, she could be killed for breaking parlay conduct. Kaz could very well suffer the same fate.

“You’re in too deep, Brekker,” the Razorgull leader, Oller, was saying. He had a quiet voice, product of a throat injury that had happened when he was young. But listen to him, he still sounded so much more mature than the boy he was dealing with. “My advice? Find a nice job in the country. Something that will keep you off of your feet.” Inej imagined the older man giving a pointed glance to Kaz’s bad leg.

To his credit, Kaz didn’t seem to react to Oller’s taunts, if they could even be called that. “Oller, we both know that isn’t going to happen,” he replied smoothly. “And definitely not while your gang is poking their noses where they shouldn’t be.”

“Poking our noses where they shouldn’t be?” Oller gave a wheezy chuckle. “Oh, I wholeheartedly disagree. We have every right to be involved in your little schemes. You think no one will notice, but I see you. You’re a smart kid, really Brekker, and I have to applaud you for that.”

A rat scuttled behind Inej’s head, and she bit her lip. The Drekig Hotel was utterly filthy, inside and out, infested with rats and all manor of deplorable creatures. But it was also neutral territory, a good place to meet when you wanted to make less-than-legal dealings in secrecy. Gang bosses would often meet here when they didn’t want prying ears listening in on their conversations, when they didn’t much desire the fanfare of the Exchange.

Currently, Kaz and Oller were sitting at a small, flimsy little wooden table in the corner of the hotel room. From where she was laying under the bed, Inej could see their feet - Oller’s toes twitching whenever Kaz spoke, as if he was having to restrain himself from punching the younger man in the face. Inej knew the feeling. And Kaz’s feet, utterly relaxed, bad leg stretched out at a comfortable angle, cane leaning against the wall beside him. Thoroughly relaxed.

She knew that Kaz would be keeping a calm composure, but she also knew that internally, he was probably seething in frustration. He had been going in circles with Oller for the better part of an hour now, with little success. At least he had managed to get Oller to admit that he was attempting to spy on the Dregs (or their private coffers, more than likely), but even that felt like a meaningless victory.

“It’s not a matter of every right , Oller,” Kaz was saying. “Saying you have a right to something implies that there might be some good in this world to ensure that right. Maybe that was how it was in the old times, but well, that’s why they’re called the old times.”

Oller’s foot flexed. His composure was cracking, bit by bit. Like the tide hammering away at a stone wall. Eventually, the tide would win. “Well, Mister Brekker,” the older man replied, “I must admit, you are a brilliant one. Could’ve made a beautiful contribution to the Razorgulls. Almost makes me sad about what I have to do next.”

Inej’s eyes widened. She realized what was going to happen a second before it did. Before she could even hear a reaction from Kaz, she had slid out from under the bed in one fluid movement. She jumped to her feet just as the door swung inwards, revealing a group of Razorgull lieutenants, crammed into the small hallway.

Oller let out a brief choking sound at the sight of her in the hotel room before recovering from the shock. He turned to his soldiers. “Well?” he hissed. “What are you waiting for?”

There was no time to plan anything. She exchanged a glance with Kaz, and he gave her a small nod.

The room was small, and Inej hated fighting in the enclosed space. She had pulled out two of her knives - Sankta Alina and Sankt Petyr - and was moving as gracefully as she could with the area she had. A Razorgull pulled a knife on her, and she ducked down, slashing at the exposed skin on the back of his ankle. He let out a yelp as blood spurted from the spot. She came up behind him, giving him a good whack over the head, and he fell over.

The fight felt like a dance, like a routine she might have performed on the trapeze, once upon a time. The Razorgulls had no grace to them, but they were all several times larger than her, and they were strong, and quite a few of them had guns. She could only spare Kaz a few glances, but he was holding his own. She had to trust that they could both do this.

She saw a Razorgull raising his gun before Kaz did, and lunged forward, jabbing Sankt Petyr into the man's throat. He choked, and Inej cringed. She hadn’t meant to kill him. But then he was falling to the ground.

She didn’t see his finger curling around the trigger until it was too late. A gunshot rang through the room, and she let out a gasp, bracing for the pain. But none came.

And then she turned, and saw Kaz, blood already staining his black vest. Dimly, she was aware that the Razorgulls were retreating, their job seemingly complete, but she couldn’t concentrate on that through the ringing in her ears. Kaz was glancing down at his wound, eyebrow raised, as if he hadn’t realized he was even capable of being injured. Inej hadn’t thought he could, either, she realized.

She came to her senses as the last Razorgull ran down the hallway. She threw one of her knives, and it stuck into his back, and the man collapsed. For once, she didn’t stop to say a prayer to her saints for the man’s life. She was already moving towards Kaz.

“We need to get you to the Slat,” she said, moving a hand to Kaz’s wound. He swatted her hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, but his voice was shaking, and he already looked paler than normal.

“You aren’t going to make it back if you don’t put pressure on that,” Inej tried. Kaz gave her a stormy look, before pressing a gloved hand against the spot. “And we need to get you back to the Slat. Or to Nina.”

Kaz shook his head. “No,” he gasped. “There’s a safehouse a couple blocks away. It’s closer.” And it’s away from prying eyes , is what he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to. Inej understood what it meant to appear weak in front of others. Do that, and they might always think of you that way. And Kaz couldn’t live with the humiliation.

Inej nodded. “Okay,” she agreed. “We’ll go there.”

Kaz attempted to take a step forward and let out a small noise that reminded Inej of an injured bird. His hand clenched over his wound. And Inej moved forward again, placing her hand on his side.

“I said don’t touch me,” Kaz growled, but his voice was weak, without its usual ferocity.

“You won’t make it to the safehouse on your own, Kaz,” Inej reasoned. “You have to let me help you.” At Kaz’s pointed glare, she added, “Which would you rather have survive, your pride or your body?”

She could see he was debating with yourself. “Another Suli proverb?” he muttered under his breath, before giving her a tight nod. She moved so that he could lean against her side, as Kaz gripped his cane with his other hand. They made slow progress through the hotel, past the fallen Razorgull in the hallway and down the creaky wooden stairs. They took the back exit out, avoiding the crowds on the street out front.

And so they made their way through alleyways. Kaz would let a hiss when his wound was particularly agitated. Inej could help but notice how much he was leaning on her, increasing the pit of worry in her stomach. Their skin wasn’t touching, but his skin was warm in the spots under the fabric of his clothes.

Why did she even care? She told herself it was because her reputation relied on him. As long as Kaz Brekker was considered dangerous, his little spy would be feared as well. And fear was the surest form of respect. Without him, she could very well end up back where she started, or maybe somewhere worse. But it was more than that. She didn’t want him to die because… because…

The safehouse Kaz had referred to was a small back door in a sweet shop that led down into a basement. The place was coated in a heavy layer of dust, and the scent of rotting produce made Inej wrinkle her nose. After a brutal hurricane had hit Ketterdam about a decade back, many businesses had chosen to move their products from storage areas in basements to private banks. It left plenty of empty spaces, cracks for people to slip through.

Kaz slumped down against one of the walls, gesturing to a box in the opposite corner that seemed considerably less dusty. “There’s a first aid kit in there,” he told her, and she didn’t like how weak his voice sounded. “It should have some bandages inside.”

“Alright,” Inej said, darting over to the other side of the room. Opening the crate, she saw an assortment of guns, knives, and some canned goods. And in the very bottom, a small metal box with the symbol for healing painted on it in red ink. Picking up the box, Inej quickly moved back to where Kaz was sitting.

Inside the box were a couple towels, some bandages, and a small bottle of iodine. Inej gave Kaz a meaningful glance. “You’re going to have to take off your shirt,” Inej told him.

Kaz shot her an icy glare. “I can do it myself.”

“No, you can’t. Your hands are shaking,” Inej pointed out. Kaz looked about ready to murder her right then and there, but he moved to pull off his vest before wincing.

“Let me help you,” Inej said. It was hauntingly familiar to her first words to him, but she didn’t dwell on it. Kaz seemed disgruntled, but he didn’t protest as she gently helped him pull his blood stained vest over his head, only letting out a few grunts when he agitated his wound.

Once the vest was off, Inej could see that Kaz’s button-up shirt was stained with bright red blood, and there was a large tear where the gunshot was. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” she asked, and he nodded. She turned her attention to the washcloth, dousing it in a healthy splash of iodine.

When she turned back to him, the torn shirt had been discarded on the floor next to him. His chest was bare, and her eye flicked once to the tattoo on his bicep - a capital “R” - before she returned her focus to his injury. “The bullet didn’t go through,” she observed. “Can you feel in there?”

Kaz grimaced, before nodding. “Yeah.”

Inej sighed. “I’m going to pull it out,” Inej told him, grabbing the iodine bottle. Kaz’s eyes widened.

“No,” he choked out. “I’ll do it.”

Kaz,” Inej reasoned, “you’ll only injure yourself if you try to do that in this state.” Kaz pursed his lips. “ Kaz . You have to let me help you.”

Kaz dug his gloved fingers into his palms. For a moment, Inej was afraid he might refuse. How well did they know each other, really? They fought together, sure, and everyone felt a little bit closer after that. But virtually, she knew nothing about him. Not about his family, and what he liked to do. About what made him smile, really smile. But she did know that he didn’t want to die here, in a dusty basement, when he could live to fight another day.

He nodded, and Inej found herself letting out a sigh of relief. “Be quick,” he told her.

Inej poured some iodine on her hands, in the absence of proper sanitary options. It would probably sting incredibly for Kaz, but it would hurt a lot more when she pulled that bullet out. She handed him one of the washcloths still in the first aid kit. “Bite down on this,” she instructed him. There wasn’t a lot more she could do.

She took in a deep breath. She was stalling, and she knew it. “I’m going to count down from ten,” she told him, “and then I’m going to take out the bullet.” He gave her a curt nod, and she forced herself to breath. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if she panicked now.

“Ten.” She steadied herself, flexing her hands.

“Nine.” She would have to be quick. She knew the longer she messed with the wound, the more chance she would cause further damage.

“Eight.” Kaz’s eyes were squeezed shut, and he was breathing heavily.

“Seven.” This was just like when she would any other wounded Dreg.

“Six.” Except it was Kaz, and if he died…

“Five.” Well, then things would be considerably different for her.

“Four.” She heard Kaz take another deep breath, and she took another one to match him.

“Three.” She braced her right hand against his shoulder, and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter.

“Two.” She didn’t move her hand, but she gave him a comforting squeeze.

“One.”

She didn’t hesitate before moving her hand to the wound. Kaz was trembling under her right hand, but she forced herself to stay steady. He didn’t scream or cry, but the silence felt almost worse.

There . Her thumb and pointer finger found the small bullet, and she pulled it out as delicately as she could before tossing it on the floor with a small ping . As soon as she was no longer touching Kaz, he seemed to visibly relax, and she allowed herself to take a few gasping breaths. The worst of it was over.

Kaz spit out the washcloth, and Inej silently handed him one of the ones she had soaked in iodine. He dabbed at the wound with it. “Put more pressure on it,” Inej advised him, and he did.

No thank you. No acknowledgement of what she had done. But when he looked up at her, their eyes met, and somehow, that said more than a thank you ever could.

#six of crows #grishaverse #soc #kanej #kanej hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #kanej fanfiction #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #crooked kingdom #fanfiction #soc fanfiction #weekly grishaverse prompt #feel free to reblog

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theassthatquits · 3 years

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Blupjeans Week Day 2 - Ghost

Lup Taaco founded the premier science camp for teens - Camp Rocks! - this side of Faerun almost a decade ago. She did it by herself (mostly) and has the awards, articles, and accolades to prove that it’s a success.

So where does Davenport, her investor, get off going behind her back and hiring someone new without consulting her? Sure, enrollment has plateaued in the last couple of years, the main complaint being that they needed to shake up their staffing and curriculum, but she had it handled. She could take care of it herself, this was just a bump in the road. She didn’t need the help of some fancy doctor, this ‘Dr. Hallwinter’ that Davenport worked with at the university.

Lup scoffed while thumbing through his resume and cover letter. Top of his undergrad at Neverwinter U, a triple major in chemistry, astronomy, and physics. A brief stint working at a funeral home - a little weird, but everyone goes through a quarter life crisis, right? Returning to school a couple years later to get his masters and PhD and now taught at the same university while simultaneously doing interplanar research with Davenport. At the bottom of his resume with “related skills” he put ‘huge nerd’, as if that wasn’t obvious enough.

“Well, at least he knows what he’s talking about,” she muttered to herself as she threw the papers aside. There was no use fighting it now, she had spent weeks arguing and it wasn’t getting her anywhere. And it wasn’t like this was a bad idea, it just wasn’t her idea. This was her camp, after all.

---

Okay, maybe this Dr. Hallwinter guy wasn’t such a bad fit. They got off on the wrong foot, having a couple of heated discussions (fights) about things that she could barely remember. But now, she was standing in the corner of the pavilion, watching him give a very animated lecture on stars and planets. Angus McDonald, one of their first campers and the only one who came every single year, kept raising his hand to ask new questions and Hallwinter loved it. The two of them could go back and forth for hours, talking about theories and experiments and life itself. Angus had signed himself up for all of Dr. Hallwinter’s classes for the summer and loved every minute.

And he wasn’t so bad to look at, she supposed.

Lup was snapped out of her reverie by the class laughing very loudly at some Fortnite reference he made. Without realizing it, she smiled too. Dr. Hallwinter looked up at that moment to see her and his grin grew even bigger. With their eyes locked together, he dabbed and the class lost it all over again. When she giggled at that, she could have sworn he was blushing.

---

Every year towards the end of the summer the staff throws a “spooky soiree” to celebrate the end of camp. Everyone dresses up in a science-themed costume, they use the different things they have learned to create gruesome and cool decorations and effects, and they end the night with a ghost story bonfire. It’s easily Lup’s favorite night of camp. She loves amazing all of the younger kids with the cauldrons of “witches brew” (just dry ice in some punch) and grossing them out with the “eyeballs” (peeled grapes). This year she sewed some LEDs into her black vest, creating stars and constellations. Lup glowed in the dark and she fucking loved it.

She was in the middle of a (spooky) explanation of the witch's brew when she caught sight of Dr. Hallwinter walking up to the party. He was wearing a white shirt with lines drawn across it like a measuring cup and a long red robe over it. She was pretty sure he was wearing a graduation cap, too, which would mean…

“Holy shit you’re a graduated cylinder!” Lup shouted at him from across the way.

Immediately squeals of “language, Miss Lup!” began in front of her and she apologized to them as Dr. Hallwinter walked over with a smile on his face.

“Sure, am! This is pretty much my only Halloween costume, but I do love it.”

“Well, it certainly works for you, Dr. Hallwinter.”

He blushed before saying, “Lup, please just call me Barry. We’ve been having this discussion all summer. The only other person who calls me Dr. Hallwinter is Angus.”

As if to prove his point, Taako swooped in at that moment in a chef’s costume with the letters “FE” written on his shirt and yelled, “Excellent costume, Barold! You look even more like a nerd than usual and that’s saying something.”

Barry laughed. “Thank you, Taako, or should I say Iron Chef?”

Taako bowed deeply. “At your service, sir.”

“Dr. Hallwinter, sir!” They saw smoke before they saw Angus and Lup was a little alarmed before she realized that it was part of his costume. The boy had dressed up like a volcano with fake lava and smoke coming out of the top of it. “Look, it works!”

“All right, buddy!” The pair high fived and a weird fuzzy feeling struck Lup while watching the two of them.

“I think they’re about to start the scary stories over by the bonfire, are you coming, sir?”

“Pshh am I coming? Miss Lup asked me if I could host the festivities. Now you go get a good seat and I’ll be right over to start us off.”

Angus saluted him and ran off, eager for the frights ahead.

“Hosting the ghost stories, that’s a big deal Barold. Lup has hosted the bonfire herself for the last - oh, I don’t know, 2 decades?”

Barry turned to Lup, confused. “Is that true? I don’t want to impose or ruin any traditions.”

She waved him off. “Nah, it’s fine. We got off on the wrong foot, think of it as a peace offering.” Stepping closer to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, her voice got quiet. “You’re a member of this family, Barry.”

It was a good thing it was so dark, otherwise she would have seen his face turn a deep red. “You said my name.”

“Yeah, yeah, go get ready to spook some kids, Bluejeans.”

“Bluejeans?”

“You’ve worn the same blue jeans every single day since you started, even when we do activities by the lake. I’m absolutely convinced that you only packed that one pair for the entire summer.”

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong.”

“Barold. My dude. You only packed one pair of jeans, no shorts, no swim trunks, for an entire summer at a camp?”

“There might have been a slight mishap on the way here in which I lost my shorts, swim trunks, and half of my underwear.”

No one moved or said anything for a second before Taako finally said, “Barry, you know we go into town once a week to get food for the camp, right?”

Barry just stared into space, regretting all of his life choices that led up to this moment. Lup busted up laughing, harder than anyone had seen her laugh all summer. As she wiped a tear from her eye, she patted his shoulder and said, “Well, I guess you know for next year, right?”

He raised an eyebrow playfully. “Next year, huh?”

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t make any promises until I see how well you do at our bonfire fright fest. Speaking of which, we should definitely be heading over there. I am a little nervous to see how Magnus has been keeping the kids occupied.”

---

Lup stood in the back of the crowd, letting Barry take over the hosting responsibilities of the bonfire. It was one of her favorite parts of camp, but it felt right to let him do it. He was doing really well, enhancing his performance with shadow puppets from the fire and interspersing the scary parts with science puns to ease the nerves of the younger kids. She found it absolutely adorable.

“I think Barold is giving you a run for your money, Lulu.”

“He’s better than I expected, that’s for sure.”

“I’m glad you gave the guy a chance. He’s a good dude.”

She smiled. “He is, isn’t he?”

Taako took a moment, watching his sister watch Barry. “You have the hots for him, don’t you? Jeezy creezy, I should have seen this coming. Those arguments you two had at the beginning were spicy.”

“What?!” Lup said, a little too loudly, face flushing. “I do not have the hots for Dr. Bluejeans. He’s just funny and good with the kids and very smart and looks good in jeans and oh my god I have the hots for Dr. Bluejeans.” Her eyes got wide and she clutched Taako’s arms. “Taako what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Lulu, I say this with all the love in my heart: don’t follow your instincts. Right now, your instincts are telling you to let him walk away tomorrow and not say anything, and they are dead wrong.”

“Ughhh but what if he doesn’t feel the same? It ruins the professional relationship we have and then I have to ban him from the camp and then Angus will hate me and we will lose our best customer.”

“Something tells me he also feels the same way.”

“But how do you know that?”

30 minutes earlier

Lup went ahead before the boys to make sure that Magnus hadn’t started a revolution of sorts and that left Barry and Taako to quickly clean up the food before following. Barry’s eyes lingered a little too long on Lup as she was walking away.

“Barold. Are you checking out my sister?”

“What?! No, what makes you think that?”

“I rolled a Nat 20 on perception, Barold. Legally you cannot lie to me. Now tell me: do you have the hots for my sister?”

Barry covered his face with his hands. “Maybe? Yes. Absolutely. Completely. As soon as she called me a poorly-dressed poser on my first day I was done for.”

“Rad. You should do something about that.” Taako started walking towards the bonfire, witch’s brew in hand.

“What, like tell her?”

“Tell her, kiss her, fight her, just something so I get to stop looking at you two making eyes at one another,” Taako yelled back without stopping.

“What - we don’t make eyes at one another, that’s not…she makes eyes at me?”

“Yeah, I think you’re good, my dude.”

The kids started clapping, signaling the end of the story that Magnus was telling.

“All right, thank you Magnus. Very scary, that story about zombie dogs. I think next up we have everyone’s favorite camp director, Miss Lup!”

The kids cheered and Lup had to pull herself together to nail this story that she was definitely going to pull out of her ass because she most certainly hadn't prepared anything.

“Are you kids ready to get the pants scared off of you?”

They screamed enthusiastically.

“All right, this story is about our very own Lake Igneous here at Camp Rocks. Legend has it that there was a woman who used to live in these woods by herself, not letting anyone else get near her. She refused help from anyone that came by, wanting to do everything alone and remain independent. The campers nearby could hear her blowing shit up in the woods and they knew to steer clear. One day, a man stumbled into her home, lost and confused. She lit off several explosions in an attempt to scare him off but he didn’t want to leave.”

As she talked, her eyes found Barry’s.

“He saw how lonely she was and helped her blow shit up. Eventually she grew to really like the man and really enjoyed blowing things up with him.” Barry laughed at that. Lup, suddenly remembering that this was supposed to be a scary story, abruptly tore her eyes away from his.

“They thought it would be a good idea to light some fireworks on the lake, so they took a boat out to the center and created the biggest and most beautiful explosion known to man, taking both of them out. They sacrificed their lives for the dopest light show, and sometimes, on a very clear and quiet night, you can see them in the lake, hand in hand.”

