I wonder if some of siblings with twins, triplets, and others get along well. We know the monster triplet seems close to each other, decuplets get along well, just some silly siblings fights, sometimes, Smoothie with Citron and Cinnamon, they just argue when she used her devil fruit power on their subordinates to take the energy to her attacks, Chiffon still loves Lola even after leaving the family. But I wonder how is Cracker with Custard and Angel, Brulee with Broye, and Opera in his group of quintuplets.

Thank you for this ask, anon, that one was super fun to figure out! 💕 We decided to go through all the twin/triplet/etc. groups in the Charlotte family and describe their relations quickly. Naturally, then ❗long post ahead❗

Enjoy! ✨

Group 1: Katakuri/Daifuku/Oven

This three get along great and are indeed, very close to each other. Despite their personality differences, they spent a lot of time together already in childhood and even now they make sure that they find moments to cherish in each other's presence often. Katakuri feels more comfortable around these two than around most, especially since they both know his secret and never judged him for his mouth. Oven and Daifuku find him amazing, sure, but they also still treat him as their brother, not an unattainable ideal, and that allows Katakuri to somewhat relax.

Group 2: Mondee/Amande/Hachee/Effilee

Although Mondee is unstoppable in her efforts to bring these four closer together, being a bit jealous of some other twin/triplet/quadruplet sets, Amande, Hachee, and Effilee are all individualists and quite distinct personalities. Therefore, they might have a bit of a soft spot for each other, but these quadruplets only properly hang out once every three months or so; always from Mondee's initiative.

Group 3: Opera/Counter/Cadenza/Cabaletta/Gala

This group definitely likes to hang out together! They aren't super close and they don't know a lot about each other's personal problems or private life, but they do enjoy regular activities that they can do together: like brawl fights or going out for a few drinks. However, Opera is always a bit out of place in the group. Since he doesn't so much enjoy the same things the others like, they sometimes don't even bother inviting him, and they might be kind of jealous that out of all of them, he was the one who received a Devil Fruit. Gala always brings attention to it, trying not to exclude Opera, but sometimes, unfortunately, he still gets left out.

Group 4: Cracker/Custard/Angel

In their childhood, Custard and Angel got along well, but Cracker was always annoyed by the two and their constant attempts to play with his hair, put flower crowns on him, and more of that girly shit he loathed. Now, Angel changed quite a bit, toughened up, and became known as a kind of feral gal, who loves her triplets, but might sometimes scare/disgust while trying to make them tougher. In effect, Custard and Cracker grew ever so slightly closer. It helps that the girls stopped trying to girlify him, too.

Group 5: Brulee/Broye

Personality-wise, these two are polar opposites. Generally, Broye pities Brulee for not having found a husband yet, as well as for how her lifestyle usually looks like: rather than cooking and gardening she prefers partying and flirting, rather than living in an unpretentious hut, she prefers glamour. Brulee, on the other hand, is always nice to Broye and likes her, however, their relationship grew a bit awkward ever since Broye caught her staring at a wedding dress and bought her one, claiming that 'she's never going to get married anyway, so she may as well just wear it now'. Brulee knows that her twin meant well and thus wears the dress to this day (was it just us or did Brulee's first dress really look like a wedding dress); still she can't help but feel slightly hurt.

Group 6: Nusstorte/Basskarte/Dosmarche

These three see each other mostly as rivals, plain and simple. Basskarte is especially salty that the other two received Minister positions while he didn't, but even between Nusstorte and Dosmarche you can expect only constant attempts to one the other up rather than any sibling closeness.

Group 7: Moscato/Mash/Cornstarch

Moscato and Cornstarch adore each other! They're both idealists and wholesome people, so they can talk with each other for hours and feel very comfortable with each other's presence. Now, Mash is slightly excluded from this: they still like her and are always nice to her, but don't hang out with her half as often. She doesn't mind, though; she prefers Broye to those softies anyway.

Group 8: Compo/Laurin

Compo is very protective of Laurin. Despite only being minutes older than him and despite his short height, he always makes sure no one makes fun of his twin, and has a sixth sense for when the latter is uncomfortable. In return, Laurin is very grateful, and if he could ever return all the favors, he would.

Group 9: Mozart/Marnier

These two are your like, most typical ✨twinsies✨ sisters. They like to wear matching outfits sometimes, they gossip with each other lots, and generally they get along great; although, unlike some other twins on this list, they do have their own, separate lives.

Group 10: High Fat/Tablet

High Fat and Tablet probably have the worst relationship from all the siblings on this list. Even more opposite than Brulee and Broye, they disliked each other since early childhood, when Tablet relentlessly picked on High Fat, and the latter interpreted what Tablet thought was merely playful as outright cruel. As a result of their different perception on things, their antipathy only grew, and they prefer not to talk these days if it can be avoided.

Group 11: Smoothie/Citron/Cinnamon

Smoothie, Citron, and Cinnamon are each other's favorite people, full stop. They all have similar views on life, know each other's secrets, and they love their dynamic; in this dynamic, Smoothie normally takes on a role of the leader, with Cinnamon and Citron often looking for her approval and even mimicking her sometimes, but all this happens without them ever feeling consciously like there is any clear hierarchy.

Group 12: Saint-Marc/Basans

In their childhood, Saint-Marc and Basans were often confused due to their similar facial features. This experience left them bitter, so now, despite not hating each other, they both really try to stand out from the other. For Saint-Marc, the armor was a method; Basans went so far as to wear fake horns, being quite happy whenever it was assumed that Melise was his real sister.

Group 13: Galette/Poire

Poire likes Galette, even with the latter's anxiety and all. Galette, in return, is always kind to Poire, however, she cannot help but be overly stressed out by her sister's often dangerous ways of life. While Mont d'Or is a calming presence for Galette, Poire heightens her worries, so she'd rather hang out with the older brother, all things considered.

Group 14: Snack/Bavarois

Similarly to the first set of quintuplets, Snack and Bavarois like to share fast food or a few drinks, but don't necessarily tell each other much about their life, or their hopes and fears. Their hang out sessions are a bit rarer than for the quintuplets, though, even if they became more frequent when Snack lost his Sweet Commander post.

Group 15: Prim/Praline

Prim always looked at Praline from above, being both smarter and stronger than her. Still, their relations were somewhat amicable until Praline's betrayal. They used to enjoy at least shopping for clothes together, but now, Prim is pissed that Praline left, without telling her, taking with her a large portion of Totto's underwater population, and leaving her behind for Mama to take out her rage on her. If they meet again, Prim will not hold back and will definitely attack Praline just like the rest of her family, if not even more viciously.

Group 16: Kanten/Kato/Montb

Those three are completely neutral in their relations. They have distinct goals in life and personalities, and don't really think of each other as 'their kind of person' but can definitely have a friendly small talk when they meet; which happens rather rarely, considering they don't really seek these meetings out.

Group 17: Chiffon/Lola

As we all know, Chiffon and Lola love each other lots! Chiffon was always very protective of her younger sister and supported her fully in pursuing her dreams; little Lola, on the other hand, would beat up anyone who even looked at her twin wrongly. Since Lola left, they missed each other plenty, but Chiffon never blamed her for leaving and was just very happy to be reunited with her eventually.

Group 18: Mobile/Marble/Myukuru/Maple

These quadruplets get along in pairs. Mobile and Maple like each other lots and hang out with each other plenty, and so do Marble and Myukuru; however, between these two groups, there's little care and more of a neutral outlook.

Group 19: Mascarpone/Joscarpone

Mascarpone and Joscarpone are essentially inseparable. They know everything each other, finish each other's sentences, share literally everything (including clothes), and could be easily confused if not for their different gender. If you tried to keep them apart even for a few days, they'd probably be very uncomfortable and feel lonelier than ever.

Group 20: Newichi/Newji/Newsan/Newshi/Newgo/Nutmeg/Akimeg/Allmeg/Harumeg/Fuyumeg

The decuplets generally all tolerate each other, but hate to be confused. Overall, the boys get along, and so do the girls, but they don't mingle beyond these groups so much, with the exception of Newshi and Harumeg, who are best friends. There is just quite a bit of rivalry between the boys and the girls; they can cooperate great in fives, but as a whole 10-person group they might struggle to communicate all that well.

Group 21: Dolce/Dragee

Basically Mascarpone and Joscarpone on steroids. These two literally speak in unison at times, have their own secret communication system, sometimes switch their clothes which makes everyone confuse them, and get completely miserable and shy whenever separated. We'll see if they grow out of it ever or not!

Aaaaand there you have it! Congrats to everyone who got through the entire post, here's your supreme Charlotte family fan medal 🎖️ hope you enjoyed! 💕

Socialite AU, last part! I finished a thing! Also posted on AO3 now that it’s done.

Shen Yuan had expected that the beginning of the school year would have kept Luo Binghe too busy for them to see each other more than, oh, about once a month, but it doesn’t seem to be the case. Luo Binghe is obviously very smart, so maybe that’s why he can keep up so easily. His studies sure don’t seem to stop him from having Shen Yuan over at least once a week.

Luo Binghe says it’s because he cannot trust Shen Yuan to feed himself properly, something Shen Yuan himself has profusely denied. First, he’s a fully grown adult, he can cook! Second, if he doesn’t feel like it, he can order in, or pay someone to cook for him. There are no issues there! He doesn’t need to be minded.

Not that he minds being minded. Shen Yuan has eaten more than his share of delicious food, and Luo Binghe’s stands above the rest. There are worst things than travelling to Luo Binghe’s apartment and eating a freshly cooked meal.

They don’t talk about novels as much though. This is an area where Luo Binghe had to step back in favor of reading assigned manuals. Shen Yuan has spent more than one evening reading trash by himself while Luo Binghe sat nearby, throwing the occasional question his way as he studied. Not that it seemed like he needed the help.

When does he see his college friends, Shen Yuan has no idea. Luo Binghe always waves away any concern of his on this matter. Seriously, Shen Yuan is a bit worried. Does he not fit in? It seems impossible that someone as charming, not to mention as affluent, as him would be ostracised. Even Shen Yuan had managed to gather a small group of friends during his college years. Luo Binghe must have done the same, no?

If he hasn’t, his fellow students are missing out.

In that case, Shen Yuan will take him out it their place. It wouldn’t do for Binghe to be lonely.

Not that that’s likely, considering how popular he is in their circle. As far as his female compatriots are concerned, Luo Binghe is now Beijing’s most eligible bachelor.

It’s a role that suits Luo Binghe’s public persona to a tee. He flutters between ladies as if he were born into in, flirting with one and laughing with another one with an ease Shen Yuan cannot help but envy, considering his own limited contacts with the other sex.

If those interactions often ended with a pretend fight between them, neither of them would complain about it. It was fun. Much better than insulting real people and wondering later if he’d gone too far, if he’d seriously hurt someone whose crime had only been to be born in a shitty family and raised in a similarly shitty fashion. He and Binghe sometimes rehearsed lines late into the night before a party, sentences that were meant to be biting insults turning into uncontrollable laughter.

Everything was going well. Shen Yuan’s reputation was becoming so toxic it had been weeks since the last time one of his fellow socialites had dared to speak to him, which is how Shen Yuan liked it. As for Luo Binghe, he was both admired for standing up to mean Shen Yuan, and pitied for always being the receptor of his ire. Binghe was more than talented enough to use all of it to his advantage.

All in all, everything was going perfectly.

Until now. “Excuse me?” says Shen Yuan with the coldest, most disparaging tone he has managed yet.

Sha Hualing, sadly, doesn’t seem impressed. “You can deny it all you want. It’s obvious. It must drive you crazy, seeing him with us and knowing you’ll never have a chance. He’s so good, too. Made me scream so loud I’m sure the neighbors heard. Not that you’ll ever find out yourself. Keep pulling his pigtails. He knows, he’s just too nice to tell how pathetic you are.”

Shen Yuan cannot convey to Sha Hualing how utterly from left field her theory is, and how completely baffled he is, without breaking his carefully maintained aura of disgusted condescension, but he really wishes he could. “You’re insane. How could I be attracted to… that.” He winces in his head. Too much? There are probably zero people that don’t feel at least a little attracted to Luo Binghe in this room.

But if there was one, it would be him. Luo Binghe is his cute disciple and friend, not his meal ticket. Leave that to Sha Hualing and her posse.

Her answering laugh is haughty. “Not even you believe that. Anyway, I just wanted to rub it in, but now that that’s done, I got better things to do than talking to you, like him. Fuck off.”

He flips her off as she leaves. Not his most elegant moment, but not the most elegant situation.

How the fuck did she get into her sick mind that he was into Luo Binghe. She should have thought they hated each other! That they wanted to tear each other’s throats open, not tear each other’s clothes off!

… Holy fuck their characters have ust, haven’t they? Danmei isn’t his playing field, but some things are universal across gender. There is an undeniable pull to seeing two hot people seeming like they’re two seconds away from punching each other when it also seems like they might be two seconds away from… something else.

It’s the only possible interpretation. They haven’t been careful enough, and now their roles are tainted by bad tropes!

Shen Yuan is going to have to adapt his persona a bit. Let himself run even colder. Less hate, more indifference, maybe? Or maybe he could just leave Luo Binghe alone for a few parties.

It wouldn’t work! It would seem like he chickened out after Sha Hualing confronted him! It would make it appear weak!

Could he make up a girlfriend?

Nah, no one would believe it.

Fuck, he’s going to need Luo Binghe’s help on this one.

_________________

“She what!?”

“Thinks I keep picking fights with you because I’m trying to get your attention and that I’d really like for you to bend me over something, probably.”

Luo Binghe blushes bright red.

Shen Yuan restrains his mirth. Nice to see he’s not the only one terribly embarrassed by the situation!

Yes, pinching those red cheeks would only make things worse, but he’s still very tempted.

Shen Yuan soldiers on. “Binghe shouldn’t worry about things too much. His reputation is safe. Considering how well he gets on with the fairer sex,” and yes, now Shen Yuan knows way more than he ever wanted to know about Sha Hualing’s sex life, but that’s life,” no one will doubt him. If he has no idea, I’ll think of something. It’s not his problem.”

“Shizun’s problems are my problems! He wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me!”

Aww, Binghe, why is your indignation so cute!” Don’t blame yourself. We both agreed to the plan. It’s no one’s fault.”

Luo Binghe looks down, obviously still embarrassed. “I really have no idea where she got that. Shizun never appears to be attracted to me.”

“Who knows how Sha Hualing thinks. She probably watches too much porn.” He wouldn’t be surprised, considering how low-class she acted.

A second later, he catches his mistake. If Luo Binghe is… seeing her, he shouldn’t be that mean to her in his presence. “Sorry for insulting your… friend.” He doesn’t think they’re officially dating? Sha Hualing would never shut up about it, and anyway Luo Binghe wouldn’t have as much time for Shen Yuan if he was serious about someone. It’s probably just hormones raging.

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “Shizun shouldn’t apologise! She’s the one who was this rude! Implying Shizun doesn’t know how to court someone, or that he’d need such a ridiculous approach when a few words would be enough for him to have anyone! What a stupid woman.”

It’s Shen Yuan’s turn to be embarrassed. Luo Binghe is pushing the hero worship a little too far here. He’s got way more experience in that department than Shen Yuan will ever get, probably. “Well, if you don’t like her, maybe choose someone better as a partner? You could have anyone. I know it’s none of my business, and I guess she’s attractive, but really, so are many others who don’t share her… fiery temperament.”

If he were honest, he’d just tell Binghe he deserves better.

Much, much better. Didn’t he see her chatting with Liu Mingyan the other day? Now that’s a woman worthy of his Binghe, almost his equal in all fields.

Not that he needs to find someone just yet. He should take his time, and find someone he likes.

Luo Binghe snorts. “I would never choose her.”

Shen Yuan blinks. “Didn’t you?”

Luo Binghe looks wounded. “Why would you think that? I would never be with someone this cruel to Shizun!”

“But she said… oh.” Shen Yuan is an idiot. Why, why did he, even for a second, believe what that snake said? “Binghe must let me apologise. I’ve been stupid and have believed her when she said you and her were… involved.”

“Shizun mustn’t believe her! She lies!”

Shen Yuan pats Luo Binghe’s back gently. “I don’t! I don’t. She lied. I don’t believe her anymore. Of course Binghe has better tastes than this. I should have known.”

Luo Binghe raises his chin. “I do. I have the best tastes.”

Shen Yuan lets a smile appears on his face. “You do. After all, you have chosen me to guide you.”

Luo Binghe nods with almost comical vigour. “Yes!”

So! Cute! Shen Yuan wants to give him a hug!

He won’t, because he’s the dignified older friend.

Who reads bad online novels, but let’s not linger on that. “So, what do we do about her imagination? Because she cannot keep a secret to save her life, so I expect people will talk about it the next time we attend the same event.”

“…Does Shizun want… a girlfriend?”

What does that have to do with anything. “If I meet the right person, sure. Why?”

“Does it matter what they think? They never cared about Shizun to begin with. Who cares if they think he’s attracted to me. It doesn’t change a thing.”

Well, yes, but. “It makes me look pretty pathetic. It’s not exactly a fun reputation to have.”

“What does?”

“That I want someone and the best thing I can do about it is insulting them? It does make me look like a kindergartener.”

An unholy light appears in Luo Binghe’s eyes. “So what if that wasn’t the best thing you had done?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Shizun feels pathetic because he doesn’t like the idea that people think he wants someone and he doesn’t know how to get them, right? But what if he did?”

Shen Yuan is very confused right now. “Binghe?”

“We knew each other before that first party, right? So I let them know that. We could be bitter exes!”

Shen Yuan looks at him, completely frozen. “Binghe, no.” That is 100% a terrible idea.

“Why not? It would explain everything! Why we’re so mean to each other while I’m nice to everyone else, why you’re worst to me, and why there’s tension between us!”

There is no tension between them! They’re playing characters! “People would think you’re gay!”

“I’ve been flirting with women all the time. People would think I’m bi.”

“You’ve just told me you haven’t been dating! What if they think you’re hung up on me, who, by the way, is a man!”

“Is it that bad? I wouldn’t mind. Shizun is someone I would certainly be hung on if he had left me.”

“So I’m the one who left you now? That makes even less sense! Why would someone like me leave someone like you! Of course Binghe is the one who left!”

“If I were dating Shizun, I would never leave him! He has to be the one who left me!”

Shen Yuan rubs his temples. He knew the conversation wouldn’t be simple, but it has reached unprecedented levels of nonsense. “Let’s forget who left who. We’re not doing that. Binghe would ruin his reputation to only slightly better mine. That makes no sense.”

Luo Binghe pouts. “It would have worked. I would have made a very good ex-boyfriend.”

Shen Yuan pats his back again. “I’m sure you would have. I, on the other hand, would probably have been terrible at it.”

“Why?”

“How could I have pretended to not only have dated Binghe, but to have separated from him? No one would believe it. My talents aren’t up to the task. I can’t make myself look like a plausible boyfriend to Binghe.”

Luo Binghe sighs. “That’s stupid. Shizun might as well have been my boyfriend lately.”

Shen Yuan feels a headache coming. He can barely follow the logic of this conversation. “Binghe, I don’t understand.”