Lup bowed to signal that the story was over and she took her place back next to Taako.

“Lup, that was...pretty rough, not going to lie. Not your best work, that’s for sure.”

“I just got so distracted looking at his dumb face.”

“Yeah, that whole story was glaringly obvious.” She glared at him.

“I just need to get through this night without further making an ass of myself.”

He snorted. “Good luck.”

After the bonfire had wrapped up and all the kids were sent to bed, Lup sat at her favorite spot down by the lake to stare at the stars. She always sat here on the final night, reminiscing over the summer.

“Mind if I join you?” Barry’s voice came out of nowhere, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t expect it. Lup didn’t respond, just patted on the ground next to her. “So, your story was -”

“It’s okay, you can say it was shit, because it was. I definitely did not prepare this year like I usually do.”

“-good. I really liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Especially the part where they die a fiery but beautiful death.”

She snorted and he took the opportunity to move closer to her, their shoulders touching.

“Thank you for letting me join the team this summer.”

“I would say you’re welcome, but I honestly didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“I know. Thank you for giving me a shot.”

“Again, not much choice in the matter.” He laughed. “You turned out alright. Better than I was expecting.”

“High praise from Miss Camp Director.”

“Would you be interested in coming back next year?”

“Absolutely. Pretty sure Angus would boycott if I didn’t show up.”

“He would just show up on your doorstep. Expect a lot of emails this year. So I’ll see you next summer, then?” He hesitated. “Unless you already have other commitments, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Lup, I’ll definitely be here next summer. I was just hoping that maybe we could see each other a little sooner than that. Like maybe this Saturday, dinner?”

She smirked. “A little forward, aren’t we, Dr. Bluejeans?” His face dropped.

“Oh, God. Did I totally misread this situation? Fuck, I am so sorry, I am going to just walk into this lake and never come back -” Barry started to get up, mortified.

“Barry, stop.” He looked at her, eyes wide in embarrassment. She shifted so her face was directly in front of his. “You didn’t misread this situation.” And then she kissed him.

@blupjeansweek2021

#blupjeansweek2021 #barry bluejeans #lup #taz balance #this is definitely the camp rock au i posted about ages ago #i might expand on this later

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 3 years

Text

31 Days of Apex Legends

Little bit behind, but I combined Days 1 & 2 (Pride & Friendship)

Chapter 1 of an upcoming fic I am still writing.

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

Title: Pride & Assumed Prejudice

Chapter 1: Masks

Something sour lingered on the tip of his tongue, on the razor’s edge of every thought; like a granule of poison sinking slowly into a beverage, unseen as the hapless victim takes a sip. Unnecessary, unnerving, and oddly enough, inducing a curiously debilitating sensation of anxiety for the first time in well over a decade. An emotion long-ago thought cordoned off, and utterly aggravating in its resurgence.

One could theoretically shut it out with enough mental fortitude and regimented distraction, but this tended to only provide short-term relief, for it always returned; faster, stronger, more pervasive than the last time. A creeping sense of wrongness that seemed to seep through every vein, clutching tightly to each breath as it worked to enter his lungs, twisting his stomach at random intervals, and reigniting old memories best left buried in unmarked graves. Unmourned and unwelcome.

At least, that is what Caustic tells himself.

There seems to be some level of psychological impairment at work, he rationalises in the depths of the night when he can barely think for the voiceless fears that make his heart race and air withdraw from ravaged lungs before it can fully impart its gift. The only hypothesis that makes even the vaguest sense is that there is likely a chemical agent of some kind, a poison, being introduced into some facet of his daily routine that is affecting his mental faculties?

Caustic is perplexed to find that his bloodwork runs clean each time, as do random samples of his food stores, lab equipment, clothing, cleaning products, furniture, air filtration units, plants and even toothpaste. Though he runs them often, at random, in hopes of locating the culprit for these uncomfortable sensations, these distractions from his research. Randomising events on his mental schedule each day in order to avoid any other human or non-organic being from identifying his routine again; if they ever even had. And yet, it persists.

Denial is perhaps the only shield that he will not admit to using, in this instance. Though for all his great logic, his knowledge and emphatic belief in the fundamental laws of science… there is still a strange feeling that persists in coursing through his veins. If he would allow himself but a moment to acknowledge it, to let it in and experience the sensation then it may lead to a breakthrough… but at what cost? If the facade falls, then who would he be?

Yet still his whole body feels electrified from within; as if sensing a change coming, like the increased atmospheric pressure before a thunderstorm. Everything that had been built was starting to decay, and it was not clear why now, why this year… why this ridiculous event was the catalyst. Even though such an obvious connection between this heightened emotional state and the particular time of year never actually occurred to the unnaturally overwrought man.

As the days between the present and the event grew shorter, and the other Legends began to ramp up their ridiculous displays of personal expression, the odd physiological effects increased exponentially, until simply existing in the same dwelling had become almost unbearable. It was merely because the others were younger, more prone to ludicrous displays of ebullience, constantly impeding his research with their tomfoolery… yes, that must be it. The reassurances ring hollow, even to his own mind.

Yet still the simple fact remained… that the year previous, as a new Legend, this whole event had been laughably easy to ignore. So why did it bring such distress, such melancholy? What variable had changed between these two points in time that was bringing this insidious juggernaut of disruption to his mind, body and experiment schedule?

Despite what he, at the time, perceived as his best efforts to provide a front of general indifference and borderline contempt for the ‘nonsensical festivities’ of the majority of the other Legends; it became apparent that these actions were not nearly enough to stave off the eyes of the irritating coworkers. Without even realising, Caustic was shrinking away, becoming distant once more and this, in turn, naturally raised a few eyebrows.

Certainly, he was not the most extroverted or beloved amongst their ranks, but at the insistence of Miss Pacquette, that damnable Gibraltar, and the unerringly difficult to evade Salvonian he had been making small forays into socialising in the name of increasing battle compatibility with the others. In the name of increasing battle efficiency, of course.

Caustic’s sudden detraction from even the few low-key communal activities he had begrudgingly begun to attend on a generally regular basis in their shared lodgings, such as the occasional movie night or weekly shared meal, was a blatant signal to the more empathetic and suspicious of the Legends that something was not right here. Some moved immediately to paranoid delusions, others queried if the scientist was unwell or had been caught up in work and forgot; Caustic could always feel Miss Pacquette’s eyes on him these days. Waiting for him to do something she could no longer forgive.

The sting of her derision only made matters worse, silencing all explanations he might give to the others when they arrived at his assigned room; so that all any who arrived saw was a brief silhouette before the door slammed shut in their faces. Assuming hostility, when the words were simply trapped inside; not wanting to admit this disgusting weakness that clawed, bit and screamed every moment of every day.

However, it was the unintended actions that gave rise to what came next; and he could blame none other than himself. For, as the foolish often do, a handful of those in the complex began to conjecture… rumour, if you will, and they spread like an unchecked wildfire. Caustic was not able to tell if they had been an errant thought turned unintentionally malicious or the deliberate attempt of one of his detractors like Loba or Crypto; and as much as he wished to close off the side of himself that felt anguish at these new beliefs swirling between his coworkers… he could not.

To say the rumours were incorrect would be an understatement, but even he could see how the gossip-mongers amongst their ranks had extrapolated a tenuous but alluring hypothesis that slandered his character, from such limited data points as were available. Especially after their foray to… the planet of his youth, most recently.

It seemed wherever he went, that blasted Crypto seemed to be hovering nearby with a smug look on his face; as if waiting for the opportune moment to mention a few inconvenient truths. Did the younger man realise what was happening to him? Could he use that drone of his to deliver a toxic compound into Caustic’s chambers when the scientist was absent? No, no of course not. Mystik would never forgive him… unless he could provide a plausible alibi. Even that particular train of thought was beginning to wear on him, feeling more tangible each time his brain brought the concept up. Actual poison was not the hacker’s style; but social poison, the slow and cruel kind that seeped from mouth to mouth, assassinating without a blade… that might be plausible.

These days, Caustic found his pulse always quickened when he caught sight of the hacker in the living complex, the anxiety making his mind rush through the worst possible scenarios of his secret being openly divulged to the masses without warning; even though some seemed utterly ridiculous. What would happen, after all? The worst case scenario? Repulsion from the others would be one thing, a natural consequence of their newfound awareness of his misdeeds and discovering the depths of his past, somewhat less than legal, activities. A strong possibility that perhaps the Legends would take the rash step of immediately contacting authorities to attend the Legend dwellings; something even Caustic would understand as rational.

Yet still, with his normally formidable intellect being absolutely and utterly subsumed under false assumptions and fallacies; the kind only a mind shuddering on the verge of collapse could generate… far worse fates arose like apparitions behind his eyelids. Such as the bizarre and somewhat infuriating insistence of his anxiety-ridden mind that the other Legends could hear of his past and simply decide to take matters into their own hands; pretending all is well until an opportunity arose to publicly execute Caustic themselves, mid-match with his beacon deactivated, for all the world to see. To denounce him in such a way that none could ever assume they had kept his secret; the disgust on their faces as they would wipe his blood from their skin would be proof enough.

Often in the depths of night Caustic muses on this highly improbable outcome. Yet, he finds that the variable of the scenario that keeps him awake is simply that, in this outcome there was the uncomfortably very real possibility of his Mother inadvertently bearing witness to the second death of her son; a thought that makes his chest constrict with a nameless horror. She loved to watch the games, according to that brat she favoured so much… and he could not put her through that grief again.

No matter how nonsensical, the idea and an uncountable number of similarly impossible scenarios would repeat over and over again every waking moment of the day. And again throughout every second of sleep he managed to wrest from this endless void of uncertainty, until it felt like the only true outcome. Caustic was aware he was not thinking logically, or even assessing all the variables… but his mind clouded it all out with whispered worries to distract, to isolate and distress.

These imagined ends and their outcomes added an almost unfathomable heaviness to his existence; adding unearned gravitas to the myriad of little concerns, worries and secret guilts until they felt like a thick fog that obscured all rational thought. Every little concern, so often hidden from his own conscious mind by a never-ending series of experiments and day-to-day tasks he employed to quiet the thoughts he did not wish to entertain, was now screaming inside. Some days he felt not unlike a speaker, reverberating from the harsh beating of his heart, and almost surprised none other than himself could hear.

No, this was ridiculous. He could not allow this to continue, not if he wished to remain Caustic. As a Legend, as a researcher with endless funding as long as he gave the right results in battle, as a scientist seeking additional data, and… as reluctant as Caustic was to admit it, as a member of the rag-tag team that shared the Apex-funded lodgings. A collective, almost like a-...

The thought always shut off there, twisting to a rapid mental analysis of the other Legends for the sake of anything else to focus on. Certainly some of the other ‘champions’ were irritating and he found it difficult to deal with them for long; but others he had to concede were fascinating, and startlingly brilliant in their fields, many of whom were willing to engage in discussions about their expertise and experiences. Even with mild distrust guarding their words to begin with, until passion for the subject overtook their misgivings.

But, as loathe as he was to admit this to even himself; to Caustic... the legends themselves were something he was starting to feel part of. Somewhat like they were a-... the word lodged in his chest like a blunt knife, something that could cause harm if he ever admitted how far he had fallen into the illogical void of social intelligence. He railed against the term, but logically it was the only apt one available to describe this group of strange people; and that was… family.

Bile scorched the back of his throat as he allowed the thought to flow through him like a soundwave, the sentiment of it far more distressing than the physical sensations; as Caustic been under the strong impression of having successfully managed to cut off all sense of sentimentality, along with his fingers, on Gaea. This feeling, this potential vulnerability, was therefore repulsive.

However… it could not be denied that recently the increased socialisation had brought out some surprising connections and insights with the others. Even simple interactions such as providing a gruff thank you to a teammate for pinging a weapon component whilst looting was noted by the others; and the way that Caustic made certain to inoculate his squadmates before a match. Inconsequential activities, but seen… apparently. He had never noticed their eyes on him during these moments before… and now he felt as if they never ceased their burning gazes on his every breath, every twitch and thought.

As it stood, he was closer to some Legends than others; and had forged several, somewhat tenuous but holding, connections he was not wholly ashamed to admit.

For example, Caustic found Horizon’s expertise on astrological matters an excellent way to pass sleepless nights, when both found themselves in the kitchen for coffee at 2am. Minds full of half formed ideas, or regrets, and unable to speak them aloud to anyone; there was an odd companionship between the Legends, so close in age and so vastly apart in lived experiences. Or, at the least, the experiences of their alibis.

Even through the distress he felt, Caustic could not help but smile as he recalled that their first two meetings at such a location and hour had not gone quite so well as in recent times. For the good Dr Somers had been blissfully unaware that a rather prominent side effect of Caustic’s initial and continued toxin exposure often expressed itself as a bright green glow about his irises; therefore the first time they had met in the pitch-black kitchen at an ungodly hour, the astrophysicist had said some truly profane things and thrown a mug of hot coffee in his direction. Lifeline had not been pleased to deal with burns at that time, no matter how Horizon had insisted they needed a proper assessment of the damage, but the young woman seemed to have found the whole situation quite humorous in hindsight. Often making smart ‘Be careful, Doctor, that’s hot!’ quips when she caught either of them holding coffee.

Ah, but their second meeting of this nature had been different. Caustic had merely been resting his eyes at the kitchen island when Horizon had carefully crept inside the darkened room, footsteps barely audible, and proceeded to make herself coffee on the quietest setting possible. It was, in fact, the sound of her sipping the beverage that had roused Caustic, and Horizon had promptly performed an almost perfect spit take in shock at his ‘sudden appearance’. The stain in the wall had never quite come out and neither of the older Legends had bothered to inform the younger Legends how it had manifested. Though some had their suspicions...

There was a calming energy to Dr Somers, and she seemed to have a distance in her eyes that he could relate to without ever broaching the subject. When they spoke of stars, of technology to traverse the time and space between the worlds, there was a communion of unspoken camaraderie there that soothed in an inexplicable manner.

Of the others, Caustic had occasionally found himself ensconced in fascinating discussions and discourse with Mirage when the pair had found themselves trapped in a social setting, such as lunch in the common area, fumbling for topics. Or more accurately, Mirage visibly sifting for a safe topic to be polite, and Caustic pointing at whatever the man was tinkering with at that moment, in silent question. It was rather intriguing how the younger man’s stutter settled when he was intensely focused on a subject he enjoyed. Although it must be said that now the scientist knew entirely far too much about holographic projection technology, and he was hard pressed to find an application for just such knowledge in his research.

On a more irritating note, was Gibraltar’s continued attempts to convince Caustic that attending events such as karaoke night or some roleplaying adventure evening with the rest of the Legends would be fun, positive, and a good bonding experience; and not at all humiliating, bizarre or definitely subjecting himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known by the other champions. Disgustingly, Makoa Gibraltar was a weapons-grade optimist with a sharp mind behind that disarming smile of his.

Recognising that the current stratagem was not working as it allowed the subject too much free will, Gibraltar had added additional variables to his socialisation experiments with Caustic. Even since, Gibraltar had been occasionally dropping by with a small portion of some homemade meal or other; often with one of the other Legends as an unspoken form of backup. More often than not, in recent times, Fuse would be the person of choice.

The rescue specialist was a very large, very polite man who had gracefully accepted the times Caustic would shut the door in his face to avoid allowing anyone to breach his inner sanctum of isolation and research. Walter Fitzroy was decidedly not.

Fuse was a very charming man, but he genuinely believed that any closed door was an invitation to trial his knuckle clusters on it, ‘in the name of friendship’. The pair would then invite themselves inside, and somehow a conversation would occur about the most randomised of topics, amidst the hidden garden-like interior of Caustic’s quarters. After weathering the scientist’s myriad of multisyllabic protestations about property damage and right to privacy, with mildly amused expressions on their faces, of course. Now that he thought about the subject in detail, the visits had been increasing in duration rapidly in the past two months or so; detracting from his research, yes, but at the same time… Caustic had begun to find himself not wanting to reduce this contact in the slightest.

Rampart had recently asked Caustic, in a quiet moment, if he wanted something strong enough to withstand a knuckle cluster barrage whipped up, because he was more often without a door than with one these days. Caustic had found himself smiling under the mask as he declined; not catching her sly grin of understanding in response. “It’s your funeral mate…” she teased as she left. He still had not had a chance to analyse her meaning or motives in relation to that interaction.

Still skeptical of his motives, but warming, was Lifeline. On the odd occasion, the healer would simply come into the common area to ‘hang out’ with whomsoever was present, and initially this had been a frustrating strain on his limited social endurance. Especially if the runner joined in, or she decided that the volume was far too low for her chosen programs at the time. They had engaged in arguments, which tended to resolve when he left, seeking solitude and silence in his own quarters.

Although, to review the past month or so in subjective data; Caustic was intrigued to find himself less irritated by Lifeline’s choice of audible and visual entertainment than previously.

However, the woman’s unerringly pleasant but smug grin as she would turn and catch Caustic’s fingers tapping the datafile laden table in subconscious adherence to the rhythm of the background music, was still a nuisance. At present, if he attempted to tell her so, Lifeline would laugh or roll her eyes and throw a quick, ‘Whatever yuh say, Doctor…’ in his direction.

Caustic believed that the newfound camaraderie between Lifline and himself was either in relation to a number of recent matches wherein he had had to shield her bodily from a hail of incoming fire while she revived a teammate; or pertaining to his begrudging assistance in formulating an altered version of stim for Octane, with lower health impacts. While it seemed counterintuitive to his stated goal of wiping out humanity; the challenge of forcing a volatile substance into a different composition to improve health on use rather than detract from it, had been exhilarating. While the current formula, Stim 2.3, was by no means perfect, it could always be improved in future testing. In fact, Caustic had been surprised to find himself looking forwards to improving upon the newly created formula with Miss Che in future. Her mind was agile, quick and experienced around medical, political and Octane-related matters. Verbal sparring with Miss Che was akin to mainlining caffeine, and possibly her persuasive arguments may have something to do with how thin his facade was feeling at present. How he was starting to regret his actions, when previously they were buried deep, untouchable, as Lifeline skillfully pointed out fallacies in his logic and ideologies.

Of all the Legends, the hunter Bloodhound, he hunter, was a mystery that continued to intrigue and distract from his research. Caustic had honestly been certain that there it would be highly improbable for the pair to have anything in common; given they were from a world that despised the very technology that his homeworld had embraced with open arms.

He had also felt that perhaps the hunter would avoid him, given Gaea’s reputation around such things as diversity in attraction and gender identification; he knew what was said and not all of it undeserved.

Somewhat surprisingly, it was a shared interest in plants that began their interactions; as the hunter had peered from their room at the right moment to catch Caustic returning home with a new specimen of unknown origin. The GAVN 1.2 bot stationed at the nearby Solace City plant nursery had no knowledge of what species it may be of, but the important matter was that the machine had recalled Caustic’s request to contact him if anything ‘interesting’ came through. Bloodhound had stopped him to ask how a Crentular Vynth bush had made its way to this planet; and Caustic had been so distracted by the conversation that followed that he did not realise they had moved to Bloodhound’s room until his second cup of herbal tea.

That had been the oddly auspicious beginning of… whatever this was. Whether they were now coworkers, or something slightly below comrades in arms, their companionship had been cemented nearly a full three months later on Olympus, when a bullet shattered Caustic’s mask mid-match.

Things had not been going optimally at the time. Their third squadmate was dead; some nameless human who had dreamt of glory and fame, and was now likely in a respawn pod beyond the arena commiserating their loss with the other failures.

Bloodhound was in the process of scouting for activity within and without the building they were currently camping inside; at the far end, if the faintest of footsteps could be believed. Skirting carefully about Caustic’s traps despite the pre-match inoculation provided that assured temporary immunity for the other two.

He had been calculating the potential ring trajectory of the next round, and automatically reloading the mozambique in his hands mechanically, when a careless step had placed him directly before one of the many damnable slatted windows of the building. The first he became aware was a crack, and a split-second realisation that made him jerk back just in time for the kraber shot to hurl his mask clean off and away.

Ducking automatically, not risking a second looking for the person who was definitely chambering a new round in anticipation of taking him out, Caustic had snatched the shattered mask up and slid through the rails to the floor below. Landing with a jarring impact that raised dust, forced air from his lungs, and inspired a violent coughing fit. Panic began to stir, as the reality of his vulnerability became apparent.

To counter this, Caustic set off a nearby gastrap deliberately, obscuring himself amidst the swirling green smog; allowing a moment to focus purely on the issue at hand, and forestall the intense anxiety that the cameras could be observing his features or condition too closely. He could already see the mask was beyond repair, the hoses hissing upon his shoulders as his filtered supply fed into nothing; despair was starting to claw at his chest, tightening it until it burned...

And then Bloodhound was there. Without a word, those impassive goggles took in the scene in its entirety as they crouched down by his side; pulling a small spare mask from one of the many pouches on their belt, without the slightest hesitation, and pressing it to Caustic’s face. “Here, breathe easy felagi fighter.” they said, nothing more, nothing less.