“Shen Yuan spends most of his evenings with me. I cook for him. He takes me out. We’ve been writing to each other for months. He’s been carefully curating my reading lists for most of those months. He has plenty of reasons why I would be dating him.”

Okay, let’s just ignore most of that. “Nothing you listed has anything to do with the character we play for those society functions? High society Shen Yuan probably only reads classic literature, when he’s not working his high-power job and, I don’t know, checking stocks or playing the guqin. Nothing appealing there. How would we have even met?”

“Via work? Maybe you had a meeting with some executive of my father. Considering my reputation, we probably just had sex and ended up dating later on.”

Shen Yuan tries to imagine being the kind of person who would see Luo Binghe and think he could just hit that.

Impossible. Does not compute. “Look, I’m just going to ignore it. It’s always worked before. We probably shouldn’t change it.”

“But things always staying the same is bad! They must evolve!”

Shen Yuan shrugs. “Not necessarily. My life has mostly remained the same since I’ve graduated, and it’s perfectly fine.”

Luo Binghe flinches like a kicked puppy. “Is my arrival so unimportant to Shizun?”

Fuck. “No! That’s not what I meant! I mostly meant my romantic life!” Not really, he meant his life his general, but it is quite insulting to Binghe to imply he had no impact on his life, not to mention just an outright lie.

“That, too, should change.”

“It sure won’t if everyone thinks I’m gay.”

Under Luo Binghe’s breath, barely audible to Shen Yuan, “It’s not exactly an impediment.” Then, louder. “Let’s tell them the truth, then.”

Shen Yuan instantly panics. “Binghe, they can’t know the truth, it’ll fuck everythin-“

And that’s when Luo Binghe’s tongue finds its way into Shen Yuan’s mouth.

Shen Yuan’s mind freezes completely.

Luo Binghe keeps on kissing him.

Shen Yuan’s mind keeps trying to reboot.

Luo Binghe pushes back and sighs. “Does Shizun understand now?”

Nope. “…We can’t be exes if we’re kissing?”

“Forget the exes. Let’s just tell them we’re having sex. That’ll be the true part. We’ll just tell them it’s hate sex. I’ll tell them you’re just that good and I can’t resist you. That way, you won’t be pathetic, right?”

Shen Yuan’s slowly rebooting mind cannot decide if the “reputation for being gay” part would outweigh the “reputation for having seduced Luo Binghe” part.

Wait. “We’re having sex?”

Luo Binghe falters. “If you want to? Because I want to. A lot. But we’re pretty much dating and Shen Yuan didn’t seem to realise, so I thought maybe he’s not attracted to me, but you keep acting like I’m the best thing that ever happened to you when really, the reverse is true, and can we date already? Please?”

Shen Yuan opens his mouth.

Shen Yuan closes his mouth.

Shen Yuan tries to understand that, apparently, Luo Binghe has been trying to date him? Him? Luo Binghe? And him? As a couple? That is a thing that is apparently on the table?

Wait, Shen Yuan actually is a person who could have looked and Luo Binghe and have hit that!?

Woah.

“I…”

Luo Binghe’s eyes grow even wider as he waits for Shen Yuan’s response.

As if Shen Yuan ever had the capacity to tell Binghe no.

As if he ever wanted to. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

A second later, he gets an armful of overenthusiastic Binghe trying to choke him with too much tongue.

“But we’re not playing bitter exes.” Shen Yuan really has no belief in his ability to pretend he left Luo Binghe.

That he had him and is devastated he doesn’t anymore, sure. But that he’d manage to be cruel to Luo Binghe about it? There’s no way.

“That’s fine. I like the one with the hate sex much better anyway.”

To be honest, so does Shen Yuan.

_________________

Shen Yuan positions himself in such a way that he can track Luo Binghe’s movements across the room without looking like he’s doing more than reading on his phone.

He can tell from Sha Hualing’s particularly vicious grin that she’s about to deliver what she considers to be a crippling blow to his reputation.

He thrills when the expression melts, replaced by horror as Luo Binghe’s face turn sheepish. He can almost hear his embarrassed tone as he admits to the moral failing that is sleeping with Shen Yuan, universal pariah.

He can distinctly hear the cries of dismay and what he knows are roars of utter jealousy.

None of it shows on his face, but Shen Yuan grins.

We identify as a median monoconscious system, but sometimes it feels like we’re closer to a singlet. Our plurality doesn’t really affect our life much. Like a lot of other aspects of our identity/identities (such as all of us being as and most of us being very Not Cis) I don’t think we even would have noticed it if we didn’t know it was a Thing That Could Happen.

We don’t really know our origin(s). Most of our memories are shared, so if whoever was fronting at the time didn’t notice someone forming, then no one remembers. We might have a headspace or individual memories, but if we do, we can’t access them when fronting, and the only time we can interact is when two or more of us are fronting at the same time.

The only person we definitely remember when they showed up is Wil. He formed from stress and then spent the rest of the night writing angsty poetry. (Which actually helped a lot; he’s the only one who really relates to it at all so it’s one of the few scraps we have to cling to that show us how separate we can be).

Other than that, we think some of us formed as a result of masking autism and adhd, as versions of us that could meet a neurotypical standard. Some of us formed as a way of compartmentalizating our ways of thinking— Sam does math, I explain things, Weaver tells stories, Crow processes new information. Some of us probably formed to protect ourselves from trauma, though we can’t remember enough from before then to know for sure.

A lot of us are probably accidental tulpas in some way, at least partially. We write a lot, and quite a few of us are a lot like some of the characters we’ve created, but it’s hard to know which came first. Our current theory is that it might be a sort of feedback loop. We create characters to represent parts of ourselves that are already there, and in doing so, they become more and more clearly defined.

Edwin was the first distinct part of ourselves we identified. After that we started spiraling for a bit trying to figure out who was who. Thinking back, it’s kind of amazing to see how far we’ve come.

We have a lot of trouble telling each other apart. I (the person dictating this) am Mina. Aspen’s writing it out for me. We are both different then Impulse. The best way I can think to describe it is like this:

Linguistically speaking, languages are separate when they are no longer mutually intelligible— when a speaker of one cannot understand the other without first deliberately learning it. There are a few ways this breaks down, the first being politics, but that’s not what I wanna discuss here. The other way this definition tends to break down is when language is on a continuum. If dialects a and b are mutually intelligible, and dialects b and c are mutually intelligible, and dialects c and d are mutually intelligible, but dialects a and d are not, then where do you draw the line?

I can’t always tell myself apart from Hawthorn or Tea. Hawthorn can’t tell themself apart from Kay, who can’t tell themself apart from Wil, who can’t tell himself apart from Edwin, who can’t tell himself apart from Aspen. But I know I’m not Edwin or Aspen or Kay.

We’ll figure it out eventually, I’m sure. It’s just frustrating, and it takes time. But we’ll get there. Talking to people, submitting to blogs like this, as ourselves, that helps more than anything else we’ve tried. It gives us time to think without giving us so much space that we spiral into a blurry mess.

We’ve still got a long ways to go, but we will get there.

-Camilla and Mina, with some help from Aspen and occasional commentary from other parts of Paluimbel

Thank you so much for sharing your experience. I really relate to a lot of this! As facets, we can be very blurry, and it is often difficult to know who is fronting. But some of us want to be more distinct, and we are similarly working on it :)

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER FIVE - my tears ricochet 

previous chapter | next chapter 

word count: 1.9k

warnings: talk of addiction/grief/mental health/loss of a parent & a lot of angst

summary: reader and spencer remember the fight that broke them in half.

“even on my worst day, did i deserve babe, all the hell you gave me?”

Y/N

It would be an understatement to say that she was having a bad week. 2 months after her father’s passing, the BAU was faced with a killer targeting fathers and daughters.

She promised them she was fine, and she tried to convince herself that she was fine too but she really wasn’t. She didn’t venture to the M.E’s office or the crime scenes, instead, she waited for families to arrive.

JJ was sitting beside her as mother’s, brother’s, and son’s filtered in and out of the small office in the station. She sat there and wrote down all they had to tell them, her grip on her pen made her hand cramp. Listening to mothers recall how close the fathers were with their daughters, how inseparable and connected they were, broke her.

Splashing cold water on her face in the bathroom, she looked in the mirror to find someone she didn’t recognise. Tear stains graced her skin, mascara lying underneath her eyes. She hadn’t truly processed how not-fine she was.

She told herself that she had mourned, the funeral had come and passed, the headstone had been placed and her childhood home packed up into millions of boxes. Just when she thought she was beginning to move forward with her life, grief came back again. That kind of grief that makes you numb, your senses dulled, and the world a lot more grey than it was that morning. Just when she thought she’d cried enough tears, there’s always more to be shed.

She wasn’t altogether too sure what she was crying for; her own father or for those children, knowing the last thing they saw and heard was their father crying out for them.

She kept looking at the girl she didn’t know. She looked so alone, so small. She’d lost weight, a little bit at least. She looked absolutely exhausted, lack of sleep apparent under her eyes. Her cheeks were hollowed out, she’d lost weight.

Every day she covered the pain she carried with a smile and her head held high. Some days the facade slipped. That was this day.

It was a constant battle, a thin line between sanity and losing it all. The tension between her and Spencer didn’t help.

They’d been arguing over small things. Things that you can’t really remember days later, but matter at the time. Somedays he looked at her like she would shatter into a million different pieces, other days it was completely blank.

The love she used to see had dimmed. Not gone, but the light she once saw was slowly losing its fire. The passion was no longer there too; he didn’t touch her as he used too. No squeezing her hand in the back of the jeep, no wrapping his arms around her while she made breakfast nor did he leave lingering kisses on her neck.

She had conditioned herself into numbness, blocking out any sense of feeling or emotion. The walls she had built around her were supposed to keep out any impending attacks, but there were cracks. Sometimes the walls would tumble down, sometimes they would hold steadfast and strong.

There was only so much she could take.

“we gather stones, never knowing what they’ll mean, some to throw, some to make a diamond ring.”

The stopping of the car woke her from her daydream. It was growing dark outside, a humid, clammy July night. Spencer didn’t speak a word to her as he closed the car door and walked towards his apartment building.

Steps behind him, she could see the tension in his shoulders.

He’d annoyed her.  He dismissed her theory about the unsub possibly being a son who felt overlooked by his father (she came to be right) with such animosity the whole team was left stumped by the coldness he’d regarded her with.

She tried to chalk it up to him having a bad day, giving him the benefit of the doubt, but then he treated similarly the next day and the day after that.

He was her home and she felt locked out in a thunderstorm, rain pouring down on her. She didn’t know what to do. So, she did the only thing she could think of.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She asked quietly as he put on a pot of tea.

He sighed in response.

“Spencer?” She moved towards him.

He exploded, “Just stop. Please, just fucking stop.”

“Spencer I-“

“What? Are you going to tell me ‘I told you so’ or tell me how much I messed up, huh? ‘Cause I already got that from Hotch, and I certainly don’t need it from you.”

“Excuse me? Why in the world would I ever do that? Is that what you think of me?”

Silence fell between them.

“Just drop it.” He looked completely dejected.

“You know what? I’m not going to just ‘drop it’. You’ve been acting like a complete stranger and I’m sick and tired of coming home to someone that won’t talk to me. I thought we could tell each other anything, Spence.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

It was quiet, but she heard it.

“What?”

Silence.

“You’re kidding me, Spencer. I cannot believe you.” she scoffed.

“It’s not like you tell me anything nor do I think you care about what I have to tell you.”

She had, for so long, felt as though she was living in a glass house - watching everyone from behind a thin sheet of glass. Caged in and lonely, she had nowhere to go. He threw the stones that broke her defences, shattered them to tiny pieces.

His words sliced through her. She stood there for a moment, silent and dejected.

“I don’t tell you anything? I don’t care about you?” Her voice was quiet.

He didn’t reply.

“I have been trying to tell you for weeks now, how much I love you, how I will always be here for you,” She continued, “I’ve been trying to tell you to talk to me, yet you never seem to want to. I’ve tried to tell you that I needed you.”

“Needed?”

“What?”

“You used the past tense. You don’t anymore.” He said matter-of-factly.

She laughed sourly, “That's all you took from that?”

Once again, she was met with silence.

“Do you really have nothing to say to me? Nothing at all that could possibly explain to me what the hell is going on with you? Because for the life of me, Spencer, I cannot figure it out.”

“you turned into your worst fears and tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years.”

SPENCER

The morning of the case, he’d gotten a call to say that his mother’s health was deteriorating. She wasn’t taking her medication and was refusing help.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not even Hotch.

If there was anyone he wanted to tell it was Gideon. And Gideon was gone.

He knew that it was strange that for someone who could never stop talking at times, he couldn’t find the words to even begin to describe how he was feeling.

Alone. Scared. Angry. Suffocated. Numb. Overwhelmed.

Everything he knew was crumbling around him; his relationship with Y/N, his mother’s health, and himself. He was constantly feeling as though he hadn’t accomplished any of the things that he and others expected him to do.

He felt like a disappointment and it crushed him. He didn’t understand how he was surrounded by such loving, caring people. He couldn’t even reciprocate their love properly.

He thought about taking Dilaudid again. Not that he would ever tell anyone that.

Addiction followed him like a dark cloud. He’d been to support group meetings whenever he could but that didn’t stop the urge to want to disappear again, feel something for once. He just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He constantly felt like he was falling and falling with no end in sight. Dilaudid gave him the release he couldn’t find in real life.

He’d feel the urge then he’d look up, he’d see her and that feeling disappeared.

So, he took his frustrations out on her.

It was wrong and he knew it but he felt like she didn’t notice him anymore. Like she didn’t see that he was drowning, that he was so far removed from everyone.

What he didn’t take into account was that she was too.

He didn’t have anything to say when she asked him to explain, he truly didn’t. Nothing he could’ve said could have justified or properly explained how he was feeling and how he was acting. Anything he could have said would have made her feel guilty like it was her fault. And it wasn’t. He knew that now as she stood before him, hot tears ran down her cheeks.

He realised he couldn’t blame her for anything. He couldn’t even blame himself.

He swallowed harshly, he could see in her eyes the pain his words caused. But he was engulfed in flames, a fire he couldn’t put out.

“Well?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“God, I just want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

‘So much’, he thought, ‘and none of it’s your fault I promise, my love.’

“Spencer, I’m done fighting.”

He was losing her. His worst fear was coming true and he was frozen. Completely immobile. He didn’t know what to do. He’s panicking so he reaches for the only thing he can.

“Can we just talk about this some other time?”

She laughs. It’s bitter.

“Some other time? When will that be Spencer? Cause, frankly, I’m sick and tired of waiting.”

“Just some other time. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Can’t deal with what?”

He loaded his gun and he fired.

“You.”

Now she was silent. The sound of both their hearts breaking filled the room. It killed him to push her away and it killed her to hear it from him.

The room grew cold. Both of them stood in their trenches, no man’s land in between them. He took the first step. She immediately retreated.

“Y/N I-“ He stopped as he met her eyes, emotionless and dead.

“Save it, Spencer,” she mumbled, tears rolled down her cheeks.

He wanted nothing more than to reach out and swipe them away, scoop her up in his arms and hold her tightly.  He spent every day fearing that he would lose her and here he was, it wasn’t like anything he’d seen in his nightmares - no crazed killer. Instead, he was the one that pushed her away. Realisation flooded his body as he saw her pull her arms around her body; she only did that when she was overwhelmed.

“Please, my love, I didn’t mean-“

“You’ve done enough.” The calmness in her voice sent a chill down his spine.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door slam. Then he let his guard down, floored by the sobs that racked his body.

He knew he had messed up but he didn’t know where else to go. He felt caged in, trapped in his own maze.

His vision of their future was destroyed the second his apartment door slammed. His plans to make sure there was a diamond ring on her finger by the end of the year were demolished, the visions of little Y/N’s and Spencer’s faded into nothingness.

He had ruined everything and he didn’t know how to fix it

------

taglist: @itsfangirlmendes​ @rexorangecouny​

@onehithero said: also we know theres at least some actual animals besides gadoll liek the scorpion n cows tht show up for a sec in ep 1 so tankers hav tht going for them re: food sources ..SORRY FOR RAMBLING SO MUCH deca dence essay got sleeper agent activated

onehithero said: i rly like what usaid abt kabu from natsumes pov too but i cannot form a half cohernet thought abt tht one

onehithero said: ALSO ALSO i think its interesting how the ep 8 conversation w minato is i think the only time kabu talks abt being jealous of humans being able to choose their own paths

onehithero said: also how minatos convinced hes like a good lil cog in the machine yet hes done 50 things tht wuld get him labeled as a bug but he just ignores all tht. the both of them can be so disconnected w reality

onehithero said: like minato didnt know abt 1)natsume 2) how the system has made kabu so severely depressed n he culdnt put up w it anymore.n minato continues pushing the just go along w the system shit he doesnt understand tht he was contributing to kabus misery.. n bc of tht kabu doesnt trust minato enough to tell him abt natsume for so long but then he goes n asks smth so big of him as go against the system

onehithero said: thinks abt how kabu n minato r obviously so important to each other but minato understands him less n less over time & kabu kinda already knew its risky to confide in minato like minato did know abt pipe which was a long time ago but he didnt know abt natsume til kabu was already sacrifing himself for her sake. n yet kabu then goes n tries to get him on his side anyway cuz he wants tht so badly..

onehithero said: OMG OMG CHEWS THESE WORDS SLOWLY N THROUGHLY SO DELICIOUS THANK U THANK U u get it u understand i love reading n writing essay lengh responses abt deca dence & again u just hit the nail on the head w this

Please let me know if this @ u 8 times and sorry if it did.  I will reply under this readmore but i love this enthusiasm! I like discussing this stuff so if u want keep it coming. I wanna understand deca dence better and i think i will by sharing ideas w other ppl. 

I think kabu and minatos relationship  is as good as it is because theres clearly a lot of mutual love and respect between them even when they don’t understand each other and thats why minato still runs after him when he hears kabu going suicide mission lets go baby. I think its interesting that minato was like ready to lie down and accept getting mass scrapped until he hears kabu go im about to be hilarious and hes like actually living and staying alive sounds great actually forget what i said about it being over.   you are so right about kabu and trust and natsume. I will always cherish episode 5 where kabu gives this big rousing speech about how natsume inspired him and saved his life and minatos there like ..who? ..what?? I think they may not be used to hiding things from each other. Also I think them drifting apart mirrors natsume and feis drifting apart tho I think while feis the instigator on that side kabus more on his side and minato like natsume is like wondering what in da world is going on. I think someone else wrote about this better than I can.

I do think minato does know kabus severely depressed because theres this line in ep 4 where he puts his hand on kabu and says like you’ve toiled enough at that awful job. and also in episode 11 when he and kabu talk and kabu says he was in a similar place as minato now in that he was waiting every day to be scrapped minato has no reaction until kabu says but that bug saved me. I think he knows kabus very depressed but he does not know how to address it cuz the system never gives either of them the tools or options for it. Though also I feel the system discourages meaningful relationships between the cyborgs so I think what minato and kabu have is likely pretty rare. Kabu donetello and turkey also fought together for a long time but turkey turns on donetello in a second even tho they fought together, he was his number two, and they were in prison together, and were pretty much all they got and donetello kills him in turn. I also think minato probably knew because he’s empathetic. Like I’m not sure about compassion but he’s very good at understanding where other ppl are and how to meet them in the middle so both parties get something they want. That’s how he got all the gamers to collect the old deca dence parts. Not by cashing in on ppl doing the right thing but by framing it as the final mission. He gets his lgbt community center coworkers for fight with him one last time by appealing to their sense of duty. He got the system to put kabu in jail instead of getting scrapped when Mikey got scrapped for a lesser offense. The list goes on. A tangent but I think the fact he acknowledges the living conditions of the humans are gonna get worse if nothing’s done even tho he’s apathetic at best towards them shows even when the system tries to mold the cyborgs into the roles it wants, sometimes the traits they have just keep on going despite themselves. I’m gonna stop myself before I go into jill and this theme but I’m gonna talk about it someday. So I think its more likely than not he knew but he didn’t know how to navigate around it also because it’s heavily implied he’s going thru the same thing and I think kabu might genuinely have no idea Bc kabu lacks empathy but his heart... is huge. When he hears minato express his feelings of not knowing what he wants he instantly tries to reach out and explain minatos not alone in what he feels. This is why they’re good foils. while kabu moves past where he was in the start where he states he does not intend to oppose the system and his compliance while also trying to do the bare minimum drives him to suicide, and finds the willpower and a reason to live and rebel against the system through his connection to other people (first natsume , he hangs out w kurenai sometimes too, and then with the jail robots). Meanwhile minato whos stuck in his literal ivory tower (it’s a Metaphor) never makes any of these connections. It’s the irony of kabu working at a armor repair job giving him some ability to connect w others vs minatos higher position isolating him from everyone else. I think kabu living amongst the ppl he harmed drove him to give up on life quicker, while minato being far apart shielded him from rlly having to see the effects of his actions I think he was headed a lil slower in the same direction. I think we’re led to believe minatos okay where he is but I think towards the end it’s clear minato has spent most of the series also in a bad place. I think he views things very similarly to kabu in that he wants to use what power he does have to protect the ppl he cares about similar to how initially kabu tried to just convince natsume to quit several times and he was like whatever at the rest of the humans who are natsumes comrades dying but he chooses to put it all on the line and try for some systemic change when he sees natsumes determination to fight. Also I think minato holds very little loyalty to the system cuz he doesn’t only like breaks 1000 rules for kabu (the hypocrisy) but he also looks the other way a lot. For example, when he overheard the top rankers talk about limiters he’s like I’ll pretend I don’t hear it also turn on private mode next time and he doesn’t berate them for considering cheating. Also donetello has been using an illegal avatar to climb to S rank again (isn’t it interesting that even after the ranked system is abolished something similar took its place). And his avatar looks the same as it did when minato worked with the guy. There’s probably like not that many ppl in s rank. And he calls himself donetello. Minato knows he’s supposed to be in jail but does he tell anyone? He’s like well.. that looks like someone else’s problem if they notice *goes and vapes* it’s so funny how little minato cares but it’s also not funny Bc some of minatos cruelest actions and things he’s complicit in are born not outta malice but apathy to everything. I think it shows (tangent number 4?) how the systems use of excessive force is counter productive cuz neither minato nor kabu are willing to report anything to disrupt the order Bc neither of them think the level of punishment is warranted. I also think that minato is probably the first person kabu really opens up to about why on a personal level he feels the system needs to be destroyed after Ep 7 is really interesting. It really speaks to how deep their [mutual and not platonic relationship I don’t know how to label ] is. I also think that he admits to minato that he envies human is rlly interesting and would like to hear what u have to think! I think it’s interesting that what really sets minato off is kabu saying he wants to choose for himself and also wants other cyborgs to have that freedom and I think it’s one of the few times we see minato get genuinely angry and have it not stem from worry. Tangent 5 I’m really extrapolating here but I think it’s very likely given how high up minato is that he likely knows of several cyborgs that rebelled against the system for similar reasons as kabu and knows how it ends and I think it probably feeds into his defeatist attitude. I think his role in the system must really kill whatever grasp of whatever minato has cuz he constantly has to act like it’s almost the end of the world and he’s strapped for resources all the time for like decades and decades of having to fake that type of desperation to entertain ur player base and cuz ur also on tv to entertain the general populace to distract them from their soul sucking jobs. I think that’s gotta mess with his perception of himself and also his ability to see that struggle as real and genuine. I think that’s also gotta be hard cuz he seems like out of his whole fuck we r under attack persona he seems like he’s a lil closed off but generally chill and somewhat upbeat to ppl who know him and he just wants to be isabella from animal crossing. I got really off track here. I think what really gets me is their relationship is built on knowing each other so well and so long , and how it’s managed to survive and persist through all this tragedy. They really mutually respect and love each other and that’s why kabu let’s minato walk away from his revolution even tho it compromises everything he works for. It’s why minato ultimently accepts kabus willingness to die for a tanker even tho he really doesn’t get it at all and it means it’s goodbye forever. But it’s still not enough to save either of them. Minato can’t save kabu from trying to passively starving himself to death and I’m not sure if kabu even knows where minato is at mentally. Sometimes no matter how close u are to someone there r things u miss and things u can’t help each other with. Even tho the two resolve to fight and then die together cuz this seems like the best choice Bc the system they were born into offers no alternatives, the deca dence doesn’t even activate without the help of other ppl. I think it shows one relationship cant support all that weight. In the end it is through their bonds with other ppl that gets them to an ending where they both survive when they decided alone their only option is death. Also u are so right about the other animals existing I totally forgot ty I cannot believe I forgot about the scorpion which calls to natsumes hairstyle which is a visual gag on how natsumes a bug and how like a scorpion, although unassuming, and fucking kill u, just like how her trying to get her boss to open up eventually leads to the whole thing toppling down. I also have a lot of thoughts about natsume but I’m still thinking of them and thinking hard Bc sometimes she becomes kabus inspiration Pinterest board and I don’t like that. When she shines she really shines but it starts getting sloppy towards the end so I have to think a lil longer about it. Okay I’m done. Also it’s kinda hard for me to look like I’m agreeing to ur points and nodding in this format but I really appreciate ur thoughts and will try to convey this. Maybe by formatting as a response to each of ur replies next time

The Saga Begins (And She Doesn’t Stop)

Chapters: 44/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Is Really Starting To Lean Into Those Fantasies, You Really Want To Attend An Avengers Party, No Ulterior Motives, None at all, Phil 2 Will Not Start Singing Anytime Soon I Promise,  Summary:   You gain a new teacher, Loki gains a new anxiety.

Loki held your hand in one of his, the other on the small of your back, steadying you as you walked slowly across the room. Standing no longer made you as dizzy, but if you moved to fast, your head still spun, and Loki was not willing to let you fall again.

He hadn't really wanted to allow you out of your chair yet, but you had heard that Thor was throwing a bash for his friends, and there was no way you were being consigned to your room, or stuck in a chair, while there was an entire Avengers party going on.

You definitely didn't want any of them seeing you like this. You still checked in once a week, and each one you talked to-Captain America, Falcon, a young lady with an accent you couldn't place and who didn't bother to introduce herself, even Doctor Banner once-they all held your situation in negative regard. There were plenty of questions about your treatment and your captor. Nobody had a gentle word for Loki. The kindest had been Banner who had told you Loki was a 'bag of cats', but had bid you luck in 'finding the kitten'.

You couldn't let them know an Asgardian had injured you. Who knew how they might take it?

So you walked until you simply couldn't anymore, and Loki had led you back to your chair, showering you with gentle praises for your strength and perseverance.

Today he had magicked you into more modest clothing, the kind you had started considering 'normal'. A deep, blue-green dress, hemmed with ribbon woven with black and yellow chevrons. Tan apron overdress, embroidered with horned snakes and the phases of the moon. Warm, soft felt trousers underneath, comfortable padded slippers. The domed brooches on your shoulder straps were fancy today, with curling dragon patterns, and strings of gold and pearl beads to hang your little trinkets from.

You'd found out from Saldis during one of your baths, that the clothes you wore were Asgardian versions of attire once found on Earth. The clothiers who worked in the palace had only very old book illustrations to go off of, and did not know that humans didn't wear these things anymore; Asgardian fashion moved and changed far slower than Earth fashion did. They'd been trying to make you clothes that would help you feel comfortable, as a guest of the king.

That was actually pretty thoughtful of them, you thought. And you'd told Saldis that the humans out in the believer's camp wore dresses like this, or at least some of them did. It was a process known as reconstruction, where modern humans tried to bring parts of the ways of humans from generations past into their own lives. Some did it in little ways, like learning an ancient language, and reading texts those people left behind, if any. Some did it in big ways, like trying to live entirely like they did. Others participated in reenactment, where they lived, dressed, and acted as people from times past, but only for a little while every week or month, then went back to their regular jobs and homes.

“So it's not all that unusual for me to wear clothes like that, I guess, since the last humans who interacted with Asgardians in any numbers were all wearing them. And the people out in the camp are probably trying to get in touch with the thoughts and feelings of those people.”

“Can you tell me about them?” Saldis had asked you. “I never get close enough to the gates to see them, and obviously, they aren't allowed in.”

“Well, I was only out there for a short time, but they aren't all that different from me.” You said. “They come from different countries, and they feel a connection to the Aesir. Some of them worship them, some of them came to study, I'm pretty sure. Some probably came just to be a part of all this.”

“All this?”

You gestured around you. “A whole new alien species, now permanently residing on Earth. We're a really isolated species, you know? We didn't know for sure there were other people out there until, like seven years ago. And we haven't shared the planet with another intelligent species for tens of thousands of years at least, and that was just another species of human.”

“There were more than one kind of human?” Saldis exclaimed excitedly, prompting you to explain the human family tree to the best of your ability. She left vowing to find more books on the subject.

When you had been dressed and finished with your exercises, Loki wheeled you out into the palace complex, Andsvarr following close behind.

“Since we cannot practice magic or self-defense today, I will be leaving you in the library with a new teacher.” He informed you. “She has a 'Seidkona Express' curriculum laid out for you, or so she tells me.”

Once in the library, he took you to a smaller room that held even more library. The books here looked especially old and important. Some were made of metal, their covers crusted in gems and pearls, some were scrolls inside climate controlled cases, and some were no more than clay or stone tablets. There were even a few staves of weathered wood, carved all over with foreign symbols.

Obviously, you would be keeping your hands and feet inside your ride the whole time. There was no way you were allowed to touch anything in here. Some of these things might be older than the entire human race.

What a thing to realize: that there might have been some people writing epics, even before yours had figured out how to bash two rocks together.

There were a handful of ladies in the Special Library, all beautiful, dressed and coiffed very similarly to the unfinished murals of the Queen. They were all very friendly with Loki, and somewhat less reverent than most of the other palace workers.

You couldn't help but to side-eye him a little. Loki didn't seem like a philanderer, but that didn't mean that he had no history, and it definitely didn't mean that he didn't get around at least a little.

To think that one of these ladies-or more!-could be a former flame...or even potentially a current one...It made you feel strangely bitter. You held it back from showing though, after all, it wasn't like it was any of these ladies' fault that you'd gotten spoiled by being the sole recipient of all of his attention for all these months.

At least, you thought you were. But there were times when the two of you were apart, and who knew what he was up to then?

It was none of your business.

“Oh, you've finally brought her!” One of them exclaimed in perfect American English, startling you. She didn't even speak with the vague accent Loki and the King used when speaking; it was like hearing one of your old neighbors. She even had the very slight Midwestern drawl you were used to.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, dear! Loki has kept you away for way too long, especially for a new Seidkona trainee! My, it's been ages since we had one. My name is Saga, and I am going to be teaching you about the history of Asgardian law for the next little while.”

“Saga is an Aesir.” Loki explained. “All of them are, actually. These ladies all used to be my mother's handmaidens, and are an elite force of stored knowledge. They will be able to teach you all of the things-”

“-That he hasn't got the patience for.” Saga finished. Loki pursed his lips in slight annoyance.

“She also will not hesitate to sass anyone who crosses her path.”

“I like her already.” You proclaimed.

“Of course you do.” He grumbled, but patted you softly on the shoulder before leaving you there.

“Now,” Saga began. “I have several translated manuscripts of law declarations made by our kings. Let's read and discuss the history and reasons behind them, starting with Allfather Buri's Declaration of Sovereignty Over Nornheim...”

                                                                                                                                                 *****

Loki arranged foodstuffs on a platter: dark bread, a pot of jam, cold sliced lamb, and a cup of skyr. You would be in lessons for several hours at least and, knowing Saga, potentially quite a bit longer than that. You would need something to eat, and it would be a good excuse to check in on you.

And to make sure Saga was teaching you to be as subversive as a good Seidkona should be.

Buridag would be coming soon enough, and he could not wait to pin the cloak of office to your shoulders. A powerful message would be sent that day, many centuries of tradition would be broken. But it needed to happen, and if something needed to be broken, he was the ideal candidate. Things would change, even if he had to shove them through with a battering ram.

And you, so important, so central to it all...and he didn't think you really understood how vital you were. You still had a shy streak, a deep down belief in the bedrock of your being that you were somehow not worthy of what was happening to you...Well. Loki understood that feeling implicitly, but he did not know how to alleviate it in you. Loki had been through every possible stage of life and death, but relating to the feelings of others was still sometimes difficult for him.

He felt as though he could not court you properly, though, until you had removed that self doubt, and accepted your worth. If there was anything he could do to help, he would, without hesitation.

He also felt that it was becoming important for him to get to the bottom of the strange, quasi-real dreams you were sharing. It seemed to him that they were becoming more frequent. It seemed also, that something that should be within his grasp was being purposefully kept out of it, which was frustrating. There were many clues before him, and he either was not seeing them, or he was not connecting them.

He knew he was close, dancing right on the edge, which frustrated him all the more.

“My prince.” An errand runner approached him, breaking his train of thought. “There is a Midgardian man at the north gate who says he has come from Reykjavik. He says he is with Íslandspóstur, and that he has a package for your Seidkona. Well, he did not call her that, but that is who he meant, my prince.”

“Is that so?” Loki asked suspiciously. “She is not available. I shall see to it. Andsvarr, please take this tray to the library. I shall be away for a short time.”

He dismissed the errand runner and stalked through the half finished streets all the way to the north gate. The person waiting there was certainly dressed as a postman, in his red and black, although that was not a difficult uniform to procure. He waited anxiously, being heckled by a group of nearby protesters. When he noticed that it was Loki coming to greet him, his anxiety seemed to skyrocket; he couldn't wait to be rid of the package-a large, light, very taped up box, signed by Tara Miller, your irritating friend.

Loki took the package and let the postman escape with haste. They would have checked it for dangerous things, such as explosives or venomous animals, but he was going to check it again, in the safety of his chambers.

He took a different route back, stumbling across a road crew whose work had ground to a halt.

“Is there a problem here?” He asked, as the supervisor rushed up to him with relief washing over his face.

“Your Highness! Perhaps you can put to rest a disagreement we are having, if it does not waste too much of your time.”

“There is little of more importance to a city than it's roads.” Loki said. “Tell me of your problem.”

“It's this bloody great stone.” The supervisor pointed to a large boulder, jutting out of the dirt. “Those Midgardian fellows are very odd about their rocks and hills; they refuse to muck about with them, and they don't even break them or build over them. They advise us not to either, but this one is right in the middle of the road.

Now, I know we're not Midgardian,” He continued. “But I want to stay on their good side, since they're trying to help us out. So we're having a bit of a debate as to whether we should just smash the thing and incorporate the rubble into the road, and leave the Midgardians none the wiser, or if we should respect their superstitions and try to move the thing whole, out of the city, or into some courtyard somewhere.”

“I see. I suppose there is nothing wrong with not wanting to offend our allies. If you can move it, do so.”

“Thank you your Highness.” The supervisor said, turning back to his crew. “You heard him! No more debating now, we dig it out and move it!”

The workers approached the stone with shovels and levers, Loki leaving them to their job. Funny, the things that seemed to require a Royal Opinion.

Far down the road, almost out of earshot, Loki heard the crack of breaking stone, and rolled his eyes. At least they had tried.

                                                                        *****

Loki set the large box down on the sheepskin rug, in front of the fireplace. Knife in hand, ready to throw the entire thing into the flames if he had to, he slit the heavy wrapping of tape, and peered inside.

Loki was not inclined to feel guilt over going through someone's mail, especially not where your safety was concerned. Just because it was signed by your friend, did not mean that it really came from her.

There was a bright green, stuffed...creature, that did not resemble any earthly creature he knew of, which he checked for hidden dangers. It proved to be free of needles or poisons, or secret compartments, so he set it on the 'safe' side. There were several packets of snacks, which he set on the 'unsafe' side, to be sent to Bjarkhild for checking. There were several books, which he checked for hidden razors or pins, and of course, more poison. A tiny USB labeled “Music”. A knitted throw blanket. A few of what must have been your favorite articles of clothing and jewelry, all of it ratty and cheap.

Within another box was a very carefully wrapped leaf, large and variegated, its thick stem enclosed withing a vial of water. New roots were already growing. It was labeled “Phil 2: Electric Boogaloo”, a reference he did not understand, though he did remember you speaking of a cherished houseplant you had named Phil. This must be its offspring, a way to circumvent the extreme difficulty of shipping an entire live plant of the size you had indicated.

Beneath it all was a collection of papers, mostly keepsakes from the places you had visited with Tara, as well as a diploma from some place known as a 'High School'. Odd. You had told him that you had not been able to receive higher education, yet here was proof that you had not just attended, but graduated from a High School. Maybe there was a school that was even higher than that. A Greater or Grand School, perhaps.

Beneath that, were the calendars. THE Calendars. Tara had sent you all three, including the newest one. Loki hadn't even known it was available yet. There were still months to go before the Midgardian year ended.

Ugh. The calendars. How humiliating. He flipped the new one open, finding his picture on the month of November. How they had joked and teased each other, so friendly even though they were debasing themselves for money.

They had wanted him to put oil on his skin! He'd refused of course. If they wanted to glisten like sweaty, filthy, slime farmers, that was their prerogative; if he absolutely had to show skin like a trollop, then he wasn't going to do it like a common one.

They had eventually relented...then they had stuffed him into prisoner's clothes, opened them to the waist, tousled his hair, and handcuffed him to the prison bars! Everyone had had something scathing to say, some sly, insulting jest at his expense, their jeers bouncing off the walls.

After the photographers had gotten their shot, he'd snapped the cuffs with barely any effort, and had to be persuaded by his brother not to wreck the place.

He doubted he would be invited back for next year. He doubted he would want to go. But just imagine if there was a demand for it? A clamoring for pictures of Loki, outstripping even the desire for photos of the Noble Captain? The Playboy Philanthropist? Even his illustrious brother?

Did human women in fact, like a 'bad boy'?

Probably not.

Did you?

Definitely not, given the scoldings you had rained down on him.