The filtration hoses hissed a moment more before the hunter had them shut off at the valve, so as not to waste more of the carefully balanced components. The mask adhering quickly and filtering the more violent components out of the air automatically; as Bloodhound needed, given their own damaged airways. Caustic may not believe in their All-Father, but he could almost admit to himself that it was very fortuitous they had been there that day.

When the smog cleared, vanishing as it dispersed to a minimal level, the crisis was over and his panic subsumed. Bloodhound clapped a hand to his shoulder and rose, making a statement of thanks in relation to receiving ammunition. A weak cover, but one they hoped viewers would be satisfied with; feel no great desire to dig for more information on this brief ‘green-out’.

“Come, there are three squads remaining, we have foes to slatra.” they offer, and he rises quickly to follow. Win or Lose, Caustic had felt confusingly like he had already received some small victory that day; though to put it in words was beyond even his skill.

Unfortunately, the downside of increased awareness of other human beings was that they tended to request opportunities to strengthen the bond. Of all things, the Hunter and the Salvonian now wished Caustic to go camping with them; in Kings Canyon or some equally feral locale, where they may all die of undercooked food or rabid wildlife. As disagreeable as he found the idea, Caustic found himself rapidly running out of excuses as to barriers that would forestall his presence on such an experience. And just the other day, before this intense sensation of dread descended, he found himself considering purchasing a prowler-proof sleeping bag… which had been a definite call for self-reflection at the time.

Indeed, when he thought back over the past few months… Caustic found that he had had at least one small interaction of moderate-to-positive success with all of the other Legends. Even with that know-it-all Crypto. Though Caustic strictly maintained that the whole scenario had been pure happenstance; and not any display of coworkerly or implied sibling affection.

If the young brat had just so happened to be tinkering with his little drone at the kitchen island and required a tool that Caustic, also present and working on his own project, had just so happened to have on him at the time… so be it. Truly, Caustic was not even certain if Park had realised who had supplied the multitool that had readily slipped into his grip on request; although, the fact that it had been returned nonetheless to his quarters, possibly by drone through a window he had forgotten to close overnight, gave a different impression.

Ironically, whenever Caustic finds himself thinking about the other Legends recently, shades of distress, distrust and uncertainty began to fill his limbs with lead and his mind with a million illogical questions. Did Loba’s smile at breakfast mean she was intending to out him to the others? Was it normal for Revenant to ask to view his research on gases with compounds that could corrode organic metals? Was the laughter between Wattson and Wraith about him? What made Bangalore watch him instead of the screen during the movie night two weeks before? Why did so many whispers stop when he moved closer? When was the last time Gibraltar had used the phrase ‘hey buddy, you doin’ okay?’ with any other Legend?

Who. When. Why. How. What. An endless merry-go-round in a carnival of horrors, all of his own devising… and there was no way to signal to the ride operator that he wished to exit. What was wrong with him?

Or, was there something wrong with him, at all?

Perhaps this was normal, for someone whose life was close to its ending. Didn’t people feel distress over regrets and mistakes in their life?

Desperate for a concrete reason, Caustic ran diagnostics on his blood and biometrics at least twice a day, and yet felt disappointed to find no significant progression in the disease. For if not the disease… then what was this?

Days wore on as he remained confined to his quarters for all but the most necessary outings. He did not see or hear how the household was becoming more and more colourful and the Legends pre-celebrating. Glancing out his window at the billboards in the city beyond, his lip curled derisively; ah, the corporations became more sycophantic as time wore on, disgusting. But all he could focus on was the manner in which this swelling sensation of anxiety was drowning him; Caustic was awash in a sea of tumultuous negative emotions with no sign of rescue. Quietly hoping that none would come.

It felt, constantly, as if he had an anchor bound to his ankles; the chain a cruel twisting thing, cold and rattling in the currents, always just long enough so he could bob above the despair for short periods of time before another wave crashed down. Caustic was beginning to wonder if it was worth trying not to drown at all...

Unbeknownst to the scientist, his absence was noted, and some were more concerned than others. The sudden withdrawal from household life drew attention from concerned parties with irritating accuracy; and he found himself subject to gentle half-questions that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing, his hands balling into fists to hide their shaking, and his mind racing to decode the hidden trap within the questions. Overwhelmed, Caustic responded by pulling back from the internal life of the Legends with greater fervour, trying to handle this situation himself; hating that it had come to such a ludicrous turn of events as this.

It was only when he was in the depths of despair and fighting to hide this from himself, that Caustic himself began to hear the rumours swirling about. Abhorrent, pervasive, and inaccurate… but easily believable if you lacked critical thinking skills. They made him feel more vile and misrepresented than the original advertisement campaigns for his arrival as a legend ever had. All that fabricated nonsense about being a verified and diagnosed sociopath; when it was only partially true, mixed with showman’s flare for the sake of selling him as the villain to the public. But these rumours… gossip rag conjecture, utter debasement and filth. Easy to believe… and in the mouths, hearts and minds of the people he had somewhat began to trust.

~)0(~

“It ain’t his fault, he’s from Gaea, yuh know?” whispers one legend to another, in a tone so casual that the sentence was doubly alarming to have come from seemingly out of nowhere. Caustic nearly drops the mug he is holding, mind shocked into momentary pause, at the statement. At the implication behind it.

The other sighs, “I know they’re, uh, different about things… but I thought that being in Solace City this whole time might have…” There’s a pause. “Well, you know, shown him a different reality… he’s already made progress in being an okay human, or something like it. Thought things were going okay, caught him smiling at one of Rampart’s jokes the other day… ”

“Yuh best keep it quiet though, don’t want the media gettin’ wind of this or it’ll be a problem.” hisses the first, acutely aware of how the media at large takes any vague hint of something, right or wrong, and runs with it. For the last six months magazines had been declaring that she was ‘going to propose to Wraith anyday now’ because they’d been snapped shared a sandwich at a Legend event a while back. The online forums were a constant minefield, even if some of the fanart was well-done.

“Oh yeah, I’m not going to put anyone through that deliberately, my dearest fiance-to-be…” the other laughed back. “You think surprise-portalling him into the middle of the parade would help? Or do Gaeans drop dead if confronted with new ideas without any warning?”

Just as despair was filling his heart like a lead weight, the rumours like tiny knives in his heart, filleting the memories he held about someone now lost… another combatant enters the ring. So to speak.

“Enough!” snaps a third, highly unexpected but nonetheless welcome, voice. The word hissing between what can only be clenched teeth, in a normally serene face.

Caustic finds himself holding his breath as he presses close to the kitchen wall nearest the common room entrance; desperate to hear more, despite his stomach churning, wanting him to flee this whole situation. It boggled the mind, after all he had done… Miss Pacquette, coming to his defence? How could she find it in herself to speak on the behalf of such as him?

“Listen to me, and hear me when I say that not all of Gaea’s citizens think in such a backwards manner… you cannot assume because people are poor, from a small place on their world, or work on farms that they all perceive things so narrow-mindedly. There is acceptance on Gaea, in much the same way that there are pockets of intolerant people on Psamanthe and Salvo who believe that robots are not sentient, or people of different races cannot be allowed to love one another. There are good people there too...” Wattson says, voice rising with the internal fervour of righteous anger. She was so very like her father, unable to allow someone she cared about to go undefended when people brought slander to their doorsteps. If someone raised a knife to his back, she would put up a fence to bar their way, and then continue to tell him off for his inappropriate actions from the months before.

In the brief silence following her statement, shuffling is heard, and it is clear something is happening though he dare not attempt to see in. He would be sighted for certain.

In a calmer tone, almost too soft, Wattson continues. “I once knew a man from Gaea when I was very small. He was… very important to my Papa, and to me. They worked together for many years, and I believe that they loved each other just as deeply as Papa and Mama did. He was always very kind to me, like a father you could say, even on his darkest days he was always ready to make me feel happy.” She took in a shaky breath. “Many of my youngest memories involve him, from my first baking soda volcano, to my recovery from the ‘ghost’ incident; not to mention the first attempt to create my sparks… and then the hour or so we spent resetting the powergrid for the whole map due to the short we made. He was a good man, if very obsessed with his work; as Papa was. Driven, you could say.” She sighed sadly, in a way that made even Caustic’s shaking arms want to wrap around the younger woman in comfort. “But he was forced to go home many years ago because he was having a disagreement with the company overseers about a new project they assigned to his research team. He was so angry when he left, and I wish I could have had a happier memory to keep of him. I only discovered later why he was so… you see, Papa mentioned that his team was assigned the goal of manufacturing a way of purging unwanted biological urges through aerosolised disbursement in the general population, and, well… he did not agree.”

There’s a sharp inhalation of breath from a few too many voices for simply two other people to be present in the common room. Given what the ruling bodies of Gaea were known to stand against, it did not take much guesswork around the applications of such a project.

Caustic had always liked to break accepted ethical conduct on the odd occasion to get breakthroughs that pushed science to the edge of a new frontier, but even he had been abhorred by the very concept. Caustic closed his eyes, recalling the very arguments he had had with his then-superiors about the situation; and how he had even held out the ‘impeding human rights’ card as a final way to thwart the project. The cold smirk on thin lipped faces as he was informed that none who would be affected could be counted as a true human until they were cured of their odd notions… it was a miracle he had restrained from using his fists there and then.

His ‘compliance’ was bought with a simple reminder of how very important the company’s healthcare policy was to Caustic’s mother, at the time, and how it would be a shame to have it terminated alongside his employment. Feigning defeat, and hating himself, he had made a show of deferring to their wishes. Those pompous, self-inflated fools had taken him at his word. That was their first mistake.

Caustic jerks slightly, as if he has fallen out of his own memories and back to the present, bodily. Finding Miss Pacquette still speaking, her voice growing ragged with emotion.

“He… he died shortly after leaving us. I was devastated that he was gone, but even more so for the way it had happened. I could not imagine the fear and sadness he must have felt as the lab burned around him, with his entire research team. All they ever found was a charred corpse and two fingers that had enough DNA remaining to confirm his identity.” A soft sob shocked out, before she masterfully pushed it back. “U-Unfortunately for the company it seemed that all of his research and specimens on the topic burned with him; and some kind of alternate chemical residue coating the lab after the fire made the building unusable. Sometimes… I wonder if it was deliberate, for him to have taken it all with him. To be honest it would not surprise me in the least, he was as stubborn as Papa…” Natalie trailed off, clearly upset by the recollections. “Oh mon dieu, I do not mean to be so silly… I just miss him and Papa so much! And now you are all being so awful about the only person who… who reminds me of them, and I know he is difficult but there is good there, somewhere.”

Caustic’s teeth grind until it is agony. He longs to comfort her, even now as a full fledged adult and not the doe-eyed little girl who always wanted his attention... but how would that look to their comrades? Would she accept it after what he had tried to do? The anxiety wrings his stomach out like a wet rag, and locks both legs firmly in place. The scientist is disgusted with his weakness, debasing himself internally even as he countered with the simple truth of not being able to fight your own brain when it had decided on a Freeze response to distress.

He can clearly hear Lifeline and Wraith providing quiet soothing statements to Miss Pacquette, and it lessens his own distress over hers. Until he hears the one voice he would prefer never have been party to the conversation, speak up. “What was his name?” A general query, curiosity and a hint of foreboding there, as if the puzzle pieces were sliding together in the younger man’s mind.

Caustic’s heart freezes in his chest. Of all the Legends, why must Park be the one to overhear this tale? He who knows too much already...

There’s a soft muffled sniffle, muted most likely by Wraith’s shoulder, before Wattson replies; utterly unaware of how she was putting the final nail in his aliases’ coffin. “Oh, did I not say? His name was Alex… or I suppose Alexander. Dr Alexander Nox…”

The sound of Crypto’s drone clattering to the floor almost swallows the high pitched shattering of the ceramic mug meeting the kitchen floor. Almost, being the operative word.

By the time anyone has a chance to check the kitchen, Caustic has long since made a tactical retreat to his room. The racing thoughts feel like they are wrapped about his throat, constricting his chest until he can barely breathe. Hoping that none saw his frantic flight back to the safety of familiar walls.

~)0(~

#apex legends #caustic #please tell me if its too ooc #i have been agonising over chapter 2 #it was meant to be a short little fic and now chapter 2 feels very ooc #31 days of apex

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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Ok, but how would you writte a court of owls and a dick grayson fanfic, focusing on the abduction too, after all the traumas that being destained to be a talon could carry with?, just imagine dick noticing his family could have known this, and then boom, someway the court makes his way to dick core, bat fam have to fighthim, but focusing in all those conflicts and not only the fights

LOL I have a few different Court of Owls’ ideas running through my head at any given time, but for various reasons, some of which I can’t even identify, they almost always tend to be AUs of some kind, where I also play around with different takes on the family dynamics or how the family comes together in the first place. I have no clue why that particular plot point, the Court, tends to pair itself with unorthodox Batfam takes in my head, tbh. It just does.

As an example, the one I’ve come back to the most often and most recently when fiddling around with various WIPs when the chaos of my life these days allows for it, lol.....its called “Where Last We Left Off” and it goes AU from general pre Flashpoint comic book continuity when Dick is still Robin, around fourteen or so. Long enough into his time living with Bruce that they’ve reached a point of considering each other father and son, even if neither is saying as such yet, and past the point where the Titans first formed and and even after Kory first came to Earth, so Dick has well established friendships with Garth, Roy, Wally, Donna, Lilith and Kory at least.

So in it, I set up an initial prelude and then there’s a time skip to five years later, where all the actual fic takes place. My premise is basically that Batman has been operating in Gotham for about seven years by the prelude, Batman and Robin about four or five, and its only in the last couple of years that Batman’s started coordinating more consistently and officially with other heroes as a member of the Justice League. And the point of departure happens when the Court uncovers Batman and Robin’s secret identities while trying to rid themselves of Batman’s interference in their operations even though he’s not aware of them just yet. When they realize that Robin is none other than their intended Gray Son, they decide to try and kill two birds with one stone.

Cue Dick’s abduction, but with a twist. Rather than make him a Talon and subject him to the Talonization process or whatever that’s called, and employ brainwashing or mind control techniques to control him, they make themselves known to Bruce as the ones who took Dick, give him a taste of what the Talons are capable of and make sure he gets a good look at the changes to their physiologies and mental states, and then they make their demands. They won’t subject Dick to any of that.....so long as Bruce agrees to hang up his cape and cowl, and cease all vigilantism and contact with other heroes. They give him forty eight hours to make his decision, and leave him with the body of one of their Talons to ‘study’...in essence, making both an example of how little they care for their tools and think nothing of disposing of one, and to give Bruce more information than he really wants at the moment of all the kinds of things that Talon was subjected to in the ‘making’ of him.

Unable to find a hint of where they took Dick before the deadline, even when Bruce calls in Clark, Barry and a few others for help searching, Bruce ultimately agrees to their demands and ceases all activity as Batman in exchange for the occasional proof of life demonstrating that the Court are holding up their end of the bargain. If they see even a hint of vigilantism or working with other heroes, they warn, they’ll have no further use for Dick except as just another of their Talons.

Heartsick and with no real idea how to spend his days at first, or inclination to put much thought into coming up with ideas for that, as well as refusing to even speak with Clark and the others, let alone Dick’s friends, at the risk of that being overseen or heard and deemed ‘working with other heroes,’ Bruce ultimately funnels most of his time and energy into charity works and projects mostly born of idle ideas he remembers Dick mentioning every now and then, when complaining about how stupid the way certain things worked or skewering various flaws in the typical upper class reasonings of people he was expected to converse with at various galas....and then venting to Bruce all the way home.

Eventually, Bruce meets Jason in a different way than in canon, but still takes him in. Not to replace Dick of course, or because he’s given up on him (if he ever did that, after all, there’d be no reason for him not to go back out as Batman). But rather just because he has to do something, and the thought of caring for Jason and trying to be for him what he was for Dick, or at least hoped he’d been, it sparks the first real motivation he’s had since the abduction. The one thing he can’t bring himself to regret is taking Dick in, even as he blames himself for thinking so selfishly, since if he hadn’t done that, this would never have happened to Dick (not knowing yet that the Court was always intent on getting their hooks into Dick whether he was in the equation or not). But the point is, he can’t honestly say he wishes he’d never taken Dick in, even as selfish as he feels for that, so he doesn’t let his misgivings keep him from following his instincts with Jason, telling himself it’ll be different since he’s not Batman anymore. (Bottom line being his choice with Jason is still about Jason, not just as a proxy for Dick or anything).

Not all that long after, different events than canon result in him taking Tim in as well (with Tim not aware of his past as Batman at this point in this AU, since I’m positing that Dick was abducted before Tim happened to see Robin doing the flip that let him connect the necessary dots there). And not long after that, Bruce takes in Duke as well, and then finally, about a year before the five year time skip to present day, he takes in Cassandra, due to Barbara’s influence.

Babs has one of the bigger divergences in this AU, as I’m switching things around a little specifically to set Dick’s abduction at just before Babs becomes Batgirl. So she’s not really one of his friends at this point in life, and she sets out to become Batgirl pretty much right after Bruce hangs up the cape. Unable to even confront Batgirl as himself, lest the Court see that as an attempted return to vigilantism, but paranoid that they might view Batgirl as his attempt to work via a proxy, Bruce does a most un-Brucely thing....he anonymously tips off the Commissioner about his daughter’s vigilantism, and Jim Gordon puts a stop to that by unapologetically even playing the guilt trip card to keep his daughter from risking her life night after night. So Batgirl retires almost as soon as she begins, but that doesn’t mean Babs is out of the game by a longshot.

A big part of the reason for that divergence is I’ve always felt that Babs was going to become Oracle one way or another, no matter what road she took there, and although I love her as Batgirl, I don’t view it as fundamentally essential to her overall character as other early personas of other superheroes are. And despite the Bat theme, Barbara has never been dependent on Bruce either for guidance or resources, let alone validation......so I wanted to play around with what happens if you cut the Batgirl portion of Barbara’s life out of the picture completely.

So basically, she just starts becoming Oracle even earlier. She promised her dad she wouldn’t risk her life on the streets in a cape and a mask. She made no such promises about putting her computer skills to use for the greater good, in whatever ways she deems most efficient. Which ultimately leads to her working as a superhero information broker for a growing number of vigilantes who have no idea their cyber eyes and ears isn’t even quite of legal drinking age just yet, and from there, forming the Birds of Prey as satellite agents for missions she directs them towards in a Charlie’s Angels kind of way, where she’s just the voice on the radio so to speak. One of those missions results in Dinah, Helena and a couple others crossing paths with Cassandra, who returns with them to the States. She’s still just a teenager though, younger than when she first crossed paths with the Batfam in canon, only about thirteen here. And the Birds don’t think any of them themselves have the kind of home and stability they all agree she deserves, so they ask the ever mysterious Oracle if she knows of anyone....not realizing just yet that said Oracle is barely a decade older than Cassandra herself at this point. But the Oracle knows all...so she has an idea.

Bruce, being the Walking Guilt Complex that he is, felt shitty about interfering in her attempts at vigilantism even as much as he believes he made the right choice there. So after he adopts Jason, he contrived an excuse to hire Barbara in specific to be Jason’s tutor and catch him up to speed before he went back to school, so he’d have reason to allow Babs to become a regular presence at the Manor, and an excuse for him to help her out any way she might need or want. Not that she ever took him up on this, which frustrates him to no end, cuz can’t a billionaire just assuage his guilt complex in peace already, damn. But regardless, between Jason, Tim and Duke, she’s become a regular fixture at Wayne Manor over the years, even though for the opposite reasons as Bruce initially ‘hired’ her. After all, all three boys are basically geniuses in their own respective fashions, so its not like they need tutoring in the conventional sense once they caught up to speed in whatever ways they needed.

Rather, Babs is their tutor specifically in the areas of ‘making sure they don’t get so bored with their schooling, they turn to blowing things up and/or world domination as a hobby’. Basically, an overachieving perfectionist know-it-all hired to help three overachieving perfectionist know-it-all kids reach their full academic potential unhindered by their conventional schooling, which at this point is basically just something that Bruce insists on so the boys get regular social interaction, while Babs concocts their actual curriculums that actually interest them and they do on their own time.

Anyway, so while seeking a placement for Cass that Babs thinks is deserving of her, she ultimately thinks of Bruce, and calls in that favor, albeit in a most unconventional sense. Babs doesn’t know Bruce was Batman at this point either, given how effectively he covered his tracks when he hung up the cape and how pointedly he’s kept away from all vigilantism since....but she knows each of his three boys have very different backgrounds and had trouble adjusting at first because of various issues...all of which Bruce spared no expense in addressing, more in terms of his own direct focus and parenting rather than fiscally. He’s a good dad, here, a great dad, since he’s basically poured all the energy and drive he once devoted to vigilantism to what he now feels he should have focused it on instead....being the father he wished he’d been to Dick and wasn’t going to make the mistake of not being now.