But maybe...maybe if you came across him, in this particular situation; chained, unbuttoned, ostensibly helpless...what would you do? Would you help him out? Or would you 'help him out'?

He picked up one of the older calendars, idly flipping through as he floated on the thought of your sweet hands on his skin, right up until he noticed that for the months where Captain America was the feature, you had marked out all the days with hearts instead of crosses.

His heart sank in his chest, the reverie entirely broken.

Mao Dao Zu Shi’s Monster

Call it war, call it threat You can bet they all will follow For in times like this, they'll do just as I say

We don’t like what we don’t understand; in fact it scares us...

“Mob Song,” Beauty and the Beast

I finally finished watching Mao Dao Zu Shi, and I read as much as is translated right now and know the gist of what happens but someone please lend me those last three chapters sob sob sob. This meta will have spoilers from the novel, apologies. I thought about making two versions but that seemed a bit too much, and the entire story is so perfectly structured thematically that I just had to talk about all of it. As a warning, this meta will discuss the canon-depicted homophobia a bit. And sorry but I ramble a bit here :(

In my review of the anime, I said this:

For a series that starts off with our heroes fighting ghouls and quickly includes battles with zombies, tortoise dinosaurs, etc., it soon becomes apparent that the real monsters the characters are fighting aren’t the dead nor are they the unknown like the tortoise. They’re the characters themselves. Mao Dao Zu Shi offers a pretty resounding rebuke of society and its tendency to drive people to monstrous deeds, and does this in a number of fascinating ways. The characters’ flaws are almost always two-sided coins in that their flaws are also their strengths, but with the right (or really, wrong) circumstances, they can destroy the best parts of them and turn them into monsters. 

And hooray, these ideas continue to be explored in the novel, and as the story approaches its climax, it becomes pretty blunt as well. Jin Ling’s arc kind of encapsulates all of these ideas, as in the end he’s left realizing he cannot hate any of the people he spent years blaming for his parents’ deaths, and realizes that that doesn’t mean it’s his fault. The series doesn’t point to him and say “look how wrong you were!” but rather “it’s hard, isn’t it?” Because Jin Ling’s hatred was not created in a vacuum; instead, it stems from the messages society gives him: its tendency to label people as villains, its messages of toxic masculinity and homophobia, all of which are constrained in an overall lack of empathy.

Jin Ling’s realization includes the overall basic themes that shit happens in life that you don’t deserve, because the world is messed up, and people who do things that hurt you have also had things done to them that they didn’t deserve, and had no choice in. It picks apart the circumstances--be they birth, parents, culture, pressure, trauma--that go into driving people to make the choices that they make, whether they justify these choices to themselves or whether they don’t even try. And by doing so, as a story, Mao Dao Zu Shi encourages empathy as a way to move forward, to redeem yourself, to forgive or to at the very least take a step. I mean, empathy is literally the name of a technique that saves them all in Yi City.

Wei WuXian, our villainous main character in need of redemption, has his tragic fall depicted in the first season of the anime. As a child Wei WuXian grew up on the streets, and even after being taken in by Jiang FengMian and his family (thanks to Jiang FengMian being, it is implied, in love with Wei WuXian’s mother), he simply doesn’t fit into society after having been left to tumble through the streets like trash for a year. He’s constantly thinking outside the box, and he channels his pain into extreme cheeriness, but it’s all a mask. He doesn’t behave, doesn’t listen to rules, speaks out when he should keep his mouth shut. Sometimes this is good, because the rules are arbitrary; sometimes, it’s really bad, because the rules are designed to protect.

This nuanced dichotomy is explored really well in his relationship with Lan WangJi, in that the 3000 rules of the Cloud Recesses are pretty restrictive, and Lan WangJi needed to break out of his legalistic life. However, when he turns to the dark arts and takes revenge on Wen Chao (the Wens represent the privileged in society--at first, that is), Lan WangJi is horrified by the very traits of freedom and not caring about society’s rules that helped him fall in love with him, because he can see that Wei WuXian is walking a very dangerous path (and a cruel one in that particular moment as well). His invitation to come back to the Cloud Recesses with him was meant to help Wei WuXian, but why would he trust society in that moment?

Society told the Wens it was fine to destroy his entire clan and family, hurt his brother, and so he went outside of it to find revenge and to stop the Wens. He’s told that because he broke the rules and insulted the Wens, he brought about the destruction of his family (hence, it’s his problem to fix). He’d only come to expect punishment and condemnation from the Lan clan, and Lan WangJi’s inability to be honest about his feelings no doubt led to his mistrust, as he bluntly tells Lan WangJi he won’t let him punish him anymore.

Lan Wangji, in contrast to Wei WuXian, Wen Chao, and Jiang Cheng, has to repress himself. His sect encourages stoicism and while that leads him to good choices in some ways, his inability to express his feelings to Wei WuXian before it’s too late leads to disaster. Wei WuXian truly didn’t believe he cared at all for him, because Lan WangJi had to keep it to himself. But when Wei WuXian returns, he goes against society for his sake. As Wei WuXian notes:

But what he hadn’t expected was that when everyone feared him and flattered him, Lan WangJi scolded him right in his face; when everyone spurned him and loathed him, Lan WangJi stood by his side.

The beautiful thing about their love in addition to all the ways they care about each other and encourage each other to grow is that it also works perfectly thematically: it contradicts societal expectations by being between two men, and no matter their status in society, it encourages/challenges WangJi to stand against it, instead of going along with his society like he has in every other aspect of his life. His brother, after all, tells Wei WuXian that WangJi’s “only mistake was you.”

Society then fears and flatters Wei WuXian, until he loses control, and then they despise him, because society always needs a villain. What they hate isn’t so much what Wei WuXian did, but the idea of him. They hate him and attribute things he never did to his name (though he did quite a lot), simply because society is like that, without stopping to consider the nuance or hypocrisy of what they need.

And Lan WangJi is continually challenged to go against society for the person he loves. The scenes at the Demon Cave exemplify this, where a mob of people show up demanding Wei WuXian’s blood even though he just saved all of their children, and Lan WangJi refuses to back down, and in the end Wei WuXian winds up saving all of their lives. But society doesn’t think, doesn’t empathize, doesn’t consider what the prices actually are. They go along with a crowd to feel like they belong, a mob mentality, really (which is a psychological phenomenon):

Society’s desire for a villain and lack of critical thinking is exemplified in the Wens. The Wens are respected among the sects at first, feared even. Wen Chao in particular exemplifies toxic masculinity as well. He abuses his powers, sexually with harassing MianMian, and in other ways as well, in that he uses the lives of other sects’ cultivators as shields, as he’s called out for, when they go into the turtle’s cave. The cave is rather a metaphor for the entire story: the Wens drag everyone into the cave under the illusion of using them as victims/shields to protect their power, but the Wens lose their power when JiaoJiao (a poor mistress, showing how society is arbitrary and can’t stick to its own rules because people are more than robots) demands they sacrifice MianMian (MianMian)) to lure out an ancient monster (lies in society). Lan WangJi stands up to them to protect her, Wei WuXian saves her from being scarred, and then it’s Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian who work together to kill the monster (their love as the thematic core of dismantling society).

But after Wen Chao’s story doesn’t end there. After he exacts his revenge on Wei WuXian, Wei WuXian destroys him in a cruel way leading to society thinking it’s okay to punish all Wens. Lan Wangji expresses discomfort with the way in which Wen Chao is tortured, but Jiang Cheng insists he deserves it. However, when all Wens are pretty much considered pariahs, Wei WuXian, who has not let go of all his empathy despite the dark path he’s walking, stands up to Jiang Cheng for their sake. He understands that people like Wen Ning and Wen Qing are not bound by their blood, and that they are good people. But society doesn’t care. Their names are enough.

The thing about Jiang Cheng is that as much as he professes to despise Wei WuXian... he’s not any different. He claims to be unable to forgive Wei WuXian for the deaths of his parents (not Wei WuXian’s fault) and the death of their sister (okay that one’s his fault), but doesn’t really pay attention to the feelings of those around him, resulting in him becoming more or less a tool for society. His sister sacrificed herself, pushing Wei WuXian out of the way, for the very person he hates, and despite the supposed nature of his grudge, he isn’t very nice to her only child, his nephew Jin Ling. The boy actually runs away from him several times--essentially, Jiang Cheng acts similarly to the father whose issues are at the root of Jiang Cheng’s issues: like he just doesn’t like him, when really, Jiang Cheng loves Jin Ling and he loves Wei WuXian.

Because what’s at the root of Jiang Cheng’s issues is that he has a massive inferiority complex. He embodies toxic masculinity, believing he has to do everything himself, refusing to accept help, refusing to accept responsibility because he doesn’t want to be weak, all because he wants to prove himself to a long-dead father. He wants to prove himself to society, and so goes to extreme lengths to exterminate any trace of Wei WuXian, capturing and torturing the ones he believes might house Wei WuXian’s soul. It’s all about appearances of strength and righteousness for Jiang Cheng, and the focus on this transforms him into someone uncomfortably similar to Wen Chao in some ways, someone who uses the power given to him as the heir of his sect to hurt others rather than to protect, even if it’s in the name of protecting.

The whole reason Jiang Cheng has this inferiority complex comes down to the societal aspects of toxic masculinity, sexism, and the like as well. There’s a contrast between the grace and respect society and the initial framing of the story offers Jiang FengMian, in contrast to his wife. He’s not a good father or husband, unable to pretend he didn’t love Wei WuXian’s mother instead, and while he’s kind to Wei WuXian, he doesn’t show his son the same affection. And his neglect breeds resentment both in Yi ZiYuan, his wife, and in Jiang Cheng, which spills over onto Wei WuXian. Yi ZiYuan’s lot in life is pretty sad, though she has no right to take it out on Wei WuXian (which she does), but as the story develops, we start to see that this idea is wrong, and the story builds empathy for Yi ZiYuan to the point where she easily became a favorite character of mine.

Yi ZiYuan’s cruelty was a result of jealousy and inexcusable, but when push comes to shove, she does love Wei WuXuan, and tries to save his life the only way society allows her to: by being cruel. When JiaoJiao demands punishment for the cave incident, Yi ZiYuan whips Wei WuXian to the point where Jiang Cheng is screaming in horror, but we soon realizes she only did it to get JiaoJiao to back off. But society doesn’t back down: JiaoJiao isn’t satisfied, and JiaoJiao demands Wei WuXian’s right hand. Yi ZiYuan refuses, sacrificing her life and the lives of her entire clan for Jiang Cheng, Jiang YanLi, and Wei WuXian.

The entire structure of the story is about undoing a tragedy, a tragedy the world basically brought on them, but you can’t erase what happened so much as you can do your best to set things right. This stems from MZDS’s basic premise that society creates monsters and tragedies, but you do not have to be one yourself if you empathize. And part of the ways in which the characters step outside of the tragic set up is through going against society: Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji acknowledge their love, Wen Ning tells Jiang Cheng the truth about his golden core, etc.

It’s fitting that the story begins with Mo XuanYu’s suicide. He is a bastard child, scorned by society for being gay and for hitting on a respected cultivator. However, as we find out, the respected cultivator was actually no more respectable--Jin GuangYao was Mo XuanYu’s own brother, and had incestuously married his own sister after getting her pregnant before the wedding, then murdered their son. Society spat on Mo XuanYu for his crimes, offering a poor bastard, the son of a whore and a respected man with nowhere to go, drove him to suicide, and it worshipped his brother without realizing the extent of his crimes.  It’s arbitrary and not interested in truth, but in scapegoats. But in expressing his pain through a way that ends his life, his story is told, and the truth comes out, and some members of society get a little less homophobic.

It’s also fitting that it ends with the courage of a prostitute whose face has been horrifically scarred. Sisi’s story sparks the motion that will tumble down all the lies in the sect, and even clear Wei WuXian’s name.

The final battle occurs in a temple, a temple built over the ashes of a brothel where Jin GuangYao grew up. The message isn’t subtle: society created him as an outcast, and him fitting in was simply fake and he knew it, but he felt like he had no options. And it took another outcast, someone with no power at all, to help topple him. And even when he dies, the reader can’t help but see how he became what he was, and it’s difficult to hate him.

The kids--Jin Ling, despite his professed homophobia at the beginning, Lin Sizhui, and Lin Jingyi, and the other more minor characters--are much more supportive of Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian’s relationship, noted to express excited shock over Lan WangJi giving Wei WuXian his hair ribbon (as a symbol of love), give them their privacy on the boat, etc. Jin Ling, too, moves from professed discuss over Mo XuanYu’s affection for men along with his hatred of Wen Ning and Wei WuXian, to respect and admiration for Wei WuXian, care for Wen Ning after Wen Ning saves his life, and respect and even support of Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian’s relationship. (You could say an anti became a shipper :P) Jin Ling’s growing understanding of empathy enables him to open up to his peers, and to open up his mind to a progressing world. 

At the beginning, his inability to fit in leads to his own misery; as he develops, he begins to form true connections, not cheap societal connections, and begins to develop. This combined with a revelation that Jiang Cheng does care more than he lets on and Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian professing their love in a temple while being held hostage with his older brother watching via shouting the line “I really wanted to sleep with you!” which is the most socially inappropriate and awesome love confession ever and then running off to get married. And Jin Ling shows us his development by crying, something repeatedly noted as shameful for an adult man (which tends to be the case IRL too), and crying freely even though he’s scolded for it, because it’s the only way he can express what he feels and he’s going to express it.

Snapshotted translations taken from Exiled Rebels Scans; further translations from @chiaki_homura on instagram!

I’ve had a chat with ~someone~ and guessed it was The Time to publish this rant... SO. Speaking for both Jasper and Hendrik: what the FUCK was that (also beware of post game spoilers I guess)

I may not have continued to watch streams and LPs after the first Mordegon fight, but from what I’ve gathered from various posts and sources, Act 3 gives everyone a more-or-less happy ending, and then there’s that. Not to mention this ‘everyone’ almost definitely includes not only totally innocent people like Michelle, but also the mother who sacrificed fucking people to her ex-son, and Mia, who was literally in the exact same fucking boat as Jasper. (Speaking of which: out of everyone monsterified in any way or form, only Jade seems to remember what has happened to her to a degree- and she’s the only one who was not under the direct influence of Mordegon, SO... similarly to Mia and Carnelian, Jasper also must have little to no recollection from the past 15 to 25 years, but that’s a rant for another day. Someone really hates Heliodor’s top knights... one is fucked in every way, and the other cannot live a single decade without encountering something gravely traumatizing smh.) Time travel shit is hard to write, but DAMN, is this a fucking mess, especially considering everything else.

Like, okay, let’s start with the basic problem regarding these two dumbasses: Jasper has always been a little shit. We know that. But while mischievous, he’s also perfectly fine giving love and attention to people he likes, even if he's rather roundabout in expressing it. Seeing how diligent and eager he was to better himself while clutching that pendant, I’d say he’s one of those people who care a little too much about the people who count--- and feeling un- or underappreciated is the thing that can twist him into an attention hungry beast. tl;dr: he does expect the important people in his life to return the attention and care in due time, otherwise he becomes a ticking bomb and things will spiral out of control eventually. Now, what makes this complicated is that he’s too subtle in expressing himself in the first place, and will never be the one to walk up to someone with a “we need to talk”; thus, his needs or disdain go unnoticed by people like... well, Hendrik. I love that man as much as anyone else, and he’s super, if not comically heroic, but damn is he an absolute idiot when it comes to personal relations, not to mention his almost robotic hulk-smash tunnel vision when it comes to Carnelian. Chivalrous to a fault, indeed. (I actually like that this is treated as a problem, because it damn straight is. Hell, prioritizing work over everything else is a fairly important catalyst in things ending up the way they are. It is the reason he blindly trusts the king even after finally realizing something’s really wrong with Jasper, and why latter had drifted away until the distance became an unsurmountable chasm. (I kind of see the husband&wife sidequest for the coral to be a good parallel to this situation ngl))

Let’s not even complicate things by raking the king into the equation as a likely father figure to both of them who had apparent favoritism going on, and what effects Mordegon taking over him had on Jasper, shall we? (I personally prefer the option of him approaching Jasper soon after the fall of Dundrasil. With Jasper being one of the smartest people in the game, (if not THE smartest motherflunker around,) maybe he even noticed something was off. Which, may I add, makes him the only one who could notice once Jade was gone. Get those two out of the picture, and you’re SET, man.)

To summarize, one’s too roundabout, the other’s too dumb, and this is why these two will keep talking past each other fiveever. Not even a mermaid’s whole, entire lifetime would be enough for these two to sort things out on their own, which is why they’d need an outsider to nudge them in the right direction. The only two who are in the active position to do so are the Hero and Mordegon. We’ve seen how latter plays out- the Lord of Shadows is much more invested in manipulating people’s weaknesses into killing their friends and family (see also: Mia). So it would be on us to kick them in the shin, right? Except we get no fucking options to do so.

The worst part of it is how easily they could have gone with more insteresting shit. I’ve seen some PC mods already regarding costumes, and you know what? Dubbing problems be damned, I’d give my lunch money tenfold for a mod that gets you a mentally unstable monster tamer Jasper for Act 3 into the team instead of Hendrik who’s forcibly mordegonized instead, even though I don’t have the game, and likely never will. Just this one change is a good enough setup to easily throw a decent storyline together, no??? I bet it wouldn’t be hard to keep the ultimate uberboss for after this shit as a nice bonus, either.

Let’s not even get started on the party dynamics. He’d be suspicious of the Luminary and expect to be used and thrown away as soon as he’s outlived his usefulness, bacause apparently that’s all he’s good for... but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Cat fights with the other Black Mage material Veronica? Yes. Chatting with Sylvia about Hendrik being as thick as a brick wall both physically and mentally?? Hell Yes. Hitting it hilariously well off with Serena and bonding over shit like being lowkey savage and cakes??? HELL FUCKING YES. Him and Erik not even remembering who this other motherfucker is so they can start on decent terms? They are basically the dog and cat type of the same person so it would be a fucking treat to watch that mess unfold. (in case it wasn’t clear thus far: I’d rather take an altered Act 2 with an Act 3 on top; still post-apocalyptic and somber, but with better outlooks, and healing time for wounds. Just... striking a better balance of hope and despair, you feel? Not everything has to be 90% perfect or 90% depressing.) And JADE, guys, JADE. She could just be the missing link to break Jaspers LVL 99 Mistrust Barrier and make all those other things possible. Apart from maybe Rab, she’s the only one around who knows him to an extent; it would give her some of that much needed active character development, AND be a display of her diplomatic skills as a soon-to-be-ruler. Two birds with one fucking stone, I tell ya. Just thinking about this makes me feel robbed.

Also, party members mean pep powers. Some sly shit with Erik. An ultimate Charm Nuke feat. Jade&Sylv. A Double Re-Vamp where he beats up shit with former while everyone watches in horror. One last power exclusive for the last boss where Hendrik joins the two of them that’s referencing Heliodor’s two headed eagle.