All of which makes Babs think that he might not only be willing to take in Cassandra, but that he might be the best one for her. And so after a lot of cloak and dagger obscurity that would be completely unnecessary if all the parties in question knew all the relevant information about each other, Cassandra ends up at Wayne Manor too.

All of this is essentially backstory for the in between time between the prelude and the actual fic, unveiled and doled out via information conveyed in the present day. But where the actual fic begins, Bruce is committed to being Superdad to Jason, Tim, Duke and Cass, none of whom know he was Batman or the true nature of what happened to their mysterious elder brother who according to the news and what little Bruce and Alfred are willing to say, was abducted years ago with no attempt made to seek a ransom and no idea who did it or why.

Meanwhile, the kids have their own secrets, as Cass has been sneaking out into the city at night and stopping petty crimes and running into some girl in a purple hoodie who calls herself Spoiler. Tim’s preoccupied with a longtime personal quest of his....figure out who the elusive Oracle, all-knowing master of the cyberways is, and in doing so perhaps win their approval and mentorship. And Duke’s metahuman abilities have recently begun manifesting, and Jason ends up helping him test them and figure out what all he can do (after Jason catches Duke in the act of practicing his ghost vision and Duke has to convince him he’s not crazy and nobody needs to tell Bruce).

And that in turn leads to Duke exploring the house with aid of his powers, trying to learn more about the mysterious missing eldest, and Jason distracting him every five seconds by whispering “what do you see now,” because Jason has also long been endlessly entranced by the mystery of Dick Grayson, and also, Jason has no chill.

With all of the above being the dynamic in existence in ‘present day’....when Dick escapes the Court and returns home.

So the story itself is all about Dick trying to deal with the aftermath of everything that happened to him while the Court’s hostage, and everything that didn’t happen to him and that he missed out on, coming in at the eleventh hour to a family that’s now almost fully formed all in his absence....with a seat at the table that’s been reserved for him the whole time, but with him uncertain as to where and how he fits in all of this.

All while being as cryptic about things as possible, because the one and only thing he and Bruce seem able to agree on, after their bittersweet reunion that doesn’t go how either of them ever imagined it....is to keep the other kids out of all this by any means necessary. Upon learning that Bruce hasn’t been Batman in years and the others know nothing about any of this, Dick’s firm on believing they should keep it that way as he doesn’t even know them yet, but he does know he isn’t willing to risk anything like what happened to him happening to any other child, related to him or not. And Bruce is perhaps too willing to accommodate Dick on this because he still feels this is all his fault, and telling the others everything would mean admitting to them what a terrible father he once was.

Which, he wasn’t, is the thing. One of the many things Dick’s struggling to reconcile now, because just like in the comics, Dick’s early years with Bruce were good more often than they were bad. He realizes upon seeing how easily the other kids interact with Bruce in a parent and child way that this is something he’s envious of, and in hindsight wanted even before he was kidnapped, but now he doesn’t know how to voice that or his fear that that Bruce would only be willing to offer that to him now out of guilt, that if he’d really wanted that kind of relationship with Dick, they would have had it before he disappeared.

Add to that the fact that Dick can’t make up his mind whether he’s grateful and touched that Bruce gave up being Batman just for the chance it might keep him safe from the fate of the Court’s Talons.....because sometimes, Dick resents it deeply...or not resents, per se, but more that he didn’t know the specifics of what was going on in the outside world beyond where the Court kept him, or that they’d made Bruce give up being Batman....so finding that out upon escaping is messing with his head more than he expected, and now he can’t help but feel aware of all the people over the years that could have been helped by Batman but weren’t, because of Dick. Basically, the Son of the Walking Guilt Complex, aka Walking Guilt Complex Jr., is blaming himself and his getting kidnapped, for being the reason Bruce isn’t a superhero anymore.

Meanwhile, it was not a good idea to keep all of this hush hush, if for no other reason than that its impossible to recover from a life-changing ordeal like this at home, when that home is filled with four other people you and two others are all committed to keeping the full details of what happened a secret from. Its not at all the homecoming Dick was picturing and had dreamed of, and he catches himself at times feeling resentful of the others for being there at all, before feeling guilty because the truth is he really is glad that Bruce took them all in and has been good for them, that he still found a way to help people and be true to himself even without being Batman.

There’s other stuff involved too, like the fact that Dick is still keeping things from even Bruce, like everything that happened to him in the Court, because a) he doesn’t want to talk about it, b) he’s afraid of the guilt spiral it’ll send Bruce into, to know that all this time he’d done everything he could to keep Dick safe by giving the Court no reason to break their word....when they never actually made any promise not to try and break Dick by methods not part of their usual Talon process, and c) he doesn’t want to talk about it.

And of course, all his old friends and teammates desperately want to see him and reconnect with him, which he fluctuates between wishing it was easier to explain who they were and have them around without risking their own identities with his new siblings.....and being grateful that keeping the Big Secret from said siblings meant they could only be around so much (like Clark and Diana, etc, who now simply would not be kept away period)....because like with Bruce, Dick is having trouble coming to terms with how much they’ve all changed while he was gone and how much he’s changed, and what this means for them all and how they even FIT now, if they even do at all.

All of which ultimately builds to Dick sneaking out at night to return to vigilantism himself, which makes Bruce throw an epic freakout when he finds out because he only just got Dick back and is not about to risk losing him again. And with Dick trying to convey that he NEEDS this, now perhaps even more than he ever did before, because its the only thing he knows, the only thing that feels familiar, feels right at this point, while everything else is confusing as hell. And even more than that, he needs it in order to feel like the last five years haven’t cost him everything, that they haven’t...’ruined’ him, because what’s the point of him even being home if he’s just as lost and confused as ever and he can’t even save people, do the one thing that’s always made all the shit he’s ever been through feel worthwhile, like it means something?

He needs it, he can’t give this up forever just because something terrible happened one time, that probably would have happened in some form even if he hadn’t been a hero, given what he found out from the Court about his family line. And he’s not wrong to feel that way, is the problem, much like its a problem that Bruce isn’t wrong to feel that if nothing else, its too soon for Dick to be doing this again, and he hasn’t remotely handled any of the many issues weighing on him and the trauma he’s still unwilling to address.

And it doesn’t help that all the while, Bruce has been wrestling with his own uncertainty as to whether to go back to being Batman now that Dick’s safe again and the combined might of the Justice League and Titans have followed his escape route back to the Court and come down on it with extreme zeal. Or whether he even wants to, anymore, if he can justify the risks it includes while now a father in truth not just to Dick but four other kids too (and yes, Damian exists in this AU, he’s just not here yet). He doesn’t want to leave any of his kids without a father, and even more than that, he doesn’t want any of the others following in his and Dick’s footsteps, which also plays a factor in freaking out at Dick’s quick return to a mask.

But he can’t deny that he does miss it too, and more importantly, he misses the way he and Dick used to understand each other without a word, in perfect sync as they swung over the city together. He can’t help but feel like it would be so much easier for him and Dick to understand each other, communicate with each other, if they were back on the same page even if just for one night for old time’s sake. And also he worries about Dick maybe growing to resent his siblings if he feels like they’re the only reason he won’t go back to being Batman, he won’t let there ever be a Batman and Robin again....which then startles him into worrying that on some level he’s afraid of growing to resent his other kids for being the reason not to do that. And around and around and around it goes.

And then the other kids figure it out in their own ways and everything really blows up.

And its hard and messy and painful and nothing short or easily fixed. And there are no good choices or easy choices or right choices. Just a lot of good people trying to make the most good come out of the most bad, and not a clue what that actually means or looks like, let alone how to go about it.

Ultimately, its Dick at age 19, coming of age in the most unconventional of ways, trying to figure out who he is and who he wants to be after everything that’s happened, and dragging his whole family along for the ride as they’re all forced to ask the same question and then compare notes and hope that even if they’re not all on the same page, they’re all at least somewhere to be found in the same book.

Its about how you can’t go home again....even when home is exactly where you left it, and everything looks exactly the same but everything is different and nothing and no one will ever be the same ever again.

But that doesn’t mean the trek isn’t worth making, because sometimes the only way to make it forward to who you want to be now....is to first go back to where you last were when last you trusted who you were and what you wanted. So you can make your peace with leaving that road untraveled before finding your new direction and setting forth on that road instead.

*Shrugs* So yeah, that’s my ideal Court of Owls related fic. “Where Last We Left Off.”

Not quite the kind of fic you were describing, lol, but I do seem to insist on being unconventional with my takes, lmao.

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mrsrcbinscn · 4 years

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Wilbur Is Not Amused || The Robinsons

@wilbur-robinson, @mrrcbinson

Tl;DR: Franny and Cornelius tell Wilbur about the baby. It does not go well.

Date: August 23rd, 2020

FRANNY:

So about telling Cornelius she felt fine...turns out that was a lie. Once she got to her ninth week the morning (and noon, and night) sickness began. It got to the point she made excuses to be out during dinner time because she didn’t want to tell the family she was pregnant yet, but she couldn’t actually keep food down. Water and crackers were all that was on the menu these days. Even the foods she was craving she couldn’t actually enjoy! It was frustrating, but overall she was thrilled.

Due to her age and her history of miscarriages her doctor wanted weekly ultrasounds to keep an eye on the baby. Now at eleven weeks pregnant and rapidly approaching the second trimester, everything looked great. The baby had a strong heartbeat according to her doctor and that was all Franny had really hoped for. While eleven weeks wasn’t fully out of the danger zone for the most common window for miscarriage, she realized she couldn’t hide it much longer. They’d almost gotten caught already!

When Tallulah offered her a glass of wine at Wilbur’s birthday party — the fake one, the one with the family that they always did — she made up an excuse about being on a drinking hiatus to lose weight. Franny hoped her hands hadn’t instinctively gone to touch her abdomen like her brain had been telling her to do.

Eleven weeks with a strong heartbeat was already more than she had expected. It seemed like the right time to tell their family and Cornelius as ever took her lead on this. They told his parents first and Lucille squeezed Franny’s hand and reminded her that by loving their son, she’d already fulfilled all of their wishes for their family, and giving them Wilbur was just a pleasant bonus. Franny of course cried. What else could she do? Lucille was sometimes too ridiculously good to her.

Next it was Wilbur, and after Franny had stopped crying courtesy of Lucille being too damn wonderful, they called him into their bedroom to talk. Being on her feet was getting tiring, so talking at the window seat in their bedroom just felt more practical than sitting Wilbur down in his room. It was nap time right after this for the pregnant lady.

“Why am I nervous? Are you nervous? Am I freaking out again?” She leaned over to catch Cornelius in a kiss and tangled her fingers with his.

CORNELIUS:

Cornelius was still in shock. He partly couldn’t believe it. Almost didn’t if it weren’t for Franny growing sicker and her weekly doctor appointments. It was weird to imagine that at their age - they might be parents again. Just as Wilbur was on the verge of graduation…

He had been caught up in these thoughts all day. Every time he saw Franny now, actually. But especially today because they were telling everyone. His mother had cried. Actually cried. And then hugged him tight while his father made a science pun about atoms - his mother’s crying in his ears had drowned out the rest, to be honest.

But the kiss and her touch alone broke him out of his thoughts and he looked to Franny. “Oh! I - more like...well, I don’t know,” He admitted. “I mean, Wilbur’s almost an adult. Legally, at least. I know he can act childish sometimes, but he’s a good kid. I think he’ll be excited. He’ll probably teach them to be like his little sidekick and turn them against us at the age of two.”

He laughed a little at the joke, honestly believing it to an extent though. But he could get where Franny was coming from. Still, he wasn’t nervous himself.

Not until Wilbur came in.

“Hey, kiddo. Come have a seat, will you?”

WILBUR:

Wilbur and his parents didn’t really sit down for important talks often. There were a couple times when he was younger (like when they sat him down to say he might be a big brother, or when they sat him down and said actually no he wouldn’t be and his mum would cry). There were other memorable occasions of course, the last one being a dead relative.

He started going down a list of relatives that could have kicked the bucket, because there were of course some older ones. But could he play guess who? Or was that entirely inappropriate? Wilbur wandered into his parents room with eyebrows furrowed, debating over whether tact was good or bad in this case?

Wilbur eyed his mum first and then his dad, debating over who would spill the beans first. Then he shrugged and sat down in one of their chairs. “Okay what’s going on? Who died?”

FRANNY:

“What?”

Franny had a brief spiel loosely prepared but Wilbur’s comment threw her off track. Died, huh? No this was the opposite hopefully. Next week would mark the longest she’d stayed pregnant and her OB/GYN said especially considering her risk factors, her pregnancy was healthy. She couldn’t believe her luck at last after nearly twenty years of marriage.

A decade and a half of trying to grow their family, until a few years ago, when Franny’s broken hearts couldn’t take it anymore. Cornelius had always been so good, so understanding, and never once blamed her. She couldn’t say the same for herself.

It felt too good to be true and too perfect but yet, here they were. Wilbur was going to (most likely, very likely, it seemed) be a big brother. He’d be so much older than his baby brother or sister but he’d be their superhero and the thought of that made Franny’s eyes prick with tears so she took care not to go there right now.

“No, your father and I just have to share some exciting news.” Franny began, tightening just barely her grip on one of Cornelius’s hands. “Wilbur, your father and I found out I’m pregnant. At our age, I know, I thought it was a mistake too but I really am. Twelve weeks; in March you’ll have a little minion to teach to get into trouble. Around your father’s birthday, too...everything looks good this time around. Looks perfect.”

Franny’s grin almost hopped off her face, it was so wide! She reached for one of Wilbur’s hands and squeezed. “Isn’t that exciting?”

WILBUR:

There were a few different things Wilbur would have imagined that they’d have to say. Maybe some Great Uncle bit the dust, or they were planning another trip and they wanted him to give them input. Or maybe they were rethinking his request for a horse. You never knew. Wilbur was willing to be imaginative.

But then his mum started talking, and Wilbur could feel his heart sink. Not sink, maybe it just fell right out of his body and fell into the sea. The bemused look changed so swiftly, any hint of a smile gone from his face as he paled. He could remember the last time his mum had told him she was pregnant. It was years ago, and Wilbur had just assumed (like an idiot apparently) that they wouldn’t try again.

Why wasn’t he enough for them anyway?

Wilbur sucked in a breath and let it out again, forcing himself to try not to blow up. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly, because his parents really didn’t think about him at all did they? Wilbur immediately tugged his hand away from his mother, arms wrapping around himself defensively as he glanced between Franny and Cornelius. He was still waiting for one of them to say ‘just kidding’ but...well his parents wouldn’t pull that kind of a stunt with him.

Which meant no matter how improbable, no matter how horrible, it must be the truth. “Are you serious? Why would I be excited about this? In what world does ‘my mum could possibly kill herself again trying to have a real baby’ sound exciting?” Okay, maybe he couldn’t contain it.

CORNELIUS:

Of all reactions, Cornelius didn’t expect this one from Wilbur. Especially faced with the beaming face of his mother right now. But the moment his face changed, he knew something was wrong. And -

Real baby? What did that even…

“Wilbur, what do you by real baby? You’re our real son,” Cornelius began slowly, his mind trying to process everything. Something that was so exciting and joyous suddenly turned sour and was about to become a fight. One that would not be easily fixed either. “Its….you’re not be replaced, if that’s what you’re getting at. Or forgotten or any of that.”

Considering both of them were orphans, he could put himself in Wilbur’s mindset in a way. But not much. Because this reaction was just - shocking. Were they being selfish though? Were they bad parents to bring this up at Wilbur’s age? He turned to look at Franny, his brows coming together in concern.

FRANNY:

Franny first felt white hot anger at her son’s reaction. It was as if for a brief moment she resented him as much as she’d ever loved him.

(And briefly, she was angry at Cornelius for not at least gently chastising him for yelling at his mother, but she reminded herself that Cornelius was a better person than she was. He heard Wilbur’s hurt first, whereas Franny first tuned into the anger. Thank god Cornelius was here. She would have shouted right back if not for him.)

How dare he, she thought though. Now, she expected her son to make a joke about how old she was. She wasn’t stupid enough to think Wilbur, a happy only child, would be thrilled. She expected, however, a quick ‘oh? Cool. Anyway is that all?’

What she didn’t expect was such a reaction.

How dare he, in one instant, rob her of her joy. Franny’s heart sank as she thought to herself this is a mistake.

And as quickly as her anger appeared, it subsided, as it always did when she was angry with Wilbur. His words cut but after feeling the impact of those words it was as if she pressed pause on her hurt to instead focus on Wilbur’s, because that’s what moms are supposed to do.

She could cry to Cornelius later or perhaps her mother, but who could Wilbur go to? He usually sought her out for comfort but who now?

“Wilbur…what are you saying?” Franny said quietly as her face fell, before for once in her obnoxious life, she struggled to find words. “You’re not...it...it was an accident, we didn’t mean—“ wait. Was she about to apologize for being pregnant? She sighed and her hand flinched to reach forward and hold Wilbur’s hand, play with his hair, anything, but he’d batted her hand away not a moment ago. “Wilbur, honey. You are our real baby. There is nothing we love more than you and being your parents. Nothing, honey.”

WILBUR:

Honestly, Wilbur thought it was pretty clear what he meant. He was being replaced. By a younger model that would probably be nicer than Wilbur and more likeable than Wilbur because they wouldn’t be as bratty as he could be. They’d probably “try to get it right” this time, and where would that leave Wilbur? Miserable.

“Really?” He asked, and he couldn’t help but snort. Of course he’d be forgotten. A baby would demand all their attention, and when Wilbur would need them for college things or anything else, he’d probably get ignored. His whole family would probably coo at the baby and focus on what it wanted and needed and he’d be pushed by the wayside. Wilbur wasn’t stupid. He knew babies needed a ton of attention.

“Why would you still care about having another baby? That’s what I just don’t get! Mum was always so messed up by this shit, and yet that’s always been it. ‘Why can’t I have a real baby to take care of?’ You didn’t say it in as many words, but the implication is pretty fucking clear.” So what if Wilbur was a bit spoiled? Who were the people that had spoiled him in the first place? Oh yeah, it was them.

He didn’t look forward to watching the way his mum would try to do things differently so this baby, their actual biological one wouldn’t turn out like him. He hated it. He hated it he hated it. He was going to be sick. “I can’t believe you’d do this now! What, I’m going to go off to college soon so it doesn’t matter what I think? That’s great really. Have fun with your new family.” He stumbled to his feet. He needed to get out of here. He wanted to cry, but he was nothing if not determined to do that in the comfort of his own space, without the people who hurt him around.

FRANNY:

“Wilbur!” Franny exclaimed, springing out of her seat but not advancing toward her son. She wouldn’t force him to stay but he wasn’t going to storm out without one final attempt to reach him.

And, yeah, maybe she said his name in the ‘I’m gonna kick your ass’ tone but with the way he was speaking to his parents right now did he expect any different? His words were hurtful not only to her as his mother, but as a person in general. Franny kept her composure enough to keep from well and truly yelling at Wilbur but under the far too consistent volume of her voice was boiling anger.

“What do you mean ‘new family?’ For once would it kill you to not be so over-dramatic. Like I just. I just wanna know. You know damn well, Wilbur, that plenty of families have more than one child in them. We wanted a big family because we just did, okay? We just did. There’s no other explanation. We just wanted that. But your father -”

Never slowed down. Never could press pause so we could adopt again so I had to try the old-fashioned way even though my body kept telling me I couldn’t do it.

“- and I just kind of shelved that for the most part. We stopped tryin’ years ago, I didn’t get pregnant to piss you off. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around Wilbur Robinson. Sometimes it just happens. What was I supposed to do when I found out I was pregnant, huh? What would have made you happy?”

A beat, and Franny pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“Get out. Go to bed. Or don’t, I don’t care, just get out.”

WILBUR:

So the world didn’t revolve around Wilbur. He knew that already. His mum made it even more clear that he wasn’t that special. He wasn’t enough for them. He’d never been enough for them. If he had, then his parents wouldn’t have cared about a big or a small family. They would have just let that baby stuff be and loved him.

Why did mum think he was overdramatic? It wasn’t overdramatic to realize he was being replaced! It would be different if they’d adopted or had another kid when he was still little, when it was a normal thing to do. This wasn’t normal. He’d never felt so unappreciated in his life, and he’d had his moments of doubt.

“Oh I know the world doesn’t revolve around me. And it never will, because that new baby’s just going to replace me and that’s just great. I’m glad you get a do over to have a better kid.” And since he was already in it, and he’d clearly already pissed off his mum too, Wilbur headed out, both middle fingers waving at them as he made his way out. He’d break down once he was alone. He wouldn’t cave until then.

#wilbur #cornelius #like a dream

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seasonofthegeek · 5 years

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No Other Choice, Part 1

This story is dedicated to @cheeseeatingtrashmonster and @miraculouspaon to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY month! I feel like we’ve formed a special Nelix club and I’m so glad we all love these two ridiculous characters so much!

This is going to be a longer fic based on a drabble I wrote a year or so ago so this first part is just a freshened up version of that and I should have new content in the second chapter posted later today. :D

Part 1:

“I’m getting it removed. I suppose you have a right to know.”

Before Nino had the chance to look up at the owner of the voice, a stack of books dropped onto the table where he sat, barely missing his brand-new headphones he’d been mysteriously gifted only the day before. He grabbed them quickly and scowled up at the person responsible for their almost demise when his heart leapt into his throat. Felix Agreste glared at him as he stood on the opposite side of the table, his chin lifted defiantly.

“I don’t need a soulmate and I certainly don’t want a soulmate. The only reason I’m telling you is because I need you to sign these.” He dropped a packet of paper across the table, just beyond his books. “I’ve flagged each place you need to sign or initial. It should be simple enough for you to understand. Please don’t make a mistake. It was a headache getting a copy of the form.”

Nino looked at the papers and then back up at Felix. “What the hell are you talking about, Sir Scowls-A-Lot? What are these?”

Felix’s brow furrowed. “You’re my soulmate and I don’t want a soulmate so I need you to relinquish your claim. What do you not understand about that?”

“The part where you’re my soulmate.” Nino grimaced as if the words tasted sour. “There must be some mistake.”

“Alas, I was hopeful at first too. There’s no mistake, except on the cosmic scale. We’ve been registered since birth.”

“You’re almost two years older than me; that’s not how it works.”

“Twisted, isn’t it? Do you own a pen? These aren’t going to sign themselves.”

Nino brought the document closer with a frown. “Can you try to act like a human being for a second and explain this to me?”

Felix sighed heavily and glanced around the university courtyard before pulling the other iron chair away from the table. The legs protested loudly against the cobblestone and pink bloomed on Felix’s cheeks as he slumped down in it sullenly. “You understand that this whole soulmate fascination that our society has created is completely false and inaccurate, right?”

“You should be careful who you say that around.”

“I’m saying it to you,” Felix shot back. “Are you going to turn me in for brainwashing or something?”

“No, but…” Nino shrugged but still glanced around uneasily. “I guess it all seems a little too…neat and tidy.”

“Except it isn’t. We still have adultery and murders of passion and unsanctioned pregnancies. All the stuff they were trying to get rid of by implementing this moronic program decades ago is still here. Probably even worse if I cared enough to go through the statistics.” Felix leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “Not only that, but they only call it the soulmate program to make it sound romantic. Parents are the ones who decide what kind of person to pair you with when you’re born and if they don’t decide, the government does.”

“But some soulmates fall in love,” Nino argued. “Most do.”

“Well, if you thought you were stuck with one person for the rest of your life for legal reasons and most likely had no other options, wouldn’t you try to make the best of it?”

“You aren’t.”

“Yes, that’s why I said you and not me,” Felix clarified. “I was able to get the file my father filled out when requesting my soulmate the day I was born. Would you like to know what it said?”

Nino had a feeling he very much did not want to know what it said from the angry, pained look that leaked from Felix’s eyes but he gave a stiff nod.

“A male soulmate so biological reproduction wouldn’t be possible. His first request.”

Nino paled. “Oh, I…I’m sorry. That’s…if you aren’t….you could still try to adopt or–”

“I don’t want to be a father,” he snapped. “But that’s what this all is, isn’t it? I’m apparently gay because my father said I should be. Adrien’s straight because that’s what dear old dad chose for him so he can carry on the Agreste line with his own little brat when the times comes. Nevermind how either of us feels in the matter.”

“I can sign–”

“I’m not finished,” Felix interjected. “He also requested I be paired with someone at least a year younger from a lower income home, preferably a government-chosen male. Would you like to know why?”

“Even if I say no, are you going to tell me anyway?” Nino regretted the question as soon as the words left his lips. Felix’s mouth snapped closed and an invisible wall slid between them.

“If you’ll just sign where I’ve marked.”

“I’m sorry. Please tell me why your father is an even bigger asshole than I already thought he was.”

The hint of a small smile flickered across Felix’s lips and was just as quickly gone. “My mother was my father’s soulmate and he hated her for it. Or maybe she hated him. I’ll never really know. When she had me, he wanted to make sure I was the end of that line. Gabriel grew up poor and inherited my mother’s family’s money with her death. I guess he wanted a fresh start as if the Agrestes have been old money all along.” His voice was quiet as he spoke. “My mother died giving birth to me. It freed my father to move on. He met Emilie and married her immediately when her soulmate mysteriously disappeared. He chose her and he chose to have Adrien. I was just a mistake he hopes will fall off the family tree soon.”

“You aren’t a mistake. No one is a mistake.”

“Nino, I’m well aware of what people think of me. You don’t even like me. I’m not someone who needs his hand held and told he’s special. I know what I am.”

“Adrien loves you.”

“Adrien loves everyone,” he replied flippantly. “But since he is one of the few sincere people in this world, I’ll take it.” He studied Nino for a moment. “Have you never wondered who your soulmate was?”

“I’ve asked before but my parents never wanted to talk about it. I thought maybe they were embarrassed. I know they couldn’t afford one of the big agencies when I was born but most people seem so happy with who they have. I guess I just thought…”

“You thought you’d be happy too,” Felix finished.

“It sounds naïve, I know.”

“That’s because it is.”

“How did you find out about all of this anyway?”

“I turned twenty-one last week and my official records were released to me.”

“Oh. Happy Belated Birthday then.”

“I don’t celebrate my birthday,” Felix muttered. “What would be the point?”

“Why someone younger?”

“What?”

“Why did Gabriel specify someone younger than you?” Nino asked.

Felix frowned. “It’s just a theory but I think so I would be forced into finding a way to support my soulmate until he was old enough to have his files released and then I would be legally stuck.”

“Manipulative.”

“My father’s forte.”

“Does he know it’s me? You know he hates me, right?”

Another flicker of a smile touched Felix’s lips. “The thought of staying with you for that reason alone was tempting but no, I don’t believe he knows. Honestly, I’m not sure he cares.”

“You know I think Gabriel is the worst but that seems cold, even for him.”

Felix sat back in his chair. “I think…I think that perhaps to the rest of the world, my father isn’t so bad a person. He dotes on Emilie and Adrien, though his affection for Adrien has lessened over the years for his own unfathomable reasons.” He looked down at his hands. “But I’m something that reminds him that his perfect life isn’t real. He was forced into a marriage he didn’t want and fathered a child he didn’t want. The marriage is over and his wife buried, but I’m still here. I’m the reminder of where he came from and he hates me for it. I’m not even sure I blame him.”

“Dude, he really needs a therapist.”

A bark of surprised laughter passed Felix’s lips. “Don’t we all.”

Nino looked down at the papers. “What happens to us if we sign this?”

“You’re still young enough to be up for reassignment. Things happen, people die. I’m sure there are people your age, men and women, who are hoping to get a new soulmate before they’re legal. I assume you would be paired off with one of them.”

“And what about you?”

“I suppose I’ll be a social pariah but that’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m not the first person to relinquish my soulmate claim, though they do make it infuriatingly difficult.”

Nino nodded thoughtfully. “I guess I never gave much thought to if my soulmate disliked me enough to legally null our pairing.”

“This isn’t about you, Lahiffe.”

“I mean, it kinda is.”

Felix huffed. “No, it’s about me.”

“Not according to these papers, it isn’t. It’s about both of us.”

“You can’t honestly think this is a good idea. You don’t like me and if you’re thinking about my family money, my father has already given me my trust and sent me on my way. It won’t last long once I pay the fee for breaking this claim and find a place to live.”

“Gabriel kicked you out?”

“For my own well-being, naturally,” Felix replied dryly. “I’m fine.”

“Where are you staying?”

“You’re not signing these today, are you?”

“It’s kind of a lot to dump on me when I was just sitting here before my next class, thinking the weirdest thing to happen this week was getting these from a secret admirer.” Nino picked up the headphones and held them aloft. “They’ve been on my wishlist forever but they’re hella expensive. I already interrogated Adrien and he swears it wasn’t him.”

Felix flushed. “They’re from me. It seemed right to at least gift you something you would enjoy before I did this.”

Nino blinked, looking back down at the headphones. “How did you know I wanted them?”

“Because I pay attention.”

“You have to order them overseas.”

“Yes.”

“But you just got your soulmate file last week. That wouldn’t have been enough time to order them and get them here.” Nino continued to talk as a theory unfolded in his mind. “You already knew I was your soulmate. You were just waiting for the paperwork to be released.”

Felix sat back in his chair stiffly. “You’re smarter than most people give you credit for.”

“I know.”

“It isn’t personal, this decision,” he said quietly. “I’ve been watching you since I found out a couple of years ago by paying off the right clerk. You’re a wonderful person and if I could–”

“If you would,” Nino interjected.

Felix scowled. “You don’t want me either so don’t pretend to be the hurt party here.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted for lunch today, Felix.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Exactly what it means. I didn’t know what I wanted for lunch when I went into the cafeteria but then I saw my options and I’m happy with what I had.”

“So I’m a cafeteria option?”

Nino sat on the edge of his seat, leaning forward slightly. “Where are you staying?”

All the fight seemed to leak out of Felix and he deflated, sagging in the chair. “A hostel five stops away. I’ve been lucky enough to have my own room and moving furniture in front of the door at night has deterred hopeful looters.”

“Do you have anything there?”

“Do I look like a fool? Most of my things are in a storage building. I slept there the first night, but the manager made me leave.”

Nino stood. “Come on then.”

“What?”

“Take me to your storage unit. We’ll get anything you need immediately and move it into my studio.”

“That tiny place above your family’s restaurant?”

“Are you really going to be a picky homeless guy, Felix?” Nino shot back, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “I moved in last year after I got it cleaned out and half of it is still storage and yeah, it’s cramped, but there’s space for you if you want it.��

“Just sign the papers, Nino. Please.”

“No. Give me a year.”

“Why, so I’ll fall in love with you? Surely you aren’t so idiotic.”

“I have a year and a few months until I’m twenty-one, right? Let’s take a year and see if we can figure things out. We both know it’ll be easier if we don’t rock the boat.”

“And if you realize two days in that you can’t stand me?” Felix challenged.

“Then in a year, I’ll sign your papers and still have time to be reassigned.”

“Do you even like men?”

“I don’t think gender has much to do with anything.”

Felix scowled. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re like an angry kitten, lots of hissing but no real danger.”

“This is not a good start,” Felix growled.

Nino held up his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Now, really, let’s go get your stuff.” For a tense moment, he thought perhaps Felix wouldn’t comply with his request and then the other man was standing and adjusting the strap of his messenger bag.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

Buy me a cherry coke?

#nelix #nino lahiffe #felix agreste #miraculous ladybug #soulmate au

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crqstalite · 4 years

Note

❝ if you wanna talk, i’m here. ❞ or ❝ you’re my favorite person in the world. ❞

so! this was actually supposed to be written for someone else (who i have no idea) but i remember thinking that it was supposed to be for someone else not participating in shadow of the sith. it wasn’t supposed to be any of the outlanders, but it ended up being my mom!quizzy mierrio. because of the ending part, it’s considered part of shadow of the sith, but i don’t know where yet :/

either way! enjoy. a for angst.

written : 12.14.19. words: 3,004.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

mierrio likes to be alone. she enjoys it much more than having to spend time with someone, talking about obscure topics or worse, in pure, uncomfortable silence. something that often can be avoided by seeming as threatening as possible, or shocking someone into oblivion.

both of which, are her strong suits.

but sometimes, simply ignoring the problem or throwing lightning at it doesn't always work. sometimes her body is so exhausted she doesn't want to get out of bed in the morning, or the power that always flows through her bloodstream has suddenly cut off, and she's a shell of the sith she used to be. that scares her more than she even knew.

she's worn out. hair plastered to her face as she wakes up and tries to push herself out of bed, sadly finding the other side empty. it's cold.

nikky hasn't been here for a while.

mierrio can remember the first time they met. when she was still a budding acolyte doing at-the-time obscure tasks for her absolute insane master. a grin crosses her face, when she kept her hair boyishly short and actually wore sith robes. her still uncorrupted features, save for her golden eyes that had quickly replaced her green ones.

how the first time she'd seen him, she hadn't been intimidated. mierrio had barely been more than a child at the time, a measly twenty years old when her eyes first landed on the man. khem had been more than skeptical to leave her with him, even if he didn't directly show it. maybe it was because of her jaded personality or lack of baby face, andronikos didn't ever once comment on her age. in fact, even possessed an attraction to her that she'd quickly returned.

they didn't ever talk about her age. not until they'd been lazing around in the cockpit after her ascension to the dark council. admitting she didn't meet most legal drinking age policies until three days earlier (that being her birthday).

"wait," he sat up straighter, jostling her from her position stretched across his lap, "you're only twenty one?"

"yes?" she raises an eyebrow, as if it were common knowledge, "andronikos, how old did you think i was?"

"at least in your late twenties..." he admits quietly. maybe she hadn't been so evident in just how old she was. it wasn't like she went around telling that many people the year she had been born into the galaxy (or a hellhole depending on how she looked at it), "you never did tell me your birthday until the day of, sith."

"mmhmm. is there a problem?" she asks, dangling her legs over the edge of the captain's chair. he's uneasy. if andronikos is one thing, he's an open book through the force. he hides his true emotions behind a mask, but something always seeps through up top, and right now he's...

nervous. frightened. confused. usually he was a lot more happy to be with her, but nothing says he's excited to have his sith over his lap right at that moment, "how old are you?" she asks jokingly.

he's quiet for a moment, maybe formulating his next response. his hold on her isn't as tight anymore, so she has to actually lean against him instead of being able to look up at him without the arm rest stabbing her in the back. his heart is faster than usual, something she'd picked up on when she invited him to stay a night in her quarters instead of the crew cabin.

she liked just listening to him breathe in the ungodly hours of the night. it was nearly comforting when nightmares kept her up, and when andronikos did realize, he tried to stay up with her but she often fibbed and told him they'd gone away and to get some rest. they never really did.

"nikky?" she asks. it's been an uncomfortable amount of time without him answering such a simple question, "did my pirate forget his own age?"

"doesn't matter." he says eventually, his arm snaking around her waist to pull her closer again. peace has momentarily been restored, but she is curious, if not also suspicious. what does this mean, avoiding the topic entirely?

if mierrio vhella kallig was one thing, it was always some form of suspicious. and observant, if she were being generous. she had to be, being a slave and then an acolyte with an overseer who intended to kill her indirectly. and now that the topic has been brought up, she's not sure she just wants it to die. the few things she does know about andronikos are far and few in between, other than that he's been around the galaxy a few times.

he goes in to kiss her, but at the last second, she decides she wants answers, "how old are you, nikky?"

"still on that, sith?" he asks. she nods, a childish pout on her face. he sighs, already giving up to her. "i'm thirty-seven." he says defeatedly.

she pauses, frozen in between saying something else and registering his answer. on one hand, he has admitted to his age, which is finally something else she knows. but the disappointed look on his face also says exactly what she's thinking on the inside as well.

he's sixteen years older than she is.

does he think this changes things? that she'll leave just because a measly decade and a half seperates them in age?

"i get it. you tied yourself down to someone much older than you. heh, little disappointed huh?" he asks dejectedly, as she shifts herself to look at him directly, "there are plenty more fish in the sea."

she kisses him hard, both palms on either side of her face. he looks a little more satisfied, his lips painted with the red of her lipstick, "yes, but i happen to like the fish i caught. maybe he's a little older, but maybe fish age like fine wine."

he chuckles at her good-natured attempt to make him feel better, "you're my favorite person in the entire galaxy, andronikos revel. don't you ever forget that."

"whatever you say, miss mierrio kallig."

later she realizes just how stupid that sounded. wine aged for years. fish had a lifespan of two decades, if that.

she would love him forever.

mierrio also isn't a child anymore, as the pain in her back reminds her. she's not twenty one, she's twenty five. she figures she's a little undeserving of the pain though, she's technically still in the prime of her life.

well, putting it through hell and back didn't really help either, she thinks as she frowns.

though it seems so little changed, the scars that marr her pale skin are nearly a map to everything she's been through. almost having her body taken by a wayward master, nearly losing her body to force ghosts, her final fight with thanaton. among other things, fighting animals in the jungles of dromound kaas, the occasional duel with her acolytes.

the way her body filled out after her first pregnancy.

she'd always been skinny, to the point she thought she'd look like a grade schooler until the day she died. but maybe her body had finally kicked into high gear after it realized it was creating life instead of taking it. her breasts were the first, then it slowly spread over her body until she was self-conscious of putting on so much weight.

it's hard to get used to. the way most clothes and more importantly, armor don't fit the same way anymore is frustrating. her favorite armor has since gone unused because she's too wide in some places now. and even worse, she had been confined to their apartment for the last five months of being pregnant.

the rumors had only been blown out of proportion when she got back. the gossip was just childish at that point, but one that always struck hard was always the talk of ronin. someone had seen her out with him and andronikos, they must have, and jumped to conclusions. before the baby could even form his own words, people already had an opinion of him he had no control over.

she stayed in the apartment for months afterwards just because she was so embarassed. he was her baby, wasn't he? no matter how he came to her care, he was ronin revel, just as she was mierrio revel. the three of them weren't related by blood, but she felt closer to them than anyone she'd ever met before. looking at the baby twi'lek taking his first steps across the fury made her proud. that was her son, their son. screw what the others said.

she fell pregnant just after he turned three.

it wasn't as if she and andronikos had actively been trying for a baby, after so many years of being married and even before she hadn't been able to carry. to say the least, it was a joyous moment for those who'd previously inhabited the titan. corsha had been a turning point for everyone, she and andronikos had gained a family. he had his sky princess.

but something was just...off. nothing felt right anymore. maybe she was able to keep up with those on the council, but that didn't mean she still didn't feel so absolutely out of place. those on the council were decades upon decades older than her, and most didn't have successors or children. she was twenty-five, with two young children with targets on their back before they were even ten.

andronikos could lie, but not for forever. he was a pirate before, and though he'd given himself to her, that was always him. he didn't leave without her and their kids now, but there was always that wistful look in his eyes as he was in the captain's chair of the titan. she'd made him a father at thirty nine, and he was forty one now. if he hadn't had any when he was younger, why would he stick around now?

standing in front of the mirror, she can remember when getting up late meant finding one of andronikos' oversized shirts and trying to surprise him wherever he'd gotten off to, back when they lived on the titan it meant round two in the cockpit. but these days it meant trying to pull her hair back (she should really cut it again) and hoping to find one of her own shirts and checking on her kids. there wasn't time to laze around and get nothing done for days at a time anymore.

she looks tired. there are bags under eyes and some dark strands hang in front of her face. she's sore in a lot of places, and mierrio wishes it were for a different reason than exhaustion. eventually deciding on a loose shirt and leggings, she leaves the master bedroom to wander into the living room. it's still dark, so either it's been raining all morning or it's simply early. passing by a chrono, she finds it's a mixture of both. it's earlier than she usually wakes up (makes sense why she's still unexplainably exhausted), but it's also dark. the rain is pattering at the window, and it's soothing to be back on dromound kaas. she would've raised ronin here, had she had the funds for a home at that point in time.

"nikky?" she whispers, afraid he's hiding from her and planning to scare her. it wouldn't be the first time. without an answer, she steps closer to the couch.

a warm smile etches itself across her face. ronin is lying against his father, drool rolling down his face. corsha is all bundled up in a pink blanket in andronikos' arms, cheeks a rosy color she'd never been able to attain herself. a smattering of fluffy brown hair covers her skull, and she sleeps on peacefully.

she's perfectly a mix of her and andronikos. darker skin than hers, but tan enough to be a few shades lighter than her father. she doesn't have the same color hair than either of them, which was a surprise, but she's beautiful. her deep brown-green eyes are truly mesmirizing.

but his brown eyes have found her, and without even saying a word he's able to slip ronin off his shoulder and laying against the armrest of the sofa. in less than a second, corsha is recradled in his arms and he's up, leading her towards the kitchen, "good morning." he says.

"good morning to you too." she whispers, careful not to wake her daughter. though, the last year had proven the girl could sleep through a storm and not even stir, "why are you up so early?"

"princess was fussing earlier, so i took her out of our room before you woke up. ronin must've heard, so he got up too. we all fell asleep." he admits, putting his free arm around her, "heard you when he came by. figured the kid would feel better if he weren't lying upright when he woke up."

"oh." is all she can say, snuggling into her husband as he leans against the counter. he's so considerate, even if the rugged pirate look is what comes off first. his being a father has changed him, but maybe it's for the better. he's gotten extremely protective when he's out in the field with her now too.

"somethin' on your mind, sith?" he asks, and she's surprised he's caught on so fast. maybe he can hear her heartbeat as much as she can hear his, "you've been a little off lately."