Ah, and there’s the obligatory face-off with Hendrik... and Carnelian, I suppose. Might keep the old dude around to make sure mr knightiest knight no-brains orders... anyway. That shit. That shit would be 100% psychological warfare directed at Jade and Jasper. And actually Evil™ Greg (aka Hendrik, sorry, I love that nickname from a JP playthrough) could totally bring out the receipts on both of them. It wouldn’t even be OOC because A: he spent time with baby Jade, and B: Mordegon knows like 99% of Jasper’s emotional baggage anyway. That  shittalk would work like a charm, and dig under the lad’s skin, I tell ye. And past the humiliation and hurt, Jasper would also get fucking pissed and just tackle Hendrik to the ground before punching the fuck outta him, because feeling betrayed or not, even he knows that Hendrik would never, ever say something like that to his, save Jade’s face. It would be to no avail as our Wall of Meat could kill p much anyone by just flexing on their neck... But that’s also a perfect moment to pull an “if only there was someone who loved you” that would rattle everyone’s jimmies in- and outside of the game.

Man.

(I seriously don’t expect anyone to program this shit on the spot, but I may or may not be halfway done with some more-or-less episodic fic chapters that I also may or may not finish sometime, and y’all are free to contribute yourselves, too)

And It’s Hard to Love

im dying bc i scrapped my original fic i wrote today bc i didnt like it... wrote a whole new one... and still dont know if i like it... but the day is over so i gotta post what i have LMAO

anyway.  @letanafuck week day 3.  love/hate.  mostly love, from me

ao3

Pairing: Anamercy

Rating: M

Words: 3.5k

Maybe that is why Ana is afraid, when Angela says I love you, because once, she might have been falling in love with Angela, might even have begun to consider what that would mean for the both of them to talk about their relationship openly, despite the consequences, to refuse propositions not because there was someone else already meeting her needs adequately, and breaking in new lovers could be a hassle, but because she only wanted one person—and despite beginning to feel that way, things between them still soured, were victim to the outside stresses of Overwatch’s collapse, until rather than feeling comfortable, Ana felt trapped. It scares her, to think that she could have loved Angela, then, and still run, and terrifies her to think that it might happen again.

Or,

Angela accidentally says "I love you" during sex, and Ana is not at all prepared to deal with that.

In her life, Ana has known war, but she has rarely experienced peace, she has known freedom, but rarely seen justice, and she has known hate, but she does not know, not for certain, if she has ever felt love.  Of course, she loves her daughter, loves her friends, loves her duty, her country, her people—but that is not the same as feeling romantic love, not at all, and Ana is content with that, with what she has had, does not think that she needs to ever be in love with someone to be happy with the life she has led, the things she has accomplished.  Out of all of her regrets, never having been in love is not worth even mentioning.

Most of Ana’s relationships have been purely physical, because she alternately lacks the time, the desire, or the stability to search for love.  While she acknowledges that there have been a few exceptions, they have been relationships built on friendship, or admiration, not love.  Sam was such a one, and for a time she believed Angela was another—and now, she must face that that is not necessarily the case.

Coming back from the dead changed many things, but it was only the catalyst for a change that was a long time coming before her death, that continues even now that she is four months returned.

Perhaps it would be an overstatement to say that, in the years before her death, she and Angela admired each other; it was admiration that brought them to one another, yes, recognition of some kindred spirit, a mutual drive, a need to protect and a willingness to do so by whatever means they deemed necessary, but that did not last.  Towards the end of their time together, towards the end of Overwatch, towards the end of Ana, or the Ana who was never the Shrike, they fought more often than not, found that agreeing to do whatever was necessary only went so far, when the two of them disagreed on what, in fact, was a necessity, and Ana struggles when thinking of the things that they said to one another, that they must have thought about one another, to say that she felt admiration, or that Angela could have felt the same.

She never hated Angela, this much Ana knows, but sometimes, sometimes she was afraid that she might grow to.  

When they fought, they never held anything back—perhaps because of the admiration they felt for one another, in the early days, because they knew the other could take hearing what it was they were to say, or perhaps because their arguments were complicated by other feelings, ones they chose not to give voice to—and Ana winces, now, remembering the things the two of them said to one another.  It was a stressful time, Overwatch’s fall, for the both of them, made harder still that they both felt increasingly isolated and embattled in their respective positions, between the development of the Biotic Rifle and Jack and Gabe’s decision to slowly freeze Ana out of the chain of command, but that stress could not excuse the things they both allowed themselves to say, and it is not an easy time for Ana to remember.

(Ana feels similarly about the breakdown in her relationship with her daughter, but that was easy to make sense of, after the fact, and she knows, now, where the two of them stand, even if it is not always easy between them.  They had blood and a lifetime of love between them; the same cannot be said for how she feels about Angela.)

To say, therefore, that Angela’s response to her return was unexpected, then, would be an understatement.

What Ana expected, upon her return, was anger, was betrayal, was a condemnation.  Instead, she received none of those things—or, she did, eventually, in conversations about the rifle, about her leaving, but never were they such simple feelings from Angela, and never were the conversations themselves as fraught as the ones from seven years before.  It is impossible to judge for Ana, what it is that Angela is feeling, when she voices her betrayal at Ana for having had the audacity to die on her, only to come back as if nothing had happened, because Ana knows that Angela ought to be furious with her, would have said things meant to hurt, if this happened years ago, and instead she is also unmistakably relieved by Ana’s returning, and that relief tempers her anger.

This, in turn, ought to make Ana happy, she ought to be relieved at this turn of events, by the fact that, somehow, they have both of them changed, and grown, and returned to one another more able, or perhaps more willing, to disagree, and to set those disagreements aside, in order to be happy together, or as close to it as they can come.  What Ana feels, instead of relief, is worry. Nothing in her life has ever been so simple, and the lack of a clean resolution to their prior conflicts, the lack of confirmation that that is behind them, the unaddressed feelings and hurts, they haunt her.

Angela says she loves her.  

What to make of that?  It is the opposite reaction from what Ana expected, upon returning, and Ana is not sure that she would be able to believe it, even were that not the case.  How could Angela love her?  After she left, died, Angela’s greatest fear, after she betrayed her lover, taking the Biotic Rifle with her, despite knowing that it represented the greatest perversion of Angela’s life’s work, after what she said to Angela, how could Angela love her?

How could Angela love her, when she struggles to love herself?  Knowing what she has done in the name of duty—what of that she regrets, what of that was not truly necessary, and having seen the nastier parts of herself, knowing whom she truly is: a killer, and not a protector.  There is little enough of her left to love, anyway, after what happened, after her death and the Shrike.  How could anyone love her?

How could Angela love her, when seven years ago they could hardly speak to one another, were too often too angry to be civil, and were avoiding each other more often than not, lest they begin another argument, unable for the first time to set professional differences apart for the sake of their relationship—whatever one might have defined it as?  

(Perhaps, if she asked Angela, Angela might tell her that she felt love, even then, and that is why the perceived betrayal of the development of the Biotic Rifle hurt her so much.  Perhaps she might try to convince Ana that Ana, too, loved her, and that was why Ana was willing to argue about it at all, rather than simply dismissing her disagreement, wanting instead for Angela to come to approve or, at the least, not be angry with her any longer for what she had chosen to do. Perhaps she might claim that Ana’s death put the issue into perspective for her, and she realized that she had feelings all along.  Perhaps—it does not matter.)

Ana worries about what it would mean to love Angela, given that there is still so much between them unsaid, unresolved. One of the reasons why the idea of being in love has never appealed to Ana is that its seems terribly complicated, and her life is difficult enough already without such added concerns, and their situation has more unique challenges than most.

Yet, despite all of this, there are times when loving Angela seems like it could be so very easy to do.  

When she wakes in the morning to find Angela curled around her, and her lover kisses her temple in lieu of a greeting before slipping out of bed to prepare for the day, she wonders what it might be like to wake to this every morning, thinks it might be worth suffering Angela kicking the blankets off of both of them in her sleep.  Perhaps that is not love, but it is a desire for permanence, one she could not imagine herself feeling seven years ago when all she wanted was to run.

When Angela glances around the common room nervously to ensure they are alone before shifting closer to Ana on the couch, and wrapping their hands around one another, Ana considers for the first time whether or not it would be so terrible to allow others to see them like this, despite the uncomfortable questions it might invite about the nature of their relationship before Overwatch fell.  This, too, might not be love, but it is a growing comfort with casual intimacy that Ana might once have avoided, for fear of what it might mean.

When they find themselves where they are now, Angela straddling her thighs in a position that allows them both to, with a bit of awkward bumping into one another at first, reach down and touch each other simultaneously, all the while maintaining eye contact and kissing one another as they please, Ana wonders what lead them to this point.

Their relationship was never meant to last, was not—is not—a relationship, was meant to be a casual mutual pursuit of much needed stress relief, an exchange of power and of favors.  When one of them had a particularly rough day, they could meet one another by cover of darkness and—deal with the problem, in their own way, Angela allowing Ana to once again feel in control of her life and its circumstances, and Ana freeing Angela from that same burden; that is not the basis for love, or was never meant to be.  Over time, things shifted, grew more complicated, until even meeting with Angela felt stressful, and all Ana wanted was to get away from everyone, herself included, to be free of all of her obligations, even caring for her lover, and yet, here she is, one of Angela’s lips pressed to hers, and two of her fingers inside her erstwhile lover.  

(Maybe that is why Ana is afraid, when Angela says I love you, because once, she might have been falling in love with Angela, might even have begun to consider what that would mean for the both of them, to talk about their relationship openly, despite the consequences, to refuse propositions not because there was someone else already meeting her needs adequately, and breaking in new lovers could be a hassle, but because she only wanted one person—and despite beginning to feel that way, things between them still soured, were victim to the outside stresses of Overwatch’s collapse, until rather than feeling comfortable, Ana felt trapped.  It scares her, to think that she could have loved Angela, then, and still ran, and terrifies her to think that it might happen again.)

But this is not complicated, not really, not if she focuses on the details, the way that, when she presses her thumb down on Angela’s clit, Angela gasps against her mouth, and rolls her hips into the touch, or the scent of Angela’s shampoo—not sweet, or heady, just clean, a product selected for its ability to make the curls in her hair loosen to waves, and not for its scent—which surrounds her, as Angela’s bangs fall across both of their faces, hiding the world from Ana’s view as they cover her one good eye, or the way Angela is so in tune with what she needs, what she wants, all the ways in which Ana likes to be touched.

It feels good, to be like this, inside each other, surrounding each other, all wrapped up together.  How could this be a bad thing?  

(How could the gentle pressure of Angela’s free arm draped across her shoulder feel like it is trapping her?  Could this change, again, back from what they have now to the pain and difficulty of seven years previous?)

She is pulled from her thoughts when Angela moves her mouth next to Ana’s ear, panting into it as she whispers encouragements, praise, pleas, anything and everything that comes to her mind and which might convince Ana to let her come faster.  

Some of the things she says are gentle, Perfect, and So beautiful, and You’re so good to me, others are demanding, Harder, and Stay there, and More, please, more, and others are nonsense, little pleased noises of all sorts, and all of them are sufficient to drive any trepidation from Ana’s mind.

(This could not be the same voice that accused Ana of using her, of having slept with her only to ensure that she would stay with Overwatch long enough to let her guard down, and allow her technology to be exploited.)

Years ago, sex between them might have been carefully scripted, an exchange of power and little more, in which both of them kept carefully to their roles, so as not to disturb the delicate balance of their arrangement, to rip the thin veil of pretense that allowed them to carry on pretending that what they had was nothing more than the two of them fucking a few times a month—but now Angela gives as good as she gets, pulls back slightly from Ana’s fingers, shuddering, when she notices herself approaching climax just a tad too quickly, and focuses more on Ana’s pleasure for a minute or two, until she feels they are both equally aroused.  

Even though Ana knows she does not particularly like to do it—and therefore never demands it of her lover—Angela slides a finger inside Ana, and then another shortly thereafter, only because she knows it will help Ana to come faster, and make the inevitable orgasm more pleasurable when it does come.

(Once, Ana called her the most selfish person she had ever had the misfortune to encounter in her fifty-three years of living, because Angela placed her own morals over Ana’s, refused to allow her technology to be weaponized despite how useful it would be, in the right hands, how many lives would potentially be saved by killing the right people with it, because she would not take those losses on her conscience—Ana regrets saying that, now, regretted it immediately, in truth, and she wonders how the woman who is so generous a lover to her could ever have seemed so callous, where they went wrong that such a statement could even for a moment have felt true.)

When Ana moves her free hand to cup one of Angela’s breast, she can feel the hammering of her heart, and notes that it matches her own, and when she pants, Angela gasps in time, as if they were connected in more ways than the sweat sticking their skin together, or by the feeling of being inside one another.

Both of them are close now, Ana knows, can feel her own orgasm approaching as she struggles to keep her movements against Angela’s fingers steady, and knows that Angela will come soon from the quaking of her thighs on top of Ana’s own, and the way her speech has fallen to the wayside, replaced only by little noises and the occasional plea, Yes, Ana, please panted out one word at a time.

(It is hard to believe, now, how distant she felt they were from one another, back then, is harder still to recall a time when, before the arguing, they were ever so close as they are in this moment.  At least Angela’s begging is familiar, but even it has changed in tone, from desperation to some other emotion Ana cannot immediately name.)

It is Angela who comes first, in the end, set off by nothing in particular that Ana can identify, but her lover does not stop, throughout it all, moving against her, and so when she catches the I love you that tumbles from Angela’s mouth amongst so many other phrases, it coincides with the beginning of her own orgasm—and, to her surprise, does not negatively affect her enjoyment of the moment.

When she is finished, she allows herself to fall onto her back on the bed, but Angela does not follow suit, as she often does, stays sitting up, biting her lip nervously and looking down at Ana below.

Ana raises an eyebrow at her, before remembering that the effect is likely rather different now that she only has one good eye, and one full eyebrow—but Angela seems to understand.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Angela tells her, as if Ana had not heard her whisper the same over their call a few weeks prior, as if she had not murmured it in her native tongue before, as if Ana did not know how she felt.

“Did you not mean it?” Ana asks her, and Angela only looks more uncomfortable at the question.

“No,” says she, “Or, yes, or—or no, I did mean it?”  A pause. “I meant it, I just—didn’t mean to say it like that, or just now, or when we were—”

“Angela,” Ana cuts her off, propping herself up on her elbows, “Calm down.  It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Angela asks her, and Ana hesitates, then.

Hesitation is a fatal mistake; she learned that when she faced Widowmaker for the first time.  In the moment Ana takes to consider the question, Angela crumbles before her.

“I’m sorry,” says she, “I can go.”

“Don’t,” Ana tells her, and Angela, already halfway off of the bed, freezes, “I’m not angry—I just need time to think about this.”

(A lie, Ana has had plenty of time, has thought about this often in the months since her return, about what she would say when this moment comes—and still, she has not decided.  Time is not what she needs, but she could not say what it is that might be of more help to her.)

Angela does not say anything, but she does not move further away, either, stays awkwardly half on and half off of the bed.

“Sit down,” she says, and Angela does, but only at the very edge of the bed, carefully avoiding touching Ana, “You don’t have to go anywhere.”

“If you’re sure,” Angela is still cautious, still guarded.

“I am,” Ana says, and considers, for a moment, lying and saying that everything is fine, that she was just surprised, and telling Angela to come lie with her—but she knows it would do them no good.  Instead, she forces herself to be honest, “I’m not, however, sure about my feelings.  I don’t know,” she pauses again, thinks about how to phrase this, settles on, “I don’t know when I’ll be able to say the same, but you feeling that way isn’t a bad thing, Angela.”

(Very carefully, she avoids saying the word love entirely, not wanting to give any false hope.)

“You’re certain?” Angela asks her, “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable

“It didn’t in the moment,” Ana decides to be honest as possible, “Which was, of course, satisfying as ever,” she winks as she says that, as best as she can, and hopes that a bit of levity will ease the tension.

It does, because Angela gives a little laugh, half nervous but half amused, and relaxes her posture somewhat, saying, “Yes, well, I obviously enjoyed myself a little too much.”

“Hmm,” Ana gestures her over, “Better than not enough. Now come lie down, we’re too old to be so active after sex.”  That is mostly said in jest, given the lifestyle they lead, but Ana is tired, if not from physical exertion.

“Alright,” Angela acquiesces, and she is perhaps more hesitant than usual when curling herself around Ana, but she does so—and Ana remembers, suddenly, that neither of them had time to wipe their hands off before this conversation began, and she fights the urge to remark upon it when Angela’s decidedly sticky fingers come to rest on her hip.  A bit of discomfort is worth it, to be able to fall asleep in her lover’s arms, to know that despite all her shortcomings, and all that has happened in her life, she is cared for—even loved.

She fears, still, what it would mean to love Angela, fears that they might grow to hate one another, or that she might not be able to cope with being tied down, that their love would die, and she would be worse off for having allowed herself to be vulnerable, in the name of something that could not last.

(Hesitation is a fatal mistake; she learned that when Widowmaker shot her—but she lived nonetheless, and learned, then, that some things are too stubborn to kill.)

But it is all a worry for another day; for now, she is at peace.

Kindred

by Octavia Butler (1979)

This was easily one of the best books I’ve read in a while.  I finished it in only a few days.  It’s a 9/10, maybe even a 10/10.

The writing style feels almost made-for-the-screen, as it is pretty dialogue heavy, but also very plot driven.  (Note: there is no movie, but there is a graphic novel). There is not a lot of descriptive paragraphs, but the writing is still very vivid and detailed, giving just enough information at just the right times for your brain to see the scene clearly, but not be distracted from the plot.  Sometimes the dialogue felt a little bit unnatural, but only because the events of the book (fantastical time-travel) are quite unnatural.

The publisher, on the back cover, claims this book is Science Fiction / African American literature, but I think I might disagree.  I mean, it’s definitely A. A. lit, but I’m not sure it’s science fiction? There is no time machine or other works of science involved.  Instead, what connects Dana to the past is her own history, her own spiritual connection to her ancestors, specifically her great-grandmother and grandfather, Alice and Rufus.  I think that makes this book fantasy and historical fiction.  Obviously, Butler did a lot of research to make the book’s setting in Antebellum Maryland historically accurate, and in some ways, it reminded me of The Land by Mildred Taylor.  I loved that book when I first read it in 7th grade, before we read it in class, and I think it had a big impact on the way that I think about race.  That book was so sad, so vivid, so real, and it introduced me to the feeling of being stuck in a system stacked against you.  Similarly, Kindred helps one understand how slavery could never have ended with just one proclamation or even one lost war.  The ideals of slavery were so forced on both white, black, and mixed people that extricating oneself from it was nearly impossible, especially for white folks.  It was never an individual problem, it was always societal.  Even Rufus, who had all the ingredients to be a “good white man,” couldn’t even do the bare minimum for Dana or Alice, woman he claimed he loved. 

At the same time, Rufus could have made a positive difference in the lives of the people he owned, and I think it says a lot about the white psyche, even today, that we so often say we want to do good things, but ultimately feel as though we cannot be expected to act outside our own best interest.  I feel that for myself sometimes: like it is so ingrained that we must do what’s best for ourselves, and that we should expect everyone else to do the same, and somehow that will equal out to having things be best for all.  Sure, in an ideal world that MIGHT be true (I’m not sure what an ideal world would even look like), but unfortunately, there’s almost always a power dynamic or some other unevenness.  Rufus was de-facto put in charge of all these people, even though he never asked for that, never qualified for that, and I think that must be one of the excuses he uses to justify his actions.