"it's nothing. really." she says, just a tad too quiet for him not to suspect. if andronikos revel was good at one thing, it was gauging her reaction to just about anything, and she'd made it too obvious that everything was bothering her.

"sure."

a pause.

"just know you can always talk to me, mier." he says, "nothin's changed about that."

"i know." she whispers, "i've always known."

the silence isn't comfortable anymore. in fact, it's suffocating. the few people that even know about some of her true struggles don't even spend all that much time with her. ezridivia was halfway across the galaxy now, and tri'ama (mellena, apparently) didn't bother ever spending time with her these days (she didn't before, but after the debacle of the revanites on rakata prime, she thought the woman would at least visit). she offered good advice, but didn't relate with her as much. she wasn't married anymore, and spent most of her time gallavanting across the galaxy with the barsen'thor the jedi order (what had happened to that woman?).

why is it so hard to tell him about what's hurting her? because so much of her insecurities surround his hypothetical thoughts about their situation? how he really feels about everything?

how she's afraid one day he's going to fly off and leave her with corsha and ronin?

she grew up without a family. to make her own children do the same?

it would destroy her.

"i'm afraid one day i'm going to wake up without you. i'm afraid you're going to run again and i'm going to be alone again." she thinks, unable to even look at him before he picks up her chin, tilting it upwards to face him. he has a look of concern painted across his features.

"you're what?" he says incredulously, as if it's the biggest announcement of the millenia.

had she said that out loud? "it's not a big deal, andronikos. i'm just being childish."

"i'm not leavin' you. or the kids." he says firmly, "i'm not going anywhere, mier. i'd rather die first."

she's quiet for a moment. he's serious, something he typically was whenever it came to her or their small family. it isn't enough to get her to speak up, to say anything about how she feels. but maybe he understands that, because he doesn't press for information. he kisses her instead, "i wouldn't leave the one person that's the most important to me, sith."

"darth nox?" someone asks, as she adjusts where her saber hangs on her hip. ronin is prim and proper today, looking rather handsome in his youth corps uniform. even at twelve he's tall and lanky, at 5"6. she quickly puts the native flower in corsha's hair, her nine year old taking after her father and being rather fussy about being all dressed up for an outing, "the commander is landing. empress acina requests your presence at once."

"thank you." she thanks the nameless soldier as both children are herded off. she's promised them she'd take them out after meeting with the commander, so she's gone and hired someone to look after them for the time being. hopefully corsha doesn't become frustrated and begin practicing on the soldier. primping herself as she hurries along the black and red corridors, she tucks a stray hair behind her ear. it's lighter than usual, after she'd hacked off twelve inches or so. she'd gone for a less special hairstyle, planning a speeder ride in the jungle afterwards. one long braid down her back and a high collared robe, she could play responsible and imposing darth for a few hours and then get back to being what she did best - being a mom.

"empress." she nods, taking her place next to the woman. she acknowledges her as well, and she tries not to look around the throne room too much. it's been a long while since she was in the citadel, so much has changed.

she still wonders if this is where andronikos came first after zakuul took over.

"commander." acina's voice snaps her out of her thoughts, and her eyes widen once she realizes just who the commander is. other than the occasional news report, she's never taken the alliance very seriously. but flanked by two others she doesn't know, tri'ama amarillis-quinn has arrived, "welcome back to dromound kaas."

"acina," she nods in greeting, before turning to mierrio in well masked shock, "nox. it's been a while."

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kakashisavakening · 5 years

Text

Chapter 4 - The First Ray of Sun through the Clouds

Quick disclaimer about the story line - this really doesn't fit on the Naruto Story line. It is kind of around the time when the Shippuden starts, but not entirely. I wanted to make Sakura of legal age, cus ya know.... I wanna include some adult content and we don't want Kakashi to bang a minor. So she is about 18 here, but the story is still back between the skipped years before the shippuden. (with all those filler episodes I would say they should have aged anyway before the series continued but that is just my opinion)

I wanted this series to be definitely pre-war and be in the time when Naruto was begging the Fifth to go on missions to find Sasuke, and Sakura still being trained by Tsunade. So please consider this as an alternative universe.

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

Kakashi was taken aback by Sakura's sudden - and unexpected - confession. In her heart, he felt confusion and distress, but he also felt that her words carried the truth.

He, too, felt conflicted. He knew that this was wrong somehow. He knew that they weren't supposed to talk about this or act on this... this... felling? Desire? What was it? What was it really? Was it something primitive, like lust? Was it more complex? Was it love?

Did he know what love was? Did she?

"Please forgive me, sensei. I thought you should know.. in case.." - She suddenly grew quiet and looked out the window. The sky seemed to be a bit less grey than before... even some hints of blue peaked through the clouds.

"In case of what?" - Kakashi asked back. Sakura closed her eyes and smiled at him.

"It's nothing. Doesn't matter." - Sakura didn't know how telling him that they were both dying right now would help their case. She knew he felt her lies, but since she couldn't hear his thoughts, she assumed he couldn't hear hers either.

Kakashi let out a half annoyed sigh. - "Why are you lying to me?"

For a second she remained quiet. What could she say to that? To protect him? That sounded cliché... and would also be a lie. She decided not to tell him to give them a chance. If they were to die here - because nothing pointed in the direction of the possibility that he would regain his memories or will to live - they might as well enjoy the time they have left. But how could she tell him that? It was a very selfish decision to keep it from Kakashi, but at the same time she thought if he never returns to what he used to be, then burdening him with the responsibility of her death as well would be cruel. There were lots of other ways to make him remember...

"It's all good, Kakashi-sensei." - She stepped to the window and opened it to let in the breeze. It still carried the scent of the rain with a hint of sweet cherry blossoms.

Kakashi wanted to hug her from behind and bury his face in her shoulder. He knew she would let him - after all, she had just confessed that she also had feelings for him... but he stopped himself. This wasn't real. She might be not real. Her lips felt real, her body too... it all felt like she was there with him, but how could she really be here. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, alternate between desire and self-restriction. An image floated into his vision. Of her... carrying a huge stack of books. A memory. His eyes popped open in surprise. This wasn't something he had seen before. He closed his eyes again and concentrated on the image. She looked different... younger. There she wasn't woman like at all... just a kid.

The Sakura standing before him was very different from that child... not just because her body had matured but her eyes were less filled with that sparkle. The sparkle of childhood and naive beliefs. This Sakura carried the scars of a ninja in her soul. He joined her by the window, leaning on the frame without touching her.

"How old am I?" - he asked - "Out there.."

To be frank, Sakura didn't know. He never told them anything about his personal life. - "I'm really unsure... around 30-ish."

"Please don't tell me I turn into a pedo..." - He sighed and massaged his temples. Sakura flushed and shook her head violently.

"No! You never did anything to me... never really paid much attention to me, to be fair. Did't even train me as much as you did the other members of team 7." - She sighed - "Of course I have always admired you as a teacher and you never failed to protect me, but it was never a romantic relationship. Or any kind of relationship, really. Just a sensei and his student."

"Then why is this shit happening?" - Kakashi waved at the cherry blossoms in the city.

"I am not sure. But you never tried to approach me that way before." - She said, her cheeks still flushed. Kakashi couldn't help, but stare.

"What about you? Were you having feelings for me before coming here?" - Kakashi asked. His bluntness made her uneasy. You can't just tell a person you love them out of the blue... Obviously she wasn't neutral to him. She had risked her life to come here after all.

"Since the Fifth took over the office, she had sent the Jonin out on missions nonstop. We haven't really been on a mission since I was 13. That was a while ago, really. I was't around you enough to know.. to realise." -She began playing with her fingers, occasionally pressing a nail into her fingertips in attempt to ease her discomfort. Here, Kakashi was barely a year older than her. Seeing him like this might have had some influence on her feelings coming to the surface. Here, she was allowed. Not just because here they were around the same age - she didn't mind him being older, really - but because this world was theirs. Nobody was here to judge or blame them for feeling anything.

"Walk with me?" - Kakashi asked suddenly and jumped on the windowsill, reaching one hand out for her. She took it without hesitation and they jumped to the ground gracefully. The wind blew swarms of cherry blossom petals around them. She smiled at the sight of a couple rays of sunshine peaking through the clouds. Maybe it was a sign? Was he getting better? But now she wasn't sure she wants to leave this place anymore. If they go back, what would happen? Would they pretend that nothing had happened?

"Where are we going?" - Sakura asked curiously.

"Just having a stroll, don't worry." - He smiled. She had told him that he was at least a decade older than her in reality. It was so confusing to think of himself as a 30-something man. He took a deep breath. He was still barely just 19 here. His real self must have so much experience in these kinds of things. - "Sakura, do I have a partner out there?"

"I haven't seen you with a romantic partner if that's what you are asking. You never really told us anything about yourself... heck, I haven't seen your face until now!" - She almost growled the last bit. It had really annoyed the whole team that Kakashi let himself be this blank canvas for people to imagine and pin things on. He never corrected anybody, but never really confirmed anything either. Kakashi chuckled at her latter comment.

"I have never been one to show my face much, that's true." - He smiled. - "But how was I supposed to kiss you if I left my mask on?"

Sakura's heart jumped at the mention of their previous kiss. - "What will happen to us?" - She had blurted out, not really thinking about the consequences this conversation might carry.

"You mean if we go back?" - Kakashi raised an eyebrow. Sakura nodded. He looked at the sky and put his hands in his pocket. - "Dunno. I mean, it was just one kiss, what do you expect me to do?"

That's right.. She thought. In the world of the adults, a kiss was next to meaningless. Sometimes even a night spent together meant nothing in the next morning. But this kiss was not something she could just forget and move on easily from. And she wanted more. Every time their eyes met, she felt this unexplainable force, pushing her to take a step towards him. She wanted to take that stupid mask off - and maybe some other clothing items too - and kiss him again. Filled with these thoughts, he didn't answer his question.

But there was one thing she also forgot besides his question. He could feel what she felt. He felt her lust wash over him, and he needed to swallow and take a deep breath not to be taken over by it. It might have been hers and not his, but it affected him just as much. He closed his eyes and tried to think of sad things to make his desire fade away... but no matter how much he tried, all he saw was her face, even with his eyes closed. He knew that if this went on like that he won't be able to contain himself. - "Do you want me?" - He asked. That was somewhere a pointless question, since he felt clearly that she did. But desire and will were two entirely separate things. She might want to contain herself just as much as he does - probably for different reasons. But as much as he wanted to remain collected and calm, this primal feeling wouldn't settle, driving his thoughts to scenarios that would make anyone blush from head to toe.

Their eyes locked for a long moment before Sakura finally answered. She needed that time to really grasp what he meant. He didn't mean to ask wether she wanted him in his life... he meant here and now. Finally she too a deep breath and only said - "Not here."

Kakashi felt a sense of victory in his chest. As if he had just won the most precious prize in the world. He interlocked their fingers and pulled her close. She reached up with one hand and freed his face from the mask. He immediately kissed her. Much more passionately than before. Their kiss before was - despite being full of emotions - very careful. They tiptoed around eggshells, making sure the other really wasn't against anything they did. This was different. Their breath was heavy with lust when they finally broke apart. Kakashi pulled her towards a building she finally recognised to be her house. She pulled him back for a second. He shot her a questioning look.

"How do you know I live here?" - She asked, pushing her feelings aside as much as she could.

"I don't. I just assumed this house has a bed, and since this village is empty, nobody will mind..." - For a moment there she thought he might be remembering, but that was a false hope. She took a deep breath, not really feeling the moment anymore. Kakashi felt her resistance and stopped. - "We don't need to do this. I don't want you to do things you don't feel like doing." - He said, letting go of her hand. She smiled.

"Would you just come and lay down with me?" - She asked. Seeing her house reminded her of the family she had left behind. Her friends. Now, all she needed was a tight hug. Kakashi nodded, bit disappointed, but completely understanding. Sakura guided him up to her room, and went to the bathroom to change into something more comfortable. She put on an oversized t-shirt and pyjama shorts, then went back to find Kakashi already under the covers. His clothes neatly folded on the chair. He lifted the covers for her to climb in. She felt a bit relieved and disappointed to find out that he still had his boxers on. He had warmed up the bed to a comfy temperature already and she felt strangely comfortable in his embrace. He kissed her forehead and tightened his arms around her a bit. He plopped his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

"Thank you Kakashi." - she whispered into his chest. She couldn't see, but a smile sneaked to the corners of his mouth. A long time has passed since he felt loved. A long time has passed since he felt anything besides sadness, emptiness and bereavement. The soft material of her t-shirt was thin enough for him to feel her heartbeat against his chest. He was surprised when he realised that they had perfectly synchronised heartbeats. He opened his sharingan eye and looked at her. All he saw was a thin red thread tying her right pinky to his left. He had never seen such a thread before. He took a deep breath and decided to ask her about it later.

Rich orange light illuminated the room as the sun went down. Sakura's breath became even and her lips parted a little as she fell asleep in his arms. She looked like a porcelain doll with her fair skin and her perfectly shaped cherry lips. He brushed a strand of pink hair out of her face. Even her eyelashes were this light shade of pink. The sunset slowly turned into a cool shade of blue as the sun dipped under the horizon and the night spread across the sky. Finally, he fell asleep too, listening to her breathing.

#kakashi hatake #kakasaku #sakura #sakuraharuno #sakura haruno #sakura hatake #fanfiction #fanfic #naruto fanfic

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moanbrooklyn · 3 years

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:: 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧 ::

They say nearly half of the marriages in America end in divorce. Half. That’s approximately 780,000 divorces. We never think that it could happen to us. No one walks into the courthouse or down an aisle with the thought of ‘This will probably end in divorce.’ The average length of a marriage is 8-10 years.

I was lucky to make it to a couple of months.

Cream toned walls with a putrid forest green trim surrounded me. A handful of matte black chairs were spaced out accordingly throughout the room, not the cheap kind either. No, these chairs looked custom reupholstered. My fingertips anxiously rubbed against the denim fabric covering my legs while my heart practically thumped in my chest. Why was I here? I don’t do this. I don’t even think it will help.

Last week, I would have done anything. Anything to help me cope with the pain I’ve been holding in the deepest part of my soul. Crumpled to pieces on Alice’s kitchen floor. I finally couldn’t hold it back anymore. Alice’s poor Givenchy dress. Completely soaked in my tears and mascara stains. She was as good with emotions as I was. Nothing made us more uncomfortable than when someone showed strong emotions; especially when crying was involved.

I couldn’t blame her for programming a therapist’s number into my phone. She had to have been over my sporadic emotional breakdowns; not that she didn’t care, but because she truly didn’t know what to do in those situations. I’m surprised she didn’t make the appointment for me. That same night, I called and made the appointment. Reluctantly, but I was desperate. Who else was I going to talk to?

The hands on the clock seemed like they were moving in a quarter of the time they should be. Each tick only brought me closer and closer to grabbing my purse and heading out of the office. My attention was brought to the sound of her door opening. 10:30 a.m. right on the dot. Punctual.

“Mrs. Graves, come on in.” That reminds me, I needed to legally change my last name back to Bones. I wanted to run. The exit was a shorter distance than her actual office. My legs seemed to betray my mind as I took slow steps towards the woman who held her door open for me. Fuck, I guess this is what we’re doing now. Time to air out all my goddamn feelings to some stranger who has probably heard this shit a million times. I couldn’t help the roll of my eyes. It was a curse the way every emotion and every detail of remorse or pain echoed onto the lines of my face. Every single thought that passed through my mind was practically written on each expression I make.

I’ve never been to a therapist before, so I expected one of those couches patients lay on like in the movies. Her office was full of sunlight; golden rays illuminating the light grey walls. A dark leather arm chair in the middle of the room and a matching love seat opposite of it. “My name is Dr. Facinelli, but any friend of Alice Hale can call me Heather. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

Setting my purse on the floor next to the loveseat before I take a seat. It wasn’t the type of couch that sucks you in and the leather was smooth, not sticky. Tall, red oak bookshelves lined the wall on the opposite side. Taking a moment to scan through the genres of hardbacks she had. Lots of biographies, true crime and Stephen King books. “It seems pointless to ask you how you are today since I can see the pain and anxiety on your face, so why don’t we start with when this started?”

The woman’s chestnut locks were pulled back into a pristine ponytail. Fingernails were a neutral toffee color. I almost didn’t hear her words, but some subconscious part of my mind was able to comprehend what she had said. I hadn’t noticed how my fingernails sunk into the palms of my hands until I noticed a subtle pain. Quickly laying my palms flat on my thighs; I was clearly uncomfortable. I don’t do this. I don’t openly talk about my issues. If I can hold it in, I will. But here I couldn’t. And once the words started to come out, they didn’t stop. That is why I don’t bring things up. Holding it in was easier for me. That familiar heart crunching ache came back, but I wasn’t going to allow myself to cry. I barely cry in front of my best friend, let alone in front of a complete stranger. The pain in my chest was enough to show more uncomforting facial features. Dark gray orbs focused on the wooden floor.

“Not until a week after my ex-husband filed for divorce. I spent that first week in complete shock. Unable to feel anything else. It was out of nowhere. I didn’t even know he was unhappy with me. I tried for weeks trying to make sense of it and to be honest, I still don’t know what happened.” My voice was soft, but shaky. Memories of throwing away my birth control resurfaced. Tiny, pink pills tossed in the toilet and flushed down the drain. Showing Matthew the empty birth control package. Our conversation about wanting a baby played word for word in my mind and that’s when I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Droplets trailing down my cheeks. I haven’t felt this embarrassed in so long.

Get it together, Brooklyn. Who taught you to be so weak? There’s a reason you built those walls and now you choose to be vulnerable? My inner voice was angry with me. Furious. How dare I allow myself to shatter in front of someone I didn’t even know; to shatter at all. Fuck it. Might as well keep going. “I struggled. I wasn’t able to give him a baby. We wanted a family, but I wasn’t able to hold up my end. I don’t think that’s why he divorced me, but I don’t think it helped.” I really couldn’t bring up the fact that I was able to have kids when I was younger. A decade ago, I had two children. But that was in another life of mine. A life I wanted to forget. It felt like a train was rushing across my chest. As if someone had a tight grip on my heart and wouldn’t let go.

“Why do you think it ended on his part?” her voice was sincere. Almost as if she felt for me, but not in a pitiful way. My teeth gnawed on my lower lip, breathing inwardly through my nose in an attempt to stop my dreadful sobbing. My slender fingers combed through my champagne locks before shrugging my shoulders once. “I think he was bored. To be honest. I don’t think he was as serious about the relationship as I was. Since we couldn’t conceive, I think it was his breaking point. He wasn’t willing to fight for our marriage, so I had no choice but to sign the divorce papers.”

I didn’t notice how much time had gone by until we went into more detail about trying to achieve pregnancy. “I don’t even think I want kids anymore.” was the last sentence I said in today’s session. I felt completely defeated. Exhausted. I had no more fight in me. I wasn’t sure if I’d be back, but it was relieving to get everything out. Like a thousand pounds was lifted from my petite shoulders. Looking at myself in my visor mirror. The sunshine showing every mascara streak on my cheeks. I shook my head.

“Fucking ridiculous. How much more of this can I take?”

#Roleplay #Writing #PartOne

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gograciebaby · 7 years

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So uh, about that family of Maggie’s-

Idk if I mentioned his before butt Maggie has lots of siblings n stuff so uhm yea

Here’s like ½ of Mags fam so far o//w//o (LONG WRITING WARNING)

(LEFT) Tammy and Xandi (formally named Tamitha and Alexandria on their birth certificates) are Maggie’s younger twin sisters in her family and still live at home with their mother Lottie while Maggie still lives in another state in her own home. They really like visiting their sister and often ask their mother when they will be able to do that often. But why? You see, her twins sisters’ favorite holiday is Thanksgiving because Tammy gets to dress up and Xandi gets to eat food, but more importantly, the most valuable reason is because they get to see Maggie’s husband (Foxy) Frank who the underage girls have a mega-crush on for some weird reason. They are 17 years old and are literally counting down the day they can turn 18 so they can legally hit on their brother-in-law. Other than that creepy factor, the girls are often seen enjoying getting dressed up, talking about boys, reading magazines, or just spending quality teenage sister bonding time with each other.