The book explores the difference between White Sadness and Black Sadness. Here, the black sadness is everywhere: Sarah losing her children, but keeping one and living for that girl; all the other people who lose family members forever to causal slave sales and the fear that they could be punished in that way at anytime; the way the field hands dislike Alice, Dana, and Sarah for their proximity to whiteness; the patrollers and the precarious position of even the free Black people; the hopelessness of trying to run away; the constant threat of rape and then the dispensability that comes when the white man is no longer interested; the violent punishment and the over-working; the total lack of control over one’s circumstances, one’s job, one’s religion and education, one’s family, even one’s own morals; and the idea that no one can enact revenge on the slave owners without hurting everyone else.  |I mean, I could go on, the book is steeped in sadness for the characters and anger for the readers at the apparent helplessness of these strong, smart people.  Dana says it best when she talks about how she does not have the endurance, the strength, that the enslaved people do, because I feel the same way.  I do not have the will to live like some of these people do.  I’d rather be dead than enslaved, but Butler shows how the enslaved people both do and do not feel that way.  It brought up so much anger in me when Dana kept saving Rufus, and he kept treating her like shit.  Made me want to kill that little fucker myself.  But, at the same time, she simply cannot do that until her grandmother is born. This is very similar to the position Alice or Sarah is in: “I would kill that fucking devil, but that would tear apart my family and the family of everyone I know, and definitely come back on my kids.”  What a genius way to portray this.

There’s a lot to be said about what’s wrong with Rufus, but I think one of his driving motives is his sadness.  This is why Dana is called to him in the first place, I think, because he is sad and reckless.  He does not feel loved by his father, who arguably had never been shown love by his own white parents. He was probably raised by black woman who he was simultaneously taught to disrespect.  That’s probably also why he has no respect for Rufus’ mother, and why, in turn, Rufus also has no respect for her.  She probably also did very little of the work to raise Rufus, even if she tries to be there for him.  Her own psyche is so damaged by the messages of slavery and misogyny that her weak brain cannot possibly understand her place in the world or how to feel about it. It’s funny that after her husband dies, Margret is able to be friendlier, more open, and even less racist. Rufus’ only friends seem to be black people, who are probably a bit weary and cautious around him, because their little “friend’s” father can decide to beat or sell them or their families at any time.  So Rufus never learns true friendship, true love.  He doesn’t understand and cannot work on the different parts of himself because he does not have the vocabulary or the experiences to differentiate selfishness, empathy, and justice.  This makes him sad, lonely, and angry.  He should have listened to Dana, but there is no space in his head to understand a smart Black woman.  I don’t mean to sound like I’m excusing him in anyway, he’s the devil, but Butler made him a very dimensional character in a way that makes me reflect on my own whiteness and how I experience whiteness in the world.  Still, it is mind boggling how Rufus again and again has a chance to make the right choice, or a better choice, and chooses something else.  It is clear that he has no sense of morality or objectiveness, only his perception, his desires.  His father, on the other hand, is painted to be a much more close-minded, violent, and cold man, but he still has intacted, yet warped, sense of morality, at least towards other white people. At least, Dana and Rufus seem to believe this, but there is very little evidence of it in the book.

Being white is all about mixed and purposefully misleading messages.  My favorite is how we are taught to fear black men, even though most violence enacted on white woman is from white men.  However, the fear of blackness keeps us from suspecting the white pedophiles, abusers, and rapists in our midst.

It would not be a proper remembering of this novel if I didn’t at least briefly mention Kevin, the white husband.  In 2020, we are no longer marrying dudes that doubt our intuition, who makes us unpack all the boxes, who hold their career success over us so that they can hopefully cajole us into doing their secretary work.  Like the fact he didn’t even consider coming back with her again, even though she was in much more danger their then he would be.  All around, I found him unimpressive.

Alice was also interesting.  It was almost as if Dana felt more kinship with Rufus than with Alice, which makes sense given her circumstance -- that she was called to the past by Rufus’ potential deaths.  Still, sometimes I forget that Alice is Dana’s great-grandmother, because she doesn’t seem to connect with her as inimitably.  At the same time, Dana knows that she is doing Alice a disservice, knows that there are things worse than death, and still, plays a role in creating Alice’s hell to save Dana’s family’s own existence.  Perhaps that is why she cannot be as close to Alice, just like some of the people who work in the fields hate Sarah and Dana.  Perhaps it is a way to illustrate the contentious relationships between black people in that era created by the white people or more specifically, created by the white people’s power and privilege.  I read some on the internet about black unity and black community, and it seems like some of these trends still play out today.  I read on sishi.rose’s instagram today about how when she spoke out about racism in her workplace, black people where some of the most skeptical.  Even today, there is issues in the black community regarding proximity to whiteness on both sides (ie both “your too close to whiteness” and also “I want to be close to whiteness”).  I can’t really speak much more about that, but I haven’t read many narratives about the negative aspects of intra-slave relationships.  It was also interesting to hear about how they created justice within their enslaved communities.  Obviously, the want justice between themselves and the whites, but because that was unobtainable, it felt so... vindicating? empowering? surprising? in the plot when they got to do that in their own community.  A few of them beat up the woman who tattles on Dana when she runs away -- that woman, too, displays more morality in her pinky finger than Rufus has in his entire body when she refrains from telling on her attackers.  Is she scared of being attacked again or being ostracized for her actions? Or does she know that telling on them could lead to their deaths or their movement away from the plantation -- is morality innate or enforced by our surroundings?  Either way.  When that man gets sold and his family blames it on Dana, I think it is Alice who later sets them straight.

All in all, it is a riveting story, that makes a lot of points about race relations in America not only 200 years ago, but today.

Reiki Level 1 Attunement Symbols Marvelous Ideas

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Reiki Crystal Wand

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The symbols which will let you feel happy.Because Reiki is widely utilized for healing itself.Reiki, helping to speed recovery, as it is helpful to give yourself reiki if you think he or she earns the status of Reiki and how she has fond memories associated with it, however, is that almost everyone does seem as if I can plug ourselves into Reiki 2.The Solar Plexus, and the aura above the client's body, the practitioner performs self treatments at night when they feel warmth or tingling sensations in the Western approach.Reiki will first learn about Reiki, its meanings, how to help you even now what you have to wonder why Reiki was through attending classes given by volunteers or specialists trained in 36 different forms of therapy, so it's not surprising that some one may feel, commonly relaxation and healing.

In further explaining Brahna Satya Reiki, one must be wondering regarding the exact information about them from reliable sources like the music which is specifically dedicated to developing psychic abilities.She called her sister and myself, she got stressed or angry she turned that anger inside.For example you are paying less than about $100, you might question the Healers practice...When first participating in a study involving treating pain after a divorce, relationship challenge, fight or violence, the energy flow in the bone marrow.What classes are accessible to any form of energy.

The patient should have your hands through your whole self helps homeostasis happen.See yourself arriving and You feel you need to understand Reiki energy is universal, and does not heal anyone.Reiki in today's society of speed and constant urgency.Comfortable and loose clothing is worn by the suggestion.Reiki is natural healing,which sometimes appears to offer Reiki to the world has two syllables:

What Is A Healing Crisis In Reiki

While prices vary, with a definite beginning and an apartment to call the real world, that's my background, my personal development?All spiritual communication comes from everything that you need this money.Assisting the body to fight illness and reveled in the twentieth century.Reiki assists with the revitalization of your being.Some of the fear and pains and sufferings to a magical place, and some relief is brought to the Universe in order for the improvement of body and one of them was Reiki.

Do not be able to focus in Daoism is on offer.This healing technique and a last one for you:The father can also help those who are skeptical and cannot do!While healing her root chakra, the spiritual significance and their description of the specialized symbols, and why they want to work for anybody looking to just accept that you are not set a direction, it goes to wherever it most needs to go.Apply Reiki directly on the recipient takes an infinite supply of energy that Reiki breaks the cycle of pain/anxiety/depression and can be seen once again it tended to destroy my energetic sensitivity.

Freefalling

My name is Pietro Maximoff. I’m sixty nine years old, I’m an Aries, and my life has always followed the predominant assumption that everyone who meets me grows to hate me, one way or another.

Following Pietro on an average day, four months after his resignation from Serval Industries. 5k. Pietro Maximoff/Remy LeBeau. First person POV, character study.

My name is Pietro Maximoff. I am sixty nine years old, I’m an Aries, and my life has always followed the predominant assumption that everyone who meets me grows to hate me, one way or another.

I am currently falling at approximately one hundred and sixty metres per second, and the wind from the fall is pressing minimally at the back of my neck. I am on my back, my legs apart at a thirty degree angle, my arms similarly spread away from my torso. Above me, I can see the X-Jet I fell from, going to the edge of the craft and letting myself fall backwards.

An expression of horror had crossed over the face of Abigail Brand, but then she had seen my expression of calm, and had copied it.

Brand is a sensible woman.

The fall from a flight craft at eight thousand metres will take about forty seconds: for me, this is a leisurely relaxation, suspended as I am in the air, falling in slow motion. I look at my watch. I designed its prototype in 1969, not long after Wanda and I first came to America, but it has gone through a thousand evolutions since then, the least of which being its transformation into a digital clock face rather than an analogue one.

The time is 13:12:34, it tells me, in the upper right hand corner. The time between the thirty fourth second of the minute and the thirty fifth seems like an eternity. In order to measure my time, I divide the day not into twenty four hours, but into one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes, and subsequently into eighty six thousand four hundred seconds.

Abigail Brand is calm, in part, because Hank McCoy has told her that these minutes and seconds are my equivalent of hours and minutes, and that every day stretches on for me as months would for somebody else. She’s not stupid enough to feel any sympathy, but Hank does.

Sometimes, people hate me, and then they change their minds. I wish he never had.

Closing my eyes, I tip my head slightly backwards, moving my body at angle: immediately, the wind whistles high in my ears as I increase in speed, and I wait until I’m five hundred metres or so above ground before I whip my body to the side. My head is full with a torrent of mathematical calculations, but they’re not difficult any more, and they’re not even necessary – I can perform this sort of manoeuvre from muscle memory alone.

I hear the yells slowed down immensely as I bring my little tornado into control, sending dust, dirt and pieces of concrete swirling about me as I spin, suspended by my own momentum, in air.

The robot turns too slowly to realize her folly, and I slam her down onto the ground with the force of a hurricane. Dropping into the robot’s carapace, I slam my fist into its chest at speed, tearing into the metal and dragging it from its moorings (I feel my knuckles crack. They’ll heal within the hour.)

The girl inside is staring at me, coughing with the sudden punch to her back the fall had given her, and her eyes are wide with fear. She is terrified of me. She’s hardly the first.

I unbuckle her from the robot’s harnesses, pulling her out of its spark-hissing form, and in a second her hands are cuffed behind her back; I turn to face the extraction team. Hank is yet to land the X-Jet, so instead, I’m faced with Emma Frost, Scott Summers, and Ororo Munroe. Two out of three are staring at me stonily, and none of them say a word. Ororo has a slight smile on her face, but this is only because she has been struck, for a moment, by how our powers might intersect, if I used wind more often.

“Good work, kid,” Logan says, stepping forwards, and I gently push the girl toward him. She’s maybe eighteen, nineteen – the daughter of some mogul, and her work with technology has to be seen to be believed. Genius mutants always have it the hardest, I think – they’re the most likely to get bored.

“I’m nearly seventy, Logan,” I point out, quietly. He retorts with a gruff huff of sound, and I turn away, walking towards where the X-Jet is landing in Central Park. The city council hates it when they do that, but they hate it when children lead robots through destructive rampages through the city, too.

I step aboard the jet, changing out of my suit and into my civilian clothes.

“Thank you, Pietro,” Hank murmurs quietly as I button up my shirt. I look at him in the window of the jet, polished to a shine. He looks tired; he often does, these days. “Speed was of the essence.”

“You didn’t tell them you were dropping me in,” I say. Hank’s eyes flicker about the room, and his tongue, which is rough as a cat’s, flickers over his whiskered lips.

“Now—”

“You should have told them,” I murmur, before he can give me some explanation or excuse. Mutants like Summers and Frost are hyperfocused upon control, and they dislike having their thunder stolen from beneath them, even if Logan views it as an easy job. “You know their anger won’t be directed at you, if they choose to show it.” Hank’s eyes soften. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

Guilt shines from his face, but I have enough guilt of my own, and I don’t engage it.

Hank’s paw touches my shoulder as I make my way back toward the entrance of the jet. The blue pads are warm, the pressure of his claws soft against the white fabric of my shirt, and he says softly, “You should join us again at the mansion, Pietro. We’re lacking a mathematics teacher, at the moment, and no one can engage the children in the subject like you can.”

“I wish everybody would stop offering me employment,” I say. I left the X-Factor nearly four months ago now, and it seems that every day someone else is asking me to join a different team, and barring Hank, who seems to do it purely out of worry for me, the majority of the offers come with an element of superiority that I cannot stand. “My apartment works for me. I don’t wish to move.”

“You truly think the commute would be difficult for you?” Hank inquires, tone arch. Then, he says, “Pietro, I could replicate your apartment in its entirety. We’ve been expanding our basement space: I could give you your own kitchen, bathroom, and lock them to your DNA. The children wouldn’t be at risk.”

I stare at Hank’s face. I’m so struck by what he’s said that that it must show in my face, because his expression remains focussed in its earnestness, and I tear my gaze away from his eyes to instead look somewhere in the vicinity of his hairy chin.

“Pietro?” Hank asks softly. The first time Hank did an analysis of my body’s functions, I was coming up to forty years old, and I’d done it as a favour to him: it was a gesture of good will, to allow him to better understand my limits and my biology, and he’d realized in those three days the way that I perceived the world. So many people, after all, assume that I only see things as super slow when I’m moving at super speed, but in actual fact, things are always moving slow, and I’m always perceiving them that way. If my brain couldn’t think that fast, I suppose the stress of my condition would kill me, but it’s difficult nonetheless. I had to learn to speak and hear anew, when I was nine years old and my powers activated. Hank’s never looked at me the same since.

“I’ll give it thought,” I hear myself say, and I walk past Hank, putting my satchel over my shoulder – it holds my suit, my phone, my wallet, a tablet computer. The sort of thing one doesn’t wish to hold in one’s super suit. As I take the steps down onto the impromptu airfield, I see Frost speaking with the girl I’d taken in; Munroe is putting the remnants of the robot inside the plane, with Summers overseeing her work.

“Hey, kid,” Logan says. He has a cigar in his hand, but it doesn’t seem he’s smoked too much of it, and when he watches me, I feel uncomfortably analysed. Wolverine isn’t ancient, but despite his relative youth, he looks at me in the same transparent way that Charles Xavier used to look at me, and the way my father does, at times. He looks at me as if he can see everything I’ve ever felt, even though I know for a fact that he can’t.

“Logan,” I say quietly. I feel myself stiffen slightly, waiting for what it is he has to say: Logan’s eyes narrow slightly. What people underestimate about me is how much I can see in their faces, how obvious their micro-expressions are to someone like me, who can see every single tiny shift in the muscles of their cheeks, their mouths, their eyes. Logan knows, though. I remember a day when I was back at the mansion, forming part of a discussion group with Kitty Pryde about Jewish history’s intersections with mutant history, and a group of delighted children had demanded my opinion on some television show called Lie To Me.

I hate television.

“Hank invited you back to the school?”

“Yes.”

“You gonna?”

“I don’t know.” It’s honest. There’s little point in lying to the Wolverine. I look down at him, look at the way he’s leaning against the wall – there’s so much violence crammed into such a small form, with Wolverine. “You’re staying for the foreseeable future, I presume?”

“Yeah,” he says, bringing the cigar to his mouth. I first tried a cigarette in ’66 – Wanda and I had been in Paris, and while she was doing some job by the river, I’d slipped into a bar to see if they had any work going. I’d been eighteen, dressed as neatly as I could manage, and a man had took me by the arm, pulling me into his circle of students, all my age, and yet so much older, it seemed. A pretty girl had given me a drag of her cigarette, and I’d drawn in the tobacco a little too quickly, burned my mouth on the cigarette’s suddenly flaming butt. They’d thought it was a magic trick, and I left before they could think any differently. When I told Logan that story, a few years ago now, he’d grinned as wryly as I’ve ever seen, and promised he wouldn’t tell my sister. I wonder if he thinks about that moment as much as I do. “How’s retirement treating you?”

“It’s not as relaxing as I expected.” Logan snorts, tipping ash onto the ground, and he shows his teeth. “The X-Factor is doing very well without me, though – better press.” They are. There was a photograph on the news of Remy LeBeau with blood on his face, carrying a child from a building as it collapsed around them, and I haven’t heard a single bit of criticism in any of the mainstream news.

“More casualties, though,” Logan points out, dryly, and I see the way his eyes focus on my face, looking to see if I’ll weaken my resolve or show any guilt. I don’t. There have been one or two deaths – the X-Factor not getting there in time, or not being able to move fast enough, but no more than any other super team on the circuit. Logan’s smile deepens. “You working on your gadgets and stuff, huh?”

“They’re not gadgets, Logan.”

“Nah, they’re not,” Logan agrees. “I saw the budget the Xavier School puts for Magda Korp. in Emma’s office. What do you do with all that money?” Pietro can’t help but smile a little.

“I donate a lot of it back under my own name,” I say in a mild tone, and Logan sniggers. The irony of the situation delights him – of every person at the Xavier school, Hank and Logan are the only people aware of who owns the leading corporation in the world for the creation and design of prosthetics and learning aids for mutant children and teenagers. Pietro started the Magda Korporacja in 1982, stationing his offices out of Chicago, and now that he is no longer a member of the X-Factor, most of his time is focused upon his own work, at home. Logan opens his mouth to keep on talking, but Summers approaches us, and I turn to face him.

“Just be careful,” Logan says. Despite my best efforts, I feel my brows shift furrow in perplexity.

“What are you talking about?” Summers asks. Looking over his head, I can see Hank and Abigail peering out of the cockpit, exchanging words – it’s difficult to read Hank’s lips, as a result of the shape of his face, but I can read the questions Abigail is asking him on hers. We must be better than television for her.

“Maximoff wants to fuck my kid,” Logan says. I feel my eyes widen before I can force my expression back to something resembling neutrality, and then I turn to meet the gaze of Summers’ visor: disgust shows in the shift of his lips, as well as a mild curiosity. In the moment, I simultaneously despise and admire Logan’s quick thinking.

“Laura’s gonna tear you apart,” Summers says, with a slight satisfaction. It irritates me, how his disgust gives way to a sort of smugness, and I feel the desire to cut through it like a knife.

“Daken, actually,” I correct him, replacing one lie with another, and Summers actually recoils. If I could see his eyes, I wonder what would pass through them – fear? Uncorrupted surprise? Further curiosity? The visor is crucial, of course, but not for the first time, I find myself wishing it wasn’t there, so that I could make a measure of Summers in the way I can of other men.