(RIGHT) Lucy (formally named Lucille) May is Maggie’s older sister and oldest child in the May house all together. Born in 1952, she lived a healthy middle-class life, going as far as reaching most popular in her class and living a rather spoiled life over all that make her somewhat stuck up in the end unfortunately. She graduated at she age of 18, and with a scholarship in England moved there to go to college in hope of a sufficient degree. This plan however came to a halt when Lucy unexpectedly got pregnant by an unknown man out of wedlock at the cusp of womanhood, becoming a mother just at the age of 19. Because of Lucy growing up in a strict Catholic family, the idea of terminating a pregnancy or getting an abortion was not a friendly option to her and her family, so she kept the baby instead and on June 15th, 1970, Lucy gave birth to a healthy baby girl named Betty. Thinking this would be a falter in her path, Lucy didn’t think much about perusing her dreams anymore up until when she visited a local drug store and in 1975 won the lottery of 3 million dollars. With this newly found money, Lucy set out and created her own business and clothing line, creating a business tycoon across England in the late 70’s and early 80’s. From this, Lucy became an extreme celebrity and millionaire, cashing over 35 million a year from this industry. Unfortunately, as everyone knows, with money comes a price. As the sales skyrocketed, Lucy forgot more and more about Betty, even to the point of not even remembering her own daughter’s baby. This was detrimental to the child, not only not having a father in her life, but also constantly being forgot by the own person that conceived her just because of money. Betty was sent to boarding school at the age of just 7 to ‘get out of her mother’s hair’ so the business could expand. When Betty arrived back, Lucy was less than pleased. Not knowing what to do, Lucy then got a great idea- the idea of sending Betty all the way from the U.K. to America to go live with her Aunt Madeline in favor of cash. Her aunt declined the money, but it was still sent anyway. Lucy now resides in Buckinghamshire, in her lonely, royal throne- sitting on a pile of empty savings.

Carol (Formally named Carolina and nicknamed Lottie sometimes) is Maggie’s mother and Frank’s (Foxy’s) Mother-in-law who is very less than pleased with Maggie’s lifestyle and choices. Raising six children and taking care of one husband, this woman of iron is one tough cookie, and has been through a lot in her entire lifetime. Just at the age of 16, Carol was thrown out of her own house by her own mother for dating a black man, which was highly forebode and controversial in the rich, white, home in 1950’s southern America at the time. After being kicked out and left with only her boyfriend and her belongings, Carol and Larry (Maggie’s mom and dad) headed North to Maine, where society toned down a bit for them and it was just barely acceptable for the interracial couple. The two eventually married that same year at the age of 16, and had their first child named Lucille at the young age of 19. A couple years later when the two eventually got a middle-class house and settled in, they decided they wanted a second child to try to create a healthy nuclear family in the early 60’s. Hoping for a healthy baby boy, the couple was more than shocked to find out they were having a girl instead. But the part that really struck the two was that when the baby was born, she was white. Too white. Because of Carol’s constant smoking during he pregnancy and the albinism gene in Carol’s side of the family, the baby girl who was named Madeline (Maggie for short), was born albino and ended up looking nothing like their her mother nor father. While Carol was very bothered the child was not like “normal” children, Larry was more than happy and it was widely considered that Maggie was his favorite child out of all six children. Years later when Lucy entered high school and Maggie was in her 1st year of middle school, the family was once again blessed with another baby, this time the baby not being one, but two. The couple had a pair of twins whom they named Alexandria and Tammitha (Xandi and Tammy for short) and were a bit winded after in he resulting pregnancy. Life was pretty good after that- Larry working two jobs as a factory worker and having a history of being a war solider and Carol working as a local teacher at a school for young children. Lucy eventually graduated shortly after this, turning 18 and moving out along with her dignity. After that though, that’s when things started to go down hill. A year after Lucy went off to college, the family was met with three major incidents that would change their family forever. One day Carol fell very ill, and a doctor was sent to the home to make sure she didn’t have any major disease or sickness that would spread or kill her. When the doctor arrived, they were told some shocking news- Carol was once again pregnant- but this time was an accident. Again, with having strong catholic influences, Carol refused to terminate the pregnancy and on February 14th, 1970, Carol gave birth to a set of twins; a boy and a girl named William Robert and Jessalyn Jane (Billy Bob [BB] and Jessie J [JJ] for short) at the prominent age of 37. The more disturbing fact however was that shortly after the older couple had their children, they received a letter from their oldest Lucy, informing the couple that not only were they new parents again, but now also grandparents- because at the same time Carol was pregnant, Lucy was too from an unknown man out of wedlock and shame. Disgusted by that fact and incident, Carol from then on went on to shun Lucy out from her life after her own daughter bringing that shame to their family in that way. After seeing the only “pure” and “smart” child left was Maggie, Carol started to shape Maggie harder and faster to become the perfect purity daughter she always wanted. And unfortunately, it worked. From that point on, Maggie was told not to put any form of makeup on, not to dress in anything that didn’t cover her shoulders or ankles, not to talk to boys or men, and definitely not to engage in sexual encounters with anything, even herself, being taught it was a sin and she would face consequence and the everlasting burning in hell in the afterlife if she did any of these things. Even though it was embarrassing, she was also forced by her mother to consume birth control, Carol doing everything she could to prevent anything bad happening to her only pure child left. Negative effects that stemmed from this were that Maggie became extremely antisocial and began to be picked on in school harder than ever not only for her appearance, but her oddly Catholic family and the fact that she was made fun of for still having not lost her virginity and graduating as the only “pure” student in the entire catholic school. News became more detrimental when Larry suddenly got a letter saying his number came up, and to the dark truth, was drafted in the war suddenly. Larry was abruptly ripped out of both Maggie and Carol’s lives, and life was very different from then on. When things were just starting to get better for the family, events went down hill when on he day of Maggie’s high school graduation, Maggie had received a letter that would change her life forever, and there was no tuning back. The letter stated Maggie’s dad had been killed, and became just another casualty in the war that was Vietnam. Depressed by this news, Carol sent Maggie to college to grieve, hoping it would help for the both to have some time apart. And it did- sort of. It would be almost another decade before Carol saw her second child again, and she was less than pleased on what Maggie had to show. By this time Maggie had dyed her hair to pink, was wearing clothing that went above her knees and showed her shoulders, and gotten a boyfriend named Frank Fox jr (who liked to be called foxy as a nickname), a rough sailor who thought he was a pirate and was an all-around person that did not phase Carol one bit. At first Carol had a fit, and was very displeased at what Maggie had become, disapproving of both her stylistic and romance choices, not accepting any of it and trying to block it out. Eventually though, when Maggie told her mother she was getting married to Frank later in the years, Carol finally warmed up just a bit from her icy attitude and ultimately accepted him into the family after the two wed. Carol now resides as a single mother and grandmother in Maine with her four children left, trying to make the best of what was a very broken home.

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instantdeerlover · 4 years

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America’s Independent Restaurants Struggle to Provide Sick Leave. That’s Got to Change. added to Google Docs

America’s Independent Restaurants Struggle to Provide Sick Leave. That’s Got to Change.

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With tight margins, few extra staff members, and a legacy of overwork, restaurants are at a crossroads when it comes to navigating a health crisis

Levi Raines has never called in sick to work. The 2019 Eater Young Gun, and chef and partner at Bywater American Bistro in New Orleans, says, “I’ve always taken my personal responsibility to my roles very seriously,” and part of that, for him, means showing up. Now that he’s in charge, he says he’d bend over backward to make sure someone’s shift was covered if they had to call out — but the small-business model doesn’t put him in the position to offer anything more like paid time off, extra shifts later to make up for the time, or health insurance.

In many cases, that blunts Raines’s efforts to support his employees. On Twitter, food writer (and Eater contributor) Tove Danovich recalled from her restaurant work days that “it was so normal to work while sick that once I threw up multiple times during my shift then cheerily went right back to greeting guests afterward. … As long as people need to get their shifts covered and don’t have paid time off, they’ll work.”

Every day — and particularly as COVID-19 spreads around the United States — experts underscore the importance of workers staying home when sick. But that means forgoing much-needed wages, and many workers can’t afford to miss a single shift, not to mention the 14 days of self-quarantine suggested for COVID-19. Even among the 25 percent of restaurant workers in places where local law entitles them to paid sick leave in some form, various regulations and loopholes mean that not everybody is eligible, aware, and employed by someone who adheres to the rules.

How Sick Leave Works in Restaurants

Seattle restaurateur Tamara Murphy of Terra Plata started out cooking in New York City’s fine dining scene three decades ago. “You got a daily rate,” she recalls, for working lunch and dinner six days a week. “If you didn’t want to do it, there were 12 other people in line behind you that minute who would take your job.”

In 2009, the then-fifth-ranked restaurant in the world, England’s the Fat Duck, sickened more than 500 diners with norovirus over six weeks. When the journal Epidemiology and Infection published its investigation, it assigned much of the blame for the size of the outbreak (the largest commercial restaurant-associated one in published literature) to workers coming in while sick. The structure of single-unit or smaller restaurant groups, combined with an often-toxic working culture that pressures employees to show up no matter what, cooks up a recipe for spreading infectious diseases.

“Obviously, we’re all ServSafe certified, and we know that we’re not supposed to work in certain circumstances,” says Raines. The loophole, he says, is that if you don’t have health insurance — as is the case for many workers at America’s independent small restaurants — you don’t go to the doctor, and then “you never know if it’s just a common cold or if it’s contagious or something you need to stay out of work for.”

But while discussions with restaurateurs about sick leave often tend to focus on the severity — or factuality — of the sickness (“If you’re sick, stay home. If you’re hungover, get your ass in,” says Murphy), hourly employees have to do the potentially infectious calculus of figuring out how sick they are versus how much of their wage they can stand to lose, not to mention how being absent will affect their relationship with coworkers who now have to pick up the slack, and with a boss who might doubt their level of illness.

“Employees shouldn’t have to choose between rent and being safe,” says Linda Addy of HR Annie Consulting, who works with restaurant groups like Kachka and Submarine (Ava Gene’s, Tusk, Lovely Rita) in Portland, Oregon, and previously was a server, general manager, and restaurant owner. She leans on restaurant owners to take responsibility for keeping their staff healthy. “If you can’t afford to pay them [for sick leave],” she says, “let them stay home or you will end up with three that are sick.” Even if that means paying overtime or working yourself, she stresses, “give them time to recover.” She suggests that smaller restaurants with a younger, broker workforce consider looking into alternative benefits that might be helpful without presenting as big of a financial burden as health insurance, including telehealth plans, which give employees a free, convenient, and fast way to get basic health advice. She also points to more affordable employee assistance programs that might cover telehealth (as well as therapy, and financial advising) for as little as $10 an employee each month, or stipends like $50 a month toward Zoomcare. Even as a small restaurant, and especially with tight employment markets, “You can stand out as an employer who cares” she says.

There’s a Staffing Issue, Too

But the pressure on ill employees to show up goes beyond immediate financial impacts. Recently, Raines’s morning sous chef had to leave town for a family emergency, so Raines has been working from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. covering shifts. “We have no extra bodies anywhere,” he says.

Unlike in some jobs, where tasks can be triaged or delayed, restaurants often run on the bare-minimum number of employees necessary, and almost everything needs to be done in-person, on-site, and for a specific duration. “You can’t ask a table of four to postpone until next week or Skype a meal,” pointed out Nick Zukin, owner of Portland, Oregon’s Mi Mero Mole, on Twitter. “The work has to be done whether an employee shows up or not.”

At many restaurants, the burden of finding someone to replace a sick employee falls on the sick employee themself, an onerous task that requires relying on available and helpful coworkers (and which is explicitly not legal in some places, such as Philadelphia). “But often there’s no one to cover,” says Zukin. “And so the employee doses on Dayquil and works.” Or, if they don’t, he describes a situation where one of three servers calls out, forcing each of the other two to do 50 percent more work than normal to keep things moving. The result is slower, worse service, harming the restaurant because of the diner’s subpar experience and the remaining staff members, who are not only unhappy from being overworked, but may now be more vulnerable to illness.

The sick employee, even if they’re told it’s acceptable to call in sick, knows all this. And if a worker is available to cover the shift, they may end up earning overtime wages, making that shift significantly more expensive for the restaurant.

By the summer, Murphy will open her next restaurant, La Limena. She is trying a new staffing model that will allow her to work with fewer people and have more resources for when back-up is needed by merging the front- and back-of-house duties. “It’s like I’m a defensive driver,” says Murphy, who recalls an employee strapping a kid too sick to go to daycare onto his back so he could make it in when no one else could take an opening shift. “I’ve had to make changes in staffing because I need them to be able to cover.”

Communication Is the First Line of Defense

While COVID-19’s long incubation period (up to and sometimes exceeding 14 days) has highlighted the lack of sick leave for hospitality industry employees, Zukin underscores that it’s a fundamental problem for an industry that operates on thin margins and depends on direct and timely service. “I can’t build in a buffer,” says Murphy.

It’s not the kind of problem that even larger businesses — which can afford emergency measures — can solve immediately, but it is one they need to start discussing. “People are talking about it anyway, so why not have a conversation and keep calm?” Murphy says. She goes right to the worst-case scenario: “Do you know what you would do if half your employees were out sick?” She suggests owners and managers make sure they have a clearly communicated plan for what employees should do both before and after falling ill. “I want to encourage employees to make good choices: Did you sleep? Take medicine?” The cost of hiring someone is about $4,000, she notes, while a few days of sick pay are a couple hundred (and, in the case of the flu, norovirus, and particularly COVID-19, could mean keeping the rest of your staff and your customers healthy). “I hope employers don’t think that if they don’t say anything, they’re saving money.”

Communication builds loyalty and engagement between the team and ownership through trust and transparency, Addy believes. Most individual restaurant owners “aren’t hiding big buckets of money,” she says, and by sharing some of the financial situation with employees rather than letting them assume that decisions are made because nobody cares about them, employees may be able to advocate for their own priorities, or make suggestions.

But even before that chat, Addy recommends that employees make sure they know their rights. Thirty-five localities around the country have sick leave laws, but they vary greatly in terms of who is eligible and, when they are, how much time they get, and what is covered. In Oregon, for example, until three consecutive days of sick leave are taken, the employer can’t question the reason for use. After that, they have the option to, but the law is generous and includes many interpretations of sickness: bereavement, illness in the family, mental health, and more. (Though Addy warns against abusing the privilege, noting that employers can’t withhold the sick pay, but if they have proof you skipped to go partying, “discipline can happen.”) If you do get sick leave, she recommends keeping an eye on your accrual of it: It may be printed on your paystub, but if not, employers should be able, and are sometimes required, to tell you how much sick leave you have at least once a quarter.

What Restaurants Need to Deal With Extenuating Circumstances

Under normal conditions, keeping a restaurant running and staffed begins with hiring people who will make good choices, say both Murphy and Raines. But under the current circumstances, the issue is far more dire than having a dependable team. Big companies have the capital and labor resources to suddenly enact sweeping policy changes: Following a Popular Information article about its lack of paid sick leave, Darden Restaurants Inc., employer of some 170,000 employees at its various holdings, including Olive Garden and Longhorn Steakhouse, announced March 9 that it would offer paid sick leave and backdate accrual for 26 weeks. But few single-unit restaurants or small groups can make a similar move that quickly.

In Seattle, the first part of the U.S. to get hit by COVID-19, paid sick leave exists, but not for the full 14 days that someone might need to self quarantine. In addition, restaurants have already seen significant financial damage from people going out less, particularly restaurants with locations near businesses whose employees are working from home. “The rug has been pulled out from under us,” Murphy wrote on Facebook. “We are in triage mode.” Rather than find new ways to offer benefits, restaurants are just hoping to minimize how many people they have to lay off.

Without intervention and assistance, small businesses may barely be able to pay the employees who are working, not to mention those out for multiple weeks. Washington Gov. Jay Inslee announced measures that extend unemployment benefits to workers at businesses that need to shut down because of a sick employee and workers following guidance to quarantine. “The last thing people need to worry about when dealing with a health crisis is how they’re going to put food on the table,” said Suzi LeVine, commissioner of the Washington Employment Security Department.

These are temporary measures, in a single state, but they offer a glimpse at what could be possible in a country that recognized the economic value of supporting employees, and shows why so many restaurateurs and their workers have been so vocal in support of paid sick leave policies and better public health care options. For now, the status quo is closer to what James Mark, chef-owner of North in Providence, described in a tweet explaining his advocacy for Medicare for all: that the system creates “an uneven playing field that punishes employers that want to take care of workers.” It’s always been the problem, but the current situation has magnified the issue — and potential for harm.

The arrival of COVID-19 in the U.S. highlights the biggest failings of a system that leaves small business, like restaurants, and their workers to figure out how to make paid sick leave work with few resources and slim margins. Without overarching, nationwide, enforced paid sick leave policies, that positions restaurants to serve their entrees with a side of infectious disease. Industry workers will be the first to pay the price for these bad policies, but without big changes in both the immediate and long-term future, everyone will.

Naomi Tomky is a Seattle-based writer.

via Eater - All https://www.eater.com/2020/3/11/21175138/how-restaurant-sick-leave-works-covering-shifts-paid-leave-policy

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deniscollins · 5 years

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He Committed Murder. Then He Graduated From an Elite Law School. Would You Hire Him as Your Attorney?

In 1992, at age 19, Bruce Reilly killed a community college professor while high on drugs and engaged in sex and was sentenced to 20 years, followed by 25 years of probation. He was paroled in 2005 and graduated from Tulane Law School in 2014, but it’s highly unlikely that he could pass the “character and fitness” portion of the bar admissions process. If you were a law office manager, would you hire Mr. Reilly to do public policy research and advocacy: (1) Yes, (2) No? If yes, would you inform co-workers about his murder background? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decisions?

Last September, a group of academics and activists gathered at Princeton University to discuss the limits of artificial intelligence in public policy.

The longest debate concerned some of the most sensitive decisions in the justice system, like whether to release a person on bail or parole. Many in attendance were queasy about using algorithms to determine prison stays — not least because crime data tends to reflect racial bias. But one conference goer in particular stood out for his skepticism.

His name was Bruce Reilly. The deputy director of a New Orleans organization called VOTE, which advocates for the formerly incarcerated, Mr. Reilly is a minor celebrity in the field. He was a sounding board for the leader of the recent Florida ballot campaign that restored voting rights to up to 1.4 million former felons, and helped lead similar initiatives in Rhode Island and Louisiana.

Mr. Reilly, 45, has playful eyes, weathered skin and a boyish voice, and at Princeton, he wore a dark blazer that did not appear to be his natural uniform. Though it was barely midmorning, his shirt was already threatening to decamp from his pants as he turned to address a Princeton postdoctoral researcher sitting next to him.

“Statistically,” Mr. Reilly told her, “the safest person to let out of prison is a murderer.” The academic, Madelyn Sanfilippo, screwed up her face in apparent disbelief.

“You seem like a person who cares about statistics,” Mr. Reilly continued, arguing that people convicted of lesser crimes often cycle in and out of prison, while someone serving a long sentence for murder has typically matured out of crime by the time he is released.

“That makes sense,” Ms. Sanfilippo said, warming to the claim.

They talked amiably for a few more minutes. When they were done, Mr. Reilly turned and whispered in my ear: “She has no idea.”

‘You need to be broken’

In September 1992, a Rhode Island community college professor named Charles Russell picked up a 19-year-old hitchhiker on an interstate. The two men eventually made it to Mr. Russell’s home, where they smoked marijuana and talked books for hours.

About a week later, the hitchhiker returned. The two men talked and smoked again. But as Mr. Russell performed oral sex on him, the younger man became enraged. He picked up a knife and began stabbing at Mr. Russell’s neck.

Mr. Russell tried to defend himself with a fireplace poker, but the man wrested it from his hand and beat him until he stopped moving. As the younger man was dressing, Mr. Russell rose to his feet, picked up a small statue and charged. The man took the statue away and delivered several more blows, fatally crushing Mr. Russell’s skull.

A year later, acting on a tip, the police arrested Bruce Reilly. He confessed that he had snapped during the sexual encounter, and that the fight had escalated once Mr. Russell fought back.

“I was reacting — I had stuff built up inside of me,” Mr. Reilly told me. Facing life in prison, he accepted a deal to plead guilty to second-degree murder, and a judge sentenced him to 20 years, followed by 25 years of probation.

Many of Mr. Reilly’s high school friends were shocked, if not entirely surprised. He had always been precocious, but his home life was a mess — his mother was in and out of psychiatric institutions, and he lived in foster care for years as a young child. As a teenager, he dealt drugs and stole license plates. He was accepted to college but didn’t fill out the paperwork in time to qualify for financial aid. He was constantly hustling from one dead-end gig or sketchy apartment to another, until one night he ended up at the home of the man he would kill.

In prison, Mr. Reilly became something of an ascetic. He read and wrote for hours each day and strictly limited his TV intake. He accumulated a small circle of friends who believed he had special insight into surviving incarceration. They would write essays on a chosen topic, like whether democracy was the best form of government, and circulate them for feedback.

When they debated prison reform, their views were a mix of Old Testament justice and New. They came to believe that their dreary sentences were central to their rehabilitation.

“You need to be broken,” Greg Tovmasian, a member of the group, told me. “You need to be completely honest with yourself about why you’re in there. If you’re constantly on the phone, talking to people out there, your head is still in society.” The flip side, they believed, was that if a person had done his grappling and come through it, there ceased to be a point to keeping him locked up.