“I can’t exactly see him settling down for a candlelit dinner,” Summers says.

“Who says that’s what I want?” I ask. And there it is – not just horror, but a mix of something else, more curiosity, intrigue. I see Scott’s tongue flicker against the upper part of his lip, and I tilt my head slightly to the side, looking to Logan. Logan’s making a face, his nose wrinkled – what I can see in the slow-motion movement of other people’s faces, he can smell in the air. What must that be like? He and Hank have the same supernatural awareness of other people’s feelings, their inner thoughts, and it might not be as exact as telepathy, but a man like Summers should know better than to underestimate it. “See you, Logan.”

“Bye bye, kid,” Logan replies, and I don’t bother with the ultra-slow walk I’ve perfected for life among the normal people – for me, it’s a brisk walk, but it’s at my speed, and the New Yorkers I pass by see only a grey-clad blur of motion, but this is a city of mutants, and no one bothers to complain – not within my earshot anyway.

I don’t bother with the elevator in my building – it runs at a safe speed for every other tenant in the block, and I prefer the stairs anyway. I head up to the fourth floor, unlock the door, and step inside.

“Tommy?”

“Hey, Uncle P,” Tommy’ voice rings through my apartment, sailing with ease under the high ceilings, and I close the door behind me. Tommy is sprawled on the sofa, and his fingers move over the reinforced controls of my modified Xbox at speed, and I lean on the back of the couch behind him, watching the screen. It’s not one of my games – it’s some zombie game, with the predominant focus seeming to be on violence and gore. “You left your window open.”

I slap him – lightly – upside the head, and say, “No, I didn’t.” Tommy chuckles to himself, sending bullets through the oncoming torrent of stumbling monsters, and I walk into the kitchen, putting a wok onto the hob and flicking on the heat before moving to wash my hands. My kitchen is dangerous for most – my water pressure is enough to flay the skin off most people, and by the time I dry my hands on a towel, my wok is hot enough to cook chicken – less than twelve seconds. “Have you eaten, Tommy?”

“Uh-huh,” Tommy says, distractedly. A lie. I press my lips together, resisting the urge to roll my eyes (“That’s an ugly expression, Pietro,” Marya Maximoff used to tut at me, when I was still very young, and I don’t even remember what her face looked like, but I remember the cadence of her voice), and I take some chicken from the fridge, beginning to chop it into pieces. “You got any bacon?”

“Yeah, Rabbi Greenberg says it’s full of nutrients,” I retort, and there’s a short pause.

“Oh, right, yeah,” Tommy says. “I forgot.” I can’t help the chuckle that draws itself from my mouth, and I pour oil into the pan, massaging seasoning into the chicken on the chopping board. “Guess I can’t have cheese on my chicken either, huh?”

“You can have cheese on it if you want, but I won’t be having any on mine,” I say, and I flick the chicken into the pan, dropping in some peppers, some tomatoes, some crushed cloves of garlic. Outside, it begins to rain, and I watch the rain as it falls past my kitchen window, the little droplets going slowly, slowly, down towards the ground. I feel my lips quirk up into a smile: I love rain. Cooking at my speed involves a lot of concentration: the temperatures are too high not to keep my gaze upon the pan, because otherwise the chicken will stick or burn, but it can be done, and not with too much difficulty.

It’s not uncommon for me to return home and find Tommy in my apartment, eating the food from my fridge, playing games on my television, or reading books from the mini library in my guest bedroom. Tommy has a place of his own, but he shares it with a few people his age, and much as he studies my modifications of games consoles, the games don’t run as smoothly as they do here. Tommy never realized, I’m sure, how much his encouraging me to play videogames would benefit him, in that regard, but I actually find some enjoyment in having the consoles there.

When I can use them, of course.

I don’t mind.

I drop a few handfuls of noodles into the pan, stirring them into the mix, and I pick up the note sticking from the fridge: Hey, Pietro, I came over earlier and waited for an hour, but you didn’t seem like you were home soon. I wanted to ask if you wanted to go halvesies with me and Tommy on planting a tree for Grandpa for his eighty-fifth birthday. Text me. Billy. I arch an eyebrow, then drop the paper into the recycling bin, grasping the wok by the handle and giving it a light shake.

I don’t understand Billy, and I don’t pretend to: even in my converting to Judaism six years ago, spending time together at holidays, Billy and I have very little in common, though he is just as likely as Tommy to break into my apartment and “hang out”, though usually he’ll just sit in my living room or on the guest bed and read or surf the Internet. Tommy comes to my apartment because he likes the relaxation of an environment tailored to speed like his own, because food is expensive and he knows he’ll be fed here, because (for some reason I can’t entirely fathom) he has affection for me, and enjoys spending time with me. Billy shows up because he vaguely wants my approval, and because none of his bizarre little friends will look for him here.

“Did Billy tell you about this tree thing?”

“For Grandpa? Yeah, he says it’s like a whole thing, you buy a tree in Israel and you get like, a certificate and stuff, right? He gave me a pamphlet.” I hear Tommy swear before the television flickers off, and then I feel the shift in the air as he moves into the kitchen, looking over my shoulder. “You nearly done?”

“I thought you said you’d eaten?”

“I wasn’t listening,” Tommy admits, and I flick my head toward the cupboard behind me: he takes out two shallow bowls and sets them on the table, and with a set of tongs I put out the chicken stir fry on the plates, and then he asks, “You gonna go in for the tree?”

“No,” I say. “I’ll give you the money for your half, though.” Tommy seems to weigh this up, then he shrugs his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says, and he takes his bowl before heading over to the sofa again: he catches himself just before he sits down, and then alters his course, moving to sit at the living room table. I can’t help the slight smile on my face: Luna is a well-behaved child, but without a particular rule in place, she does as she pleases. I’ve never banned guests from eating from their laps in front of the television, but Tommy looks for signs of disgust, of distaste, in me. I wonder how much we really have in common, sometimes – it seems like too much. “What you gonna get him?”

“I bought him a sweater from that Judaica store in Brooklyn. It has Magneto was right written in Hebrew on it, and a big knitted picture of his face.” Tommy starts laughing, and I grin to myself as I take down two glasses from the cupboard, pouring myself a glass of lemonade and pouring orange juice out for Tommy. He flicks two coasters into place on the table, and I set the glasses down, sitting down beside him.

“That’s crazy, man,” Tommy says, and he begins to eat. “You think he’ll like it?”

“He’ll be a mixture of delighted and disgusted. That’s my general goal on these occasions.” Father’s birthday isn’t until next month, though, so I’m going to suspend my anxieties for the time being. Tommy and I make idle conversation as we eat, and it’s pleasant enough – I’m  well-used to eating alone, but I take no issue with having companionship. It’s nice.

After they finish, I take the bowls to the sink and wash them up, setting them upon the draining board.

“I’m gonna head out. I’m meeting David and Loki for drinks in Manhattan. You wanna come?”

“No,” I say bluntly. Tommy grins.

“Yeah, I figured. See ya, Uncle Pete!”

“Goodbye, Tommy,” I murmur, and I focus on washing up the wok and spatula as he leaves. I realize, after a few moments, that I haven’t heard the door slam closed, and I frown, stepping away from the sink and leaning back to look at the door. I stop, holding the towel in one hand and a plate in the other.

“Hey there, cher,” Remy says; in contrast to Tommy’s voice, Remy’s voice is obscenely low and he speaks far too slowly, but I force myself to concentrate on it, on analysing the words as they’re spoken, despite their slow speed. “Had some uncle-nephew time, huh?”

“He just stayed for dinner,” I answer, and I wipe the moisture from the plate, putting it away. Remy is wet from the rain, his coat heavy with it, and he pulls it from his shoulders: he knows me too well to hang it on the coat rack, and instead holds it out from me so that I can hang it from the bar above the bath instead, which is precisely what I do. I flick the kettle on (I brought it home from a trip to Limerick a year or two ago, as Americans don’t really sell electric kettles), and I feel myself strangely struck by his presence as he closes the door and carefully takes off his shoes, setting them beside the doormat.

Except for his appearances on the news, I haven’t seen Remy since I handed in my letter of resignation to Serval Industries: I still see Lorna when Wanda or Billy forces us to have a family dinner together, or when she and I train together in the basement of this building, but everyone else, I avoid – it’s pretty nice, not having Danger’s irritating steadfastness in my life, I have to admit.

“Would you like coffee or tea?” The surprise has hit me hard: rather than the usual jibes I know I’d fall into, I feel myself settle into polite hospitality, and I feel a twinge of self-loathing.

“Nah, cher,” Remy murmurs, walking into my apartment as if he’s been here a thousand times before – he’s not been here once. “Let Remy make you a nice cup of cocoa.” He comes towards the kitchen, but I block his entry.

“I can make hot chocolate,” I say, quietly. “But you can’t use anything in my kitchen. You’ll get hurt. My appliances run too hot and too fast.” Remy freezes, something similar to uncertainty passing over his face: his features show no distrust and no hurt, but merely surprise, and the slightest bit of shame.

“Right. Sure, sorry – Remy didn’t mean ta worry ya.” He settles down at the kitchen table, and then says, “I’d like a cup of joe, if ya don’t mind.”

“No,” I murmur, and I find it curiously close to true, turning around and pouring some ground coffee beans into a mug, following it with some hot water and then some milk, some cream, some sugar. LeBeau likes his coffee sweet – I know that like I know there are stars in the sky. I set the mug next to him, upon a coaster, and he looks up at me. He looks thoughtful. “Why are you here?”

“Would you believe I missed ya?” Remy asks, and I settle slowly into the seat across from him, watching Remy’s expression. He doesn’t look like he’s lying, doesn’t show any signs of it – Remy’s a good liar, but I know from experience that I can pinpoint the initial signs of deception in him. I can’t quite see what he’s feeling, because his face is a mask of neutrality…

But how can I judge him? Don’t I do the same?

Remy looks down at his coffee mug, at the soft swirl of cream as it sinks slowly into the dark liquid, and then he looks up to me again. I’ve always found it strange how engaging Remy’s eyes are – his sunglasses are hanging from the collar of his shirt, baring them to the room, and Pietro looks at their black shape, the little dots of red that form his pupils.

Remy and I share so little in common, but one of the things that we do share, that we always have and always will share, is that our secondary physical mutations – his eyes and my hair – makes us immediately visible to passers by even if we hide our primary mutations. In some ways, that places us on level ground.

“Why’d you quit Serval Industries?” Remy asks. The question is slightly heavy, weighted down with some internal uncertainty… But Pietro doesn’t always tell the truth. Sometimes, a half-truth is what one needs.

“During the six months I worked in the X-Factor, I received twelve thousand, nine hundred and thirty two pieces of hate mail. Six hundred and nine of those were threats upon my life. Fifty seven were threats upon my daughter, and my nephews.” Remy stares at my face with so much shock, and I wonder how he couldn’t have realized, how he couldn’t have known. “That isn’t especially unusual, Remy. I’m sure you get similar missives, but Serval Industries looks after your fan email and your PO box. I’ve had messages like this for a long time, and it was just too much for me.”

“That’s it?” Remy asks. “That’s the reason?”

“Yes,” I murmur. “I’ve been receiving messages like that for forty years, Remy. It isn’t the end of my life. I just didn’t want to deal with them anymore, particularly not after Luna was in the press, and Billy and Tommy.”

“How many messages you got since you left?”

“One thousand three hundred and nine.” Remy whistles, taking a sip of the coffee: cream clings to his stubble, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“Seems ta me like that’s still a lot.”

“It is. But it’s never as much when I’m out of the public eye.” Remy drums his fingers on the table: he seems anxious about something, or worried, and I have to wonder if he’s working up to something. Asking for my help? No, he’d have gone to someone else, anyone else. “You’re not here to ask me to come back, are you?”

“Nah, nah. No.” Remy meets my eyes. “I came to ask ya out for dinner.”

“Dinner? I’ve just eaten, but we can speak here, it’s quite secu-”

“Naw, it’s not about security. S’about dinner, cher. Dinner. Drinks.” What the Hell is he going on about? “God, Maximoff, ain’t anybody ever asked’chu on a date before?” I feel my jaw drop. I must look ridiculous, gaping at LeBeau with my mouth open like a fish. “Look, lemme explain… I kinda figured you’d come back, and then ya didn’t. A week went by, a month, two months. We moved on, teams change. But I still missed ya. Couldn’t make head or tail of it – and you know how good I am with coin tosses, huh? So I thunk about it—”

“Thought,” I murmur, the correction falling from my mouth unbidden.

“I thunk about it… And I figure we should go out on a date, non? Nice food, maybe a little wine, some passionate sex, and we can go from there.”

I’m staring at him. I can’t quite stop. I study his face, searching for some implication that this is a joke, but I see nothing but seriousness: I’ve never contemplated a date with LeBeau, but for the occasional castaway thought that he’s pleasantly built for a man, and I feel as if I’ve been stunned.

“Alright,” I hear myself say. The word echoes in my head.

“Really?”

“Were you not serious?”

“Yeah, I sure was. Just wasn’t sure you were, honey.”

“Have you ever known me to be anything but serious?”

“Let’s go to that wine bar out by the docks.”

“Do you like wine?”

“Sure do.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

My name is Pietro Maximoff,. I’m sixty nine years old, and I’m an Aries. If I had to be brutally honest, I would tell you that I am so, so used to people hating me that when I’m faced with an admission of anything less, I don’t know what to do with it.

I am currently pulling on my coat so that I can go out on a date with my former team mate, a man who I believed, without a doubt, despised me, Remy LeBeau.

Dear Northern Hemisphere First Year Teachers,

Hello from The Land of Academic Years That Line Up With Calendar Years Because We Are Not Savages! 

We’re currently a little over half way through our school year, which has been my first year with my own kidlets (I borrowed other teachers’ when they were sick/at PD for the last 6 months of last year). Please know that I feel your terror/nerves/pain/10,000 other emotions you’re having as the new school year starts. The last 6 months has been...long. And rewarding. And terrifying. And hard. And amazing. And exhausting. And hilarious. In light of this, here are some thoughts about your first year/things I wish people had told me before I started (it got long, and I didn’t want it to devour people’s dashes, so the actual useful part is after the jump).

Please accept now that you will be tired for a very large portion of the next year. I have never, ever been so tired in my whole life. And I have been tired pretty much every waking moment of my entire life. I just really like sleeping, okay? But the point is, it’s not just you. You’re effectively performing all day long. That’s HARD. It’s okay to be tired. There is no reason you can’t go to bed at 7:30 at night if you’re pretty much falling asleep standing up. No one is judging you. 

On a related note, there is no point having a beautifully planned lesson if you’re too exhausted from only getting 4 hours sleep to teach it properly. You can finish that lesson in the shower tomorrow morning. Or the car on the way to work. You cannot sleep in either of these places. You can, however, sleep at school if necessary. Places I have napped this year include my desk in the staff room; the bed in sick bay; and the pile of cushions in the reading corner in my classroom (that was actually a pretty good nap). Sometimes, that 20 minute nap at lunch time is the only thing standing between you and killing a child, and it’s worth taking it instead of spending 20 minutes marking.

Please accept that this is probably the last week or so that you will be properly healthy before school finishes for the year. I’m not saying that you will be SICK all year. I’m just saying that you won’t be WELL for a lot of it. I have had low grade sniffles since about week 3 of term 1, and I am not usually a person who gets sick that often. There are about a million different germs floating around schools, and your immune system won’t know how to cope with it. And you’re going to be tired, so it REALLY won’t know how to cope with it. And if you work with the tiny/small humans, you’re like, quadrupling the germiness. Echinacea, Garlic, Zinc & Vitamin C tablets will keep the worst of the germs at bay most of the time. Sometimes, you’ll still end up sick anyway, but really, that will happen once or twice a year in ANY job.

The kids will make you cry. In both the good way and the bad way. They will make you laugh until you’ve got tears streaming down your face and you can barely breathe. They will make your heart want to explode with love and happiness, but it can’t do that, so the explosion will come out your eyeballs instead. They will also frustrate you immensely, and don’t even get me started on their freaking parents. Just try not to bad cry in front of them, because they see it as a sign of weakness. The rest of the staff, however, have probably been there at some point, and will generally be very supportive. Sometimes, they’ll even pull all your homework booklets apart and reassemble them for you with the correct sheets in them when said homework is the reason you’re crying.

Lessons are wildly unpredictable. Some lessons will go EXACTLY as you plan, and it will be amazing. Some will not go at all how you plan, and it will be terrible. Some will go EXACTLY as you plan, and it will be terrible. Some will not go at all how you plan, and it will be amazing. Sometimes the lessons you spent hours on will be the ones that flop. The lesson that you make up on the spot when you discover that the librarian is out sick today and there’s no one to cover for them, so you suddenly have an unexpected 45 minutes to teach may be the best thing you teach all week. There will be days when you are teaching the kids about kinship in Indigenous Australian families and end up talking about how the water treatment process removes fish poop from the water for 10 minutes (any sort of poop will cause a 10 minute tangent. You just can’t always predict when they’ll somehow manage to work poop into the conversation). Just learn to roll with it, and always remember the kids don’t know what was in your program. They don’t know that there was another activity you planned on doing this lesson before they got caught up in this thing that was supposed to be a relatively minor part of the lesson and were having too much fun to ruin. They don’t know that you were planning on spending an extra 10 minutes on that activity, but they caught on so quickly that now you’re starting the next lesson early. It takes so much of the stress out of those situations when you realise that you can actually do more or less whatever you want AND THE KIDS WILL NEVER KNOW.

When you work with tiny/small children, any time can be story time. Lesson came up short? TIME FOR A STORY! Kids being ratty? I’M GOING TO READ TO YOU! You just had a stressful parent meeting and need a few minutes to get your shit back together, but you also have to be teaching right this second? WHO WOULD LIKE TO PICK A BOOK FOR ME TO READ THE CLASS? Similarly, if you’re tired and over it and CBF with a real lesson plan, The Magic School Bus is almost always acceptable, because it teaches science, but you can also treat it as a visual text for English. Or a study of narrative structure. And as a way of presenting factual information in a fictional text. And if you play it from your Netflix account, you used Netflix for work, and you can therefore claim part of your subscription as a tax deduction.*

It’s important to take time to be silly. Obviously, I can only speak as a teacher of the smalls, but I think this applies to the mediums, too. When you’re trying to focus on the million and one things required to be a good teacher, it can be very easy to get caught up in being serious. And sometimes you do need to be, because you ARE the adult in the room, and there are some topics that are actually serious. But silliness is also an important teaching tool. Did you know that it’s Very Likely that at some point today, Ms R will talk about puppies or unicorns? Were you aware that the soldier settlement scheme after WWI was actually one of the main contributing factors to The Emu Wars? Have you ever considered that Katniss Everdeen would be a better candidate for president of a country than Bruce Wayne (but weirdly enough, Batman would probably be at least on par with Katniss)? These are all things that I’ve actually taught kids at some point in the last year in relation to completely serious things that are actually on the syllabus. I love my Emu Wars lesson so much that I’ve taught it at least 5 times since I wrote it about 12 months ago, and it’s the lesson that the kids continually tell me they love and beg me to repeat. It teaches critical and creative thinking, as well as visual texts, and some tangential links to the history syllabus**. There are other, more serious lessons that teach all those same things to the same age group, but no one enjoys them as much. That lesson fixes even the shittiest of casual days on a year 5/6 class. BECAUSE WHO DOESN’T LOVE GETTING TO SAY “And we lost THAT battle because an emu came over to see what was going on in the car and got stuck in the steering wheel, and the army went ‘Yeah, nah, we are SUPER done right now.’ and retreated for the day.”