Mr. Reilly was often the most effective legal adviser his fellow inmates ever consulted. He spent hundreds of hours studying case law in the prison library and wrote dozens of petitions, briefs and motions. He helped at least two fellow prisoners reduce their sentences by several years. “It was like magic to people — like mixing chemicals,” said his friend Steven Parkhurst, who is still in prison.

Mr. Reilly was paroled in 2005. He enrolled at Rhode Island College, worked low-wage jobs and became active in a local civil rights group that’s now known as OpenDoors. The organization was campaigning for a ballot initiative to restore the voting rights of felons after their release, and Mr. Reilly eventually worked as a strategist and volunteer coordinator for the effort, which passed.

To help continue his work on behalf of the formerly incarcerated, Mr. Reilly applied to law school. Although he scored in the top 7 percent on the standardized entrance exam, he didn’t have a bachelor’s degree, and only one of more than two dozen schools accepted him. In the fall of 2011, Mr. Reilly arrived on the campus of Tulane University — and almost immediately confronted the question that still dogs him today.

The purest test of mainstreaming

The political consensus for bringing former convicts back into society’s mainstream has shifted faster this decade than at any other moment in modern history. Late last year, President Trump signed into law a watershed bill reducing prison sentences for a range of federal offenders, with backing from a coalition that ranged from the American Civil Liberties Union to the Koch brothers. Numerous cities and states have enacted “ban the box” laws, preventing employers from asking about criminal history on a job application. The Florida initiative whose leader Mr. Reilly counseled passed by a nearly two-to-one ratio.

But many of these recent gains have accrued to nonviolent offenders. What about rehabilitation for those who have committed a brutal crime?

“We as a culture have yet to confront forgiveness for someone who commits a crime that we universally agree” is abhorrent, Mr. Reilly once told me, using an expletive. “The drug offender — that person should not even be in jail,” he continued. “The hard questions are reintegration for people the criminal justice system was actually designed for.” People like him.

Since I started tracking his career, in 2013, I’ve come to think of Mr. Reilly, whom prosecutors once described as a manipulative “predator,” as the purest test of America’s commitment to mainstreaming ex-felons. Even as Mr. Reilly makes it his life’s work to advance the cause, he finds himself illustrating its limits. That’s both because his crime was so severe and because he is not satisfied merely to be housed or employed. He craves elite credentials and recognition, like advanced degrees and fellowships, and wants to work on cutting-edge legal issues.

Last summer, I attended a Soros Justice Fellowships conference in New Orleans with Mr. Reilly, who had been invited to appear on a panel about solitary confinement. Funded by the liberal billionaire George Soros, the organization behind the conference is one of the country’s largest financial backers of criminal justice reform.

As he collected his name tag from a table, Mr. Reilly glanced down at the other names and began identifying who had won various fellowships, grants and accolades. “I’ve applied to them all, have not gotten any of them,” he said. And then, referring to his efforts in Louisiana and Rhode Island, he added with a degree of pride: “But apparently you don’t need a fellowship to win voting rights.”

When Mr. Reilly got to Tulane Law School in 2011, he initially fell in with a circle of students interested in civil rights and unfazed by his past. “He straight-up told me he had been convicted of murder,” one classmate, Allyson Page, recalled. “I was like, ‘O.K., that’s cool.’ I wasn’t expecting that, but I didn’t care that much.”

But within a few weeks, another student began to broadcast Mr. Reilly’s criminal record across campus. Some classmates complained that his presence compromised their safety and would make it harder for them to land jobs.

The story — ex-murderer at exclusive law school! — was picked up by the popular legal blog Above the Law. An unnamed student wondered if, “when placed in one of the most stress-inducing environments in the United States, Mr. Reilly will reach his tipping point and live up to his violent past.” Another espoused a form of Nimby-ism: “I think felons should get a second chance. But why at Tulane? What are we, the law school for murderers?”

TV crews turned up near his house. A producer for “Dr. Phil” called Mr. Reilly on his cellphone; a reporter from “Inside Edition” staked out his apartment.

Publicly, David Meyer, the law school’s dean, was statesmanlike. Tulane’s admissions process “allows for the possibility of redemption even in exceptional circumstances of tragedy and hardship,” he told Above the Law. But privately, Mr. Meyer seemed as panicked as anyone. Susan Krinsky, the dean of admissions, said in an interview that Mr. Meyer had told her, “You have endangered this entire community.” (Ms. Krinsky left Tulane about a year later, and Mr. Meyer declined to comment.)

Mr. Reilly, fearing Tulane would revoke his admission, tried to lie low. But he soon realized he had to stop his classmates from getting their information secondhand, off the internet. And he tried to convince his peers, one at a time, that he belonged.

“Bruce was in the hallway — he was friends with people who were conservative, people who were liberals,” recalled Tony Viviani, a close friend. “One of the most staunch conservative guys was an Alabama grad. He was talking football with him, smacking right back.”

Two years later, when I was in New Orleans to give a talk, I arranged to meet Mr. Reilly for coffee. I was fascinated by how someone could live in two completely different worlds, one familiar to me, the other unimaginable. But as the appointment got closer, I started to worry. I had a daughter, a wife. Was it really such a good idea to schmooze with a murderer?

When we did meet, we chatted for nearly an hour about writing and fatherhood. (Mr. Reilly has a daughter from a relationship in Rhode Island.) He was humble and thoughtful, and I was immediately embarrassed by the vague scenarios I had played out in my head.

Still, to this day, I sometimes struggle to shake my mental image of his crime. And I can’t help thinking: If Mr. Reilly worked at, say, a top-shelf law firm, how many partners would claim the office next to his? Bunk with him on a corporate retreat? Introduce him to their spouse and children?

Although Mr. Reilly apologized to the Russell family at his sentencing hearing in 1996, it takes only a little probing to affirm how fresh his crime remains. His victim’s sister-in-law, Marilyn Rodriguez, told me that she and her two children had been especially close to Mr. Russell, and that his death had “made a mess of our whole family.”

“The hurt is still in our family,” she added. “It can’t be undone.”

Confined by his past

Mr. Reilly, who graduated from Tulane in 2014, would like to be able to practice law, but it’s highly unlikely that he could pass the “character and fitness” portion of the bar admissions process. He’s interested in data and internet privacy issues, but he’s hard-pressed to get a foothold in such fields.

After getting his law degree, Mr. Reilly searched unsuccessfully for a position that would suit his qualifications: policy jobs in Washington, entertainment-law gigs in Los Angeles, even a job with the Tribeca Film Institute in New York. He landed only two interviews and struggled to discuss his criminal record with prospective employers.

“Once you let the debate go there,” Mr. Reilly said, “now they’re visualizing you killing someone.”

Finally, after nearly six months piling credit card debt on top of his student loans, he landed a job in New Orleans as a paralegal at the Capital Appeals Project, which represents indigent people on death row. From there he moved to another criminal justice reform organization and eventually to VOTE.

Last summer, Mr. Reilly was part of a small team of activists that met with Roger Goodell, the commissioner of the National Football League, and executives for the New Orleans Saints. He briefly told his story, explaining how he was an impulsive teenager before committing his crime, but came out of prison an adult. He made a plea for the Saints and the league to throw their weight behind initiatives that would ease assimilation. The executives nodded sympathetically.

Mr. Reilly makes a quick impression with his intellect. When he was a law student, for example, it took him only a few hours of research to conclude that Louisiana’s ban on voting by felons on probation or parole probably violated the state’s Constitution, and a large group of legal scholars agreed. Still, the fact that Mr. Reilly has devoted his professional life to the rights of the formerly incarcerated — as opposed to a less personal issue like genetically modified foods, another law school interest — testifies to the way his past confines him.

In some ways, he confines himself. Mr. Reilly has a habit of leaning into stereotypes about felons, almost as a political protest, and I sometimes wonder if it is self-defeating. The T-shirts he favors do little to conceal his tattoos, and he leans heavily on jailhouse idiom when he speaks. There are frequent allusions to “bids” (tours in prison), “guys in the yard” (fellow prisoners) and “shankings” (stabbings with a makeshift weapon).

Race also complicates his upward trajectory in an uncomfortable way. After Mr. Reilly introduced me as a journalist to fellow reformers at the Soros conference, some responded with a measure of irritation: Criminal justice issues disproportionately affect minorities, and I was going to profile a white guy? From Rhode Island? Who went to a fancy law school?

Mr. Reilly is the first to concede the advantages he has over former inmates who are black or Latino. “I can go incognito as a white guy,” he said. But he is still pained by the skepticism his race sometimes provokes among progressives.

Then there is the continuing threat to his freedom, in which even a seemingly minor political dispute can escalate into a crisis.

In December, a judicial oversight committee in New Orleans ruled that a candidate for a local judgeship had made false statements about Mr. Reilly’s employer, VOTE. On the day of the ruling, the candidate, Marie Williams, applied for a temporary restraining order against Mr. Reilly, saying he had harassed her through social media, filed baseless claims against her and endorsed her opponent.

The temporary order was granted — Louisiana has a low threshold for such actions — and a judge found probable cause to believe that Mr. Reilly violated the order when his lawyer reached out to Ms. Williams to request that she withdraw it. Now a pending warrant for his arrest could send him to jail. Mr. Reilly’s lawyer hopes to resolve the matter this month, when a court will consider the case.

The sheer hysteria of a murder conviction

Mr. Reilly is encouraged by the growing number of formerly incarcerated people who have gained entree into elite professions and rarefied social strata. He cites with pride his friend Andres Idarraga, who spent time in prison for selling drugs and later earned a law degree from Yale and worked for the famed law firm Boies Schiller Flexner; and Reginald Dwayne Betts, an acclaimed poet who graduated from Yale Law after serving time for a carjacking. Neither of them, though, has a murder conviction.

A vanishingly small number of such people have even begun to claw their way toward mainstream respectability after serving their sentences. Michelle Jones, who published original historical research while serving more than 20 years for the murder of her young son, lost out on a place in a Harvard Ph.D. program when the school overruled its own history department. (She gained admission to New York University.)

Mr. Reilly’s prison friend Greg Tovmasian, who was convicted of second-degree murder, abandoned his application to the University of Rhode Island when he was told that he would have to meet with a university official to be considered. “I just wasn’t ready emotionally to face another parole board,” Mr. Tovmasian said. Instead he earned an economics degree at the smaller Rhode Island College.

Mr. Reilly believes that by telling his story, he can help diminish the sheer hysteria a murder conviction can inspire. But while he has been granted more audiences from the likes of Princeton and the New Orleans Saints, Mr. Reilly has not found that organizations outside the criminal justice field are rushing to work alongside him, in close quarters, for sustained periods. They see him as a source of information or a helpful perspective, but rarely as a potential colleague or friend.

At the Princeton A.I. conference, Mr. Reilly had a long and seemingly productive conversation about life after prison with a man named Chuck Howell, who had an impressive job at a company that manages federal research and development centers. But later, as the two men bantered about police departments and the issue of disciplining rogue cops, Mr. Reilly spun out an extended prison metaphor.

If a gang member wrongs an inmate from a different gang, he said, leaders from the offender’s group will typically agree to punish him on their own. From where I stood, Mr. Howell, who had seemed engaged and receptive at the beginning of the exchange, started to look uncomfortable.

“The problem with the cops is they don’t do it,” Mr. Reilly continued, meaning that police departments don’t rein in rogue officers. “If you were a real gang, you’d off that guy. I’m not saying off that guy — but take care of it.”

Mr. Howell went quiet. The conversation was never the same again.

#Murder #Lawyers

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mylittleedgey · 7 years

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Baring the New Version

Like the other version, this has a lot of trouble with rambling and spinning off into different conversations without resolving anything. I like the Iris bit. I kinda like the bit with Paine just to emphasize everything was a fluke but it doesn’t transition well. I like the bit at the end about Trucy, but mentioning Edgeworth’s single father was opening a whole can of worms and I stopped in the middle.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He had somehow managed to be so infatuated with the man that he’d managed to give the impression that he was bored with his company. If he hadn’t been so caught up in himself, if he could have just seen that his feelings were reciprocated… Perhaps if he had spoken the right words, or even one exactly right word, he could have spared them both the pain of the other man’s imagined rejection. If Miles had kissed him as he had today, if they had joined together on that creaky hotel bed, years ago… “Wright?” …And he’d just done it again. It took him the better part of fifteen seconds for him to regain his train of thought. He kissed Edgeworth, got caught by Gumshoe, found out that it was exactly what the detective had been hoping for. Miles liked him, actually enjoying his company, and he’d been so painfully oblivious he’d managed . He should probably say something before Miles assumed he’d gone comatose and begin to administer CPR.

Well, maybe he could hold out for the CPR.

“Wright, I feel the need to remind you that you need to be out of here in ten minutes, so if you want to go catatonic or whatever it is you believe yourself to be doing, I’d appreciate it if you waited until then.”

He finally snapped back into the conversations. “Was Gumshoe talking about Iris?”

The smug grin died on Edgeworth’s lips. “I was hoping for something more along the lines of discussing how we might meet up tonight.”

“I just wanted to say, we’re not a thing, if you were worried...”

“Phoenix Wright, I hardly have a low enough opinion of you to believe you would solicit a relationship with me if you were currently in a relationship with someone else.” Miles was staring off to one side with one of his unapproachable scowls that said clearly he was not willing to discuss it.

Phoenix felt his face going hot with embarrassment. “I just meant she’s a good friend. To Trucy and I both. I can understand where you would think it was more, and I know you must have been involved in her case, so you probably realized how much I was visiting her in prison.”

“Every Tuesday afternoon. Normally around three pm. You missed on two occasions in four years.” Miles recited them like they were part of a case he’d memorized.

“Wow, uh, you… seem to know more about it than I do.”

“I felt like a stalker, I guess I was one. I didn’t listen in, but… I couldn’t ignore it. Gumshoe misunderstood my interest and attempted to woo Iris on my behalf.”

“Aaand that’s when he found out you weren’t interested in her...” Phoenix finished the thought. “It must have been mortifying. I’m so sorry.”

“It was hardly your fault.” Miles replied dismissively. “But yes, I had already purchased a one-way ticket to Stuttgart when Franziska called me at the airport and referred to me as-”

“-Franziska knows?!”

“At this point I’m willing to believe that you’re the only person in the greater Los Angeles area who doesn’t know.”

He considered that. “Trucy was sure there was something there, but, you know, she’s my daughter, of course she’d have my interests at heart.”

Now it was Edgeworth’s turn to raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Trucy approves of your interest in me?”

“Trucy was the one that convinced me to talk to you today.”

“I hope this doesn’t mean you intend me to be that replacement mother she keeps talking about.” He replied, with a coy edge to his voice that could have been nervous.

“What? Oh! Oh, Trucy, you know her...” He deflated his lips in an exasperated sigh. “Trucy has opinions, and she’s not shy about them. I think she meant it for a while, but now she just says it ironically? I know when she was younger she talked about how we’d have to fight over who would be the mommy… by now she has gay friends and she’s cool with whatever. She says ‘Mom’ because I’m not that open about… you know.”

“I don’t recall you ever mentioning it to me.” Miles noted.

“You know, one of the reasons I stopped drinking was because she told me the next time I blacked out she’d convince me to tattoo your name on my ass.” he chuckled with a cringe. “Said it would be a great ice breaker for the whole coming out thing.”

The prosecutor coughed weakly. “I certainly wouldn’t have seen it coming.” he admitted. “I suppose I don’t know her as well as I thought I did.”

“That young lady does not pull any punches.” Phoenix laughed oddly, proud and embarrassed at the same time. “Where does she get that, eh? But seriously, she loves Iris. She was a little disappointed when I told her it wasn’t getting past friends, but she had a boy punch her once because she didn’t want to sit with him. She understands relationships are a two-way thing.”

“And did he get in trouble?”

“Well… you see, she did some sort of magic trick and trapped his bike in a tree. Like, you know, with a branch through the frame and everything. They wanted to expel her, but the janitor that cut it down swore no kid could do that. She got through on that defense a lot, actually. We’ve had a lot of talks about legality and ethics.” He finally shrugged off the whole awkward train of thought. “She won’t break any laws while you’re around, I promise.”

“I...”

“Anyway!” he hurried along, eager to change the subject. “I made the mistake of talking to her about what you said at that party a few weeks ago, and she-”

“What, exactly, did I say?”

It took Phoenix a moment to realize that the conversation had been replaying in his head until he could quote it word for word had just been a normal conversation to the other man. “You told Whatzit Paine that you had hope.”

“I need to have that put into some sort of context.”

“He kinda implied you liked me, and you kinda didn’t disagree...”

It took another few minutes for Edgeworth to make the connection. His eyes suddenly went wide. “That idiot! That’s what this is about?” he hissed through his teeth.

“Is that a problem?”

Miles growled something as he stood. “Every time he gets drunk he tries to bait me into an argument. You heard him, once he’s too far gone to be afraid of Franziska there’s really no stopping him.” He sighed, hand going to the bridge of his nose. “To think that’s all it took...”

“I guess all I needed was a little hope.” Phoenix smiled shyly.

“I have made myself available to you for a decade sustained by baseless hope.” Edgeworth grumbled, and for a moment Phoenix was genuinely worried that decades of what appeared to be mutual pining was about to be trumped by the fact that Miles Edgeworth really hated a subordinate. “Well,” he finally continued, “gift horse and all that. At this point I suppose I should do what I can to nurture that hope. As I have mentioned, I hold out hope that we can meet tonight. I believe we still have plenty of things that warrant discussion.”

“...Discussion?” With a raised eyebrow.

Miles replied with a smirk. “Were you not interested in discussion? I’m always open to suggestions if you can think of a better use of our time.”

“When do you get off work?” Actually, given his position and tendency to push himself relentlessly, “Do you get off work?” would probably be a better question. “I have to-”

“-Get home by nine-thirty, I realize you have a daughter.”

Phoenix cringed guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“I believe I’ve said before that I don’t wish to cause any animosity between you and your daughter.”

“Animosity?” Phoenix snorted. I’m not worried about making Trucy angry. She’d probably be excited if I called her up and told her I’d be back next year because I really wanted to bang Mister Edgeworth. She’d probably be fine, too. She can take care of herself. Lord knows she’s had to.” He sighed. “No, I just don’t want to get back to the point where I let her convince me that healthy parenting is letting a kid fend for herself and patting yourself on the back when she manages to turn out wonderfully.”

Miles adjusted his glasses. “I don’t sugarcoat, Wright. It’s not in me to pretend that you’re the best parent or that I never had my doubts about your techniques. Indeed, I had grave misgivings for years.”

“Well, thank you.” If Phoenix was genuinely upset, he gave no outward indication, he merely shifted to the other foot and studied one shoe.

“I’m no stranger to foster care, Wright.” Miles replied warily. “As well as it’s effect on children. I trust and respect you deeply. That doesn’t mean, however, that I would turn a blind eye if I believed you were endangering your daughter.” He leaned forward, catching Phoenix dead in the eye. “I say this so you know. I’ve always considered you to be the best guardian of your child. I was afraid you’d be too far gone to redeem yourself, but you never lost your way. You are, and have always been, the man I faced in court when I first met you. You must realize I would never say it if I didn’t stand behind it one hundred percent.”

“That’s, uh… wow.” Phoenix was noticeably blushing. “I… thank you.”

“Also, I’ve spent enough time with your makeshift family to say that I honestly enjoy your daughter as a person. Never feel like you need to justify your time with her.” his voice lowered as he leaned in. “I was raised by a single father as well, Wright.”

He had almost forgotten the quiet young boy waiting dutifully for his father, nose buried in a thick book. The rest of the school had mostly emptied out by now. normally he got a ride home with Phoenix, but every other Thursday his mom had meetings and couldn’t make it. Phoenix could have walked home, it was only six blocks of residential area. His mother had suddenly decided that she preferred to pick her son up in the car two days after their parents had met in person. She had originally been rather worried that her son had gained a nearly fanatical obsession with Miles Edgeworth overnight, but twenty minutes with the calm, refined, apologetic man had converted her. Miles was the perfect child who could only be a positive influence on her son, and his poor father who was still managing to hold down a private practice and still raise this perfect specimen of a son needed all the help she could convince him to accept.

So Miles rode home with them more often than not, and spent hours at his house several times a week.

^AND THIS SHOULD PROBABLY GO INTO ANOTHER CHAPTER OR STORY ALTOGETHER^

I love frazzled overworked Gregory who does his best after his wife’s death, but failing to understand the depth of it’s effect on Miles. I have a strong headcanon that Ms Edgeworth died in a car crash picking up Miles from preschool/kindergarten. Miles was in the back in a kid seat and was fine, Mom was killed instantly. Miles blames himself because of some little thing like going back for his jacket. He never mentions it to his father who would never have made the connection. As he grows up, he tries to atone by not causing any trouble and working for a future where he can make up for it. He doesn’t make friends because that would interfere with his plans, and anyway he’s weird and quiet and kids normally don’t like him. Gregory was literally thrilled when Miles made friends because it was the first time in years he’d done something for himself. And then of course things went down with Gregory and he broke for a good many years.

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