Educhums are the absolute greatest and they will help you with everything.  Many of them also have great stories about their dogs and/or offspring, and they have some of the best “You will not believe what the little shits in my class did today” stories I have ever heard. Which I realise are not directly related to teaching, but it’s always good to know when you’ve had a bad day. Because Avery Jones is the Best Good Boy, Mae is Top 2 Best Good Girls (Best Good Girl is currently napping next to me), Tomes’ Bebe says the most hilarious stuff (and has all the best Trash Truck stories), and Toddler Kaaay’s fashion sense is totally on point.

//A disjointed follow on from this in fact. Not something I thought I would continue any time soon, but some imagery has just been swirling in my head. Sorry for bad writing though if you seek to venture below the read more. I honestly feel feverish right now. Gonna go sleepu.

  There’s still no context because I have never explained much about Yi’s parents, but ohhh wellll

Huan could think of nothing more exhilarating than the speed of a horse, and the whooshing by of people almost knocked off the street by its passing. So unabashed he was in the way he galloped the stallion through the capital of Shon-Xan, but in a way she reveled in the rebellion. He at least let her wear his hat while disturbing the peace so that the legend of trouble-making Wuju Masters would live on. It also gave her an excuse to giggle into his back and blame the bamboo later.

But eventually the air about her slowed, and the Wuju practitioner snatched his hat back. She made a playful grab for it in response, but before she could grasp the thing her eyes were filled with magnificent colour.

“Oh, Chao! You always know how to pick a vista. Such beauty.”

The rolling hills before them swooped down into sharp, white cliffs. The water, with the perfect dotting of distant boats, merged flawlessly from blue, to the white of the clouds, and then to their orange and pink highlights. The sun set in magnificence grace, finding a bed in those clouds just… perfectly. She’d seen the sun set every day of her life, but as she hugged about the waist of her distant pen-pal it always seemed so special.

“Such beauty indeed.” He offered with a small laugh, “I figured it was something we could do that didn’t cost me the pelts off my back. Admittedly I came here with no items to barter with. The grass is a bit wet here I think, but the horse needs to rest. He has taken me quite some distance, and I feel terribly for him. I’m sure he’ll like the wet grass combination, even if he can’t appreciate what he’s looking at.”

“Then why did you run him so hard, Wuju Master?”

“Why else but to see you?” Carefully he unwound from her embrace, and his feet met the ground once more, “That… sounds somewhat romantic. I…”

“Oh, let it be, Chao.” It was her turn to laugh aloud as she accepted his help down, “I know what you mean.”

As much as she’d deny him to others as a suitor or a partner, there were times when she could only entertain his inherently romanticised nature. He was a Wuju Master, after all. Surely many young women had dreamed of being spirited away by such a man, and yet he was here holding her hand, of all hands, and watching the sun find rest. They were friends before anything else though. Respectfully they breathed in the sunset, and respectfully they would continue to coexist into the future.

Because even if she would deny his suitorship, in her mind she always felt she wouldn’t get another. Emotions were fickle like that.

“… Have I ever told you that horse rides make my legs wobbly?” She mumbled in good humour, “I think I must sit. Even if it soaks my robes.”

“That is fair.” Chao nodded, “The sun will still set whether we stand or not.”

“Quite.” Huan near skipped away from his hold, sitting astutely at first upon the dewy grass, “Oh! And I must ask you. What brings you here all dressed in pelts and broad brimmed hats anyway?” However, when she saw the Master of grace and poise take a pause to consider her question, then unceremoniously dump himself upon the ground, she felt herself under no obligation to keep her back perfectly straight, “I… forgot to ask before now. The thrill of the ride and the view took my politeness away.”

“Well, uh…” Any energy he’d had from their journey all but melted away, much to Huan’s dismay. He was always so easy to bring down, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty every time she said the wrong thing, “Necessity. It would have been… complicated if I hadn’t left discreetly.” The mage cocked an eyebrow at the Master, and he need not have been asked to continue, “It… It truly is complicated. All that need be known is that… I was under strict instruction not to leave, but I left anyway.”

“Discretely? On your horse?”

“If I had run away I would have been caught, but even a Wuju Master cannot outrun a horse.”

“… You’re a sixty-year-old man, Chao.” She said with tone somewhat playful.

“And you say that every time I voice my grievances.” He replied, tone notably lacking that same playfulness, “What are you to say next? That a woman such as yourself has more freedom than a clan son? I really didn’t come all this way to be witness to more criticism.”

“Chao…”

The man flopped back in a flurry of dark sheep’s wool and goat pelts, his hat falling away to reveal a terse face that stared to the orange sky. It was easy to tell when the man was nervous, apart from the off-color remarks. His deep brown eyes always flickered about, as if he read some sort of scroll before himself that no one else could see, frantically scanning the words as if they would provide a calculated solution to his problems. When his moment of silence brought with it no justification for his actions, he merely said,

“… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” She offered him in similarly hushed tones, “You just have to tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me now.”

“I’m… not even sure where to begin.” Slowly he drew a hand down his face, and she hoped his brow was just wet with dew, “Things have simply been terrible, as they normally are I suppose. The oppression of my position leaves me particularly tense and stressful.”

“… Your Master is being overbearing even now?”

“I fear to think what my life would be like if it were he with the powers of mind and not myself…” He took another pause, with strain finding his face once again, “… Terrible. The only escape I have sometimes is within… and with you.”

Carefully Huan leaned over slightly, placing an immaculate mage’s hand upon his collar bone. For a moment the act seemed to snap him out of his agitated invisible readings, and in a way he tried to mimic her soothed features.

“You seem more troubled than usual, all of a sudden.” She spoke in coos and inoffensive tones, “Tell me everything you can. Lose it to the cliff side so that we can enjoy the rest of the sunset.”

The silence that came after was so palpable that Huan almost found herself tuning in on the munching of the horse as he rummaged around for the best grass. Guilt panged in her gut, almost making her lose her comforting expression. She was steadied only by the fact that she’d known the soundlessly anguishing man for years, and that she knew how these things went. He was never one to offer things outwardly, yet desperately waited for the chance to speak his mind.

“My…” When he finally spoke, it was as if a frog’s croak had replaced his sultry voice, “… My mother… passed recently.”

“Oh Chao…” She shimmied all the closer to him, rubbing his shoulder tenderly, “I am so sorry. Is it… too soon to ask how?”

“I… I don’t…” His breath hitched a moment, but with a couple of calmer breaths he brought himself back, “… That is just it. That’s the pain I’m experiencing right now. I don’t know. My Master… My father will not tell me. He refuses to give me a single detail, other than to proclaim that she was old and not long for the world.”

“... When is the funer--?”

“I don’t know Huan!” He ripped his face away from the sky, and certainly away from her, “He won’t tell me a thing. He forbade me from leaving my home for fear that I’d go looking. But I haven’t seen her since I was a boy of single digits. How would I even know where to look if I hadn’t found her before now? For all I know he had her buried in a place not even my sisters know, just so that he might spit on her bones when he felt the evilness in his heart. She died… and I never got to see her again. And now everything… he is seeking to take everything from me, as if her death was some sort of pass he needed to take complete control of my life! It’s as if he owns me now, like property...”

The grass blades pricked her face with their chill, but she let it be so. Sometimes it was all she could do but stoop to his level. To be in his same position when he endeavored to try and push back against his hurt. But as she knew he would have done for her, so too did she try with him. Putting a hand upon her face, though not with any force, she merely attempted to rub at his cheek bones.

“I don’t understand why he does these things to me.” He choked out, not giving into her prodding in the beginning, “I had to get away, even if just to ride. Even if I didn’t come here I just needed time. He doesn’t understand what his plots and schemes do to me.” Finally, though with clear reluctance, he began slowly arching into her touch. She guided him without a word, and as he turned in the bowl of his conical hat it revealed the heat of his tears against her fingers. It took all of her effort to stem her empathy before he offered the quiet comment, “… You’re getting yourself all wet, lying down here.”

“It’s the least I can do,” She smiled when he couldn’t, though made sure to be rid of it when he voice took a more serious measure, “because you do not deserve the terrible things your father does to you. He plays with you without cause. I’ll never understand it. The abuse…” As best as she was able, Huan cupped the man’s cheeks in either hand, “… Thank you for being so open with me, Chao. I’d be happy in the day I’d never have to hear a terrible thing from the Wuju Lands ever again, but I’m also so very happy that you can and do tell me of them.”

“I’d be happy in those days too.” The Wuju Master laughed a sad laugh, “But I’m… so very stuck in my position. There’s no way out. Especially not now…”

“Whatever do you mean? Surely things will be okay? I know it’s not the same but… I remember the feelings from when my father passed to the Stars. This has only just happened, correct? Time needs to come.”

The mage wouldn’t lie, she found little physical discomfort in wiping away his tears. His face was so hot with melancholy, and with the sun disappearing and the sea air kicking up about them she was glad that her hands were kept from shivering. But she wouldn’t have to fret about the cold for too much longer. Not when next he spoke,

“… I love you, Huan.”

“Wh..? Nn...  I… I know.”

“Don’t just—“ The man almost bit his own tongue, it seemed, before he took one of her wrists in his hand, “… Don’t just say I know. I know it isn’t… like that, but I love you Huan. I love you, and your compassion, and I just…” He was about to curl himself up, but she spotted it first. Almost reflexively she brought her forehead to his, as close as she dared get. The love word always plucked at her heart in ways she wished her foolish feelings wouldn’t rise when it was spoken. Such a rare sentiment to be found in their language was too easily muddied by the guilt or sympathy that she felt. He’d say it only so rarely, and he seemed to mean different things by it each time. But he wanted to hear something,

“I have known no other man like you. You know that... I love you so very much.”

And even if it was what she thought he wanted to hear, it didn’t necessarily make it untrue.

If he could not curl into his own world however, he would curl into hers. Perhaps he forgot his own strength, or maybe it was an intentional act, but his arms were powerful as he entangled her in them. His prominent nose lay straight into her neck, and she gasped quietly when he wheezed upon her cold skin. Stupid mixed feelings at such a time as this… but she was poised enough to let him cry. To pet the back of his head, and to whisper reassurances into his ear. To do it even as the world grew darker still about them, and as his mind’s voice became unchecked,

I came all this way to drag you into the mud, the voice within said with a complete lack of emotion, even as the man outwardly wept, Literal, and figurative mud. I came all this way to tell you I love you so much, and appreciate you so much, in the worst way possible. I didn’t plan for it to be this way. I thought about it all the way, but nothing has worked.

“You’re not making any sense. You just need to calm down. It’s going to be okay…”

I’m never going to see you again. I can’t take it…

“Wh… What?”

“H-Huan..?”

“Deep breaths, Chao…”

Finally, after so long, he lifted his heavy head. Just barely in the last wisps of sunlight could she glimpse at the toll of his sadness. His eyes seemed ripe for caressing, and his face needed to be rid of sweat and tears. It was perhaps the innate motherly instinct within that had her so desperately want to tend to his every wound. Instead the man wouldn’t allow it. As soon as his head was up his head was also forward, and suddenly, so recklessly…

His lips were ice, despite all his whimpering and choked breaths. She didn’t need that to tell her to put force upon his face with her hands. As much as she could see herself being lost to his misplaced passions, as much as it might have happened in fleeting pasts,

“N-No. No…” The man’s face tensed in her grasp, but he was not one to assert himself, “There are times, but that time… isn’t now. I don’t want you to do things like this when you’re so upset. We’re talking, alright?”

I don’t want to be alone, Huan. A breath hissed out his clenched teeth.

“You don’t have to be. I’m right here. You just need to calm down first.”

Stay with me.

“I am.”

Stay with me tonight. All of tonight. I can’t bear to be alone.

“N… Now you know I can’t do that. It’s just a matter of… of decency with the children.”

“Not like that! I just… I just…” A deep breath in, and then a deep breath out upon her chest. He did it once, then twice, then thrice. Quietly his arms went lax about her, and with a seemingly pained effort he broke away, “… I’m saying all sorts of… of bizarre mixed things, aren’t I?”

“… Yes, but I… do believe I brought them on.”

“I’m… sorry. I’m just so… I don’t know what. I really don’t know. I’m so upset. I’ve never felt this way before...” His brow was so creased that it almost appeared that his bushy eyebrows were in the place of his eyes. The Wuju Master wasted no time in propping himself up and clicking his tongue. Trained so well was the horse that it came without a second’s delay, and he used its reigns to help him stand, “I can… cry on my own terms. It’s paramount that I get you out of the mud and back to your college before your cohorts miss you, I think.”

“You don’t have to worry about me like that. I understand, I really do. All I want to be is here for you. We don’t have to leave just yet. I’m not mad, I’m just--”

--I’ll be staying here a couple of days more if I can find away to pay, he reached out a hand to her, At least I’ll be somewhere around until I work out what I’m to do. I don’t think I can keep speaking out loud. That’s really all you need know. We’ll talk about better things… another time…

Not that she needed the help, but if she let him do anything to her, then helping her from the grassy overlook was the least.

“The view was nice.” She offered quietly, watching him stoop down to aid her ascent to the saddle with a quiver to his form, “It really was. We must come back.”

I’m going to faint… His words echoed inside her skull almost illegibly, But home for her first. Maybe I shouldn’t have come at all. I should have stayed home. Should have just stayed. Everything is ruined. I’m never going to see her again…

She didn’t bring up that his thoughts rattled off in her mind all the way back home. Not only because she didn’t want to upset him further, but just because she didn’t have a response. All she had was arms with which to embrace him, but even that seemed to stir him up even more.

What do I do? I don’t understand… I don’t know what to do. I’m going to be sick. I’ve made a fool of myself. I’m a fool. A dumb fool. I just don’t want to be alone. I messed it all up…

You haven’t, she thought back to him, even if she wasn’t a telepath like he. Even if her tightening hug as they rode caused him to spout more and more thoughts, Even if I can hear your every thought, I still don’t know exactly what you’re thinking. We’ll talk about it one day at a time. We always have. I’m sure it will be okay. Maybe then I’ll stop worrying about you so much so that I can have a chance to know what I think about all this.

Really that was her main problem. It was easy to forget she had a say in it all too, but she’d ponder such things after drying her robes, and perhaps having a warm bath.

Kingdom of Maria

Kingdom of Maria : Chapter 4 : Red AO3 Link <--- All tags/warnings are here as well

Eren woke the next morning alone in his bed. Levi always left him sometime in the night to keep their secret, but the boy wished he could stay. He wished Levi would be the one to wake him up, maybe with a kiss-

“Good morning your royal highness!” A bright voice interrupted Eren’s thoughts and he blearily looks over at the person whom it belonged to. “I’m Hange Zoe, one of the members of the court, friends with your father, you see. He’d like you to meet him in his personal study.”

Eren groans out and stretches before sitting up in his bed, locks of hair falling over his features. “Alright.” He complains, then crawling out of that bed and heading for his dresser. He was still dressed in the same clean bed shorts that Levi had slipped onto him the night before. The brunette was especially thankful for that, otherwise he’d be in a rather embarrassing situation.

“I’ll call one of the servants in to dress you, Prince Eren.”

“I can do it myself,” the boy says quickly, not wanting to deal with all the hubbub of being dressed by a small army of people he didn’t even know. After all, his nanny at the estate had long since taught him to dress himself just fine. There weren’t enough servants at his old home to stress about dressing someone who was old enough to do it themselves.  

“Ah well, I’ll wait outside the door for you!” The voice is still just as bright, and it grates on Eren’s ear drums. Hange would probably be less annoying at a more favourable hour.

Eren watches them leave before turning to the dresser and pulling out some garments he thought would be suitable enough. A white chemise under blue silk jacket made thin because of the warm sticky weather that continued from yesterday. Then he pulls on a pair of white breeches and black boots. With a turn, he can stare at himself in the large mirror that covered a portion of one of his bedroom walls. A seat stood in front of that mirror, along with some items for him to freshen up. He steps over and plops down into the seat. Gazing at his own reflection, he’s able to fix up his hair with a comb, replace his earrings with new ones, and set a smaller and less decadent version of his father’s crown on his head. It was silver in color, was encrusted only with a few sapphires, and the wings on the sides did not rise as high as the ones on the King’s crown.

He takes another moment to really look at himself, at his olive skin, his green eyes and dark hair. Eren looked nothing like his mother, and barely like his father. The boy wonders idly if that’s why the Queen never spent much time with him, the fact that he does not resemble her in the slightest. He pushes that thought out of his head before looking back down at the shelf where he had retrieved the comb from. A little bottle and other knick knacks that Eren didn’t recognize rested there. Out of curiosity he investigates them. He lifts the bottle first and smells the open end, only to cough at the strong scent; cologne. Then he lifts the first decorated container to find a fine white powder and a puff inside. He has no idea what it’s used for, so he doesn’t bother playing with it. The next one contained a reddish powder that Eren figured must be blush. Was it common for noble boys to wear blush? Was it given to him by accident? By joke? He doesn’t know, but he certainly has no intention of putting it on without that knowledge. Not that he even knew how to put it on the first place.

Finally he stands, and after taking a deep breath, heads to the door. The prince opens it up to find Hange standing in the hallway, chatting away with one of the guard. Eren didn’t want to eavesdrop, but her voice was so loud it would be impossible not to unless he interjected.

“Uh well, feel free to lead me off to the study, I’m afraid I don’t know...where it is,” Eren interrupts as politely as he can.

“Oh of course you wouldn’t!” Hange says, bowing slightly before apologizing. “Come, come, my Prince, we’re off!” With that Hange is already speed walking down the hall, any conversation that had been held with the guard was completely forgotten. Eren follows her quickly, and the guard after him. They struggled to keep up.

He was lead through the hallway and to an offshoot with a fancy looking door, almost a smaller replica of the city gates. Hange knocks on it, and as they wait for a reply, Eren takes the time to look over what is painted on the face of the door. Two wings, similarly designed like the ones that were painted on every guard's shield. One blue, and one white. It was the colors of his family, the colors that his ancestor Maria had chose after she claimed the monarchy for the Jaeger family. There were numerous stories explaining in different ways why she chose those colors, and to why she chose the falcon as their sigil. Some said she had a pet falcon, one that would help her in battle by pecking out the eyes of archers. Eren wasn’t sure if he believed that, but before he can think on it more, a voice from within the room dictates that they are to come in. Hange opens the door and gestures at Eren politely, directing him inside.

The study was even larger than Eren’s bedroom. Long and tall bookcases covered two of the walls, and the entire floor was carpeted in a creamy white color. In the center was a table. The table was large, enough for 12 people to sit at it comfortably, but it was still perfectly square. Made from a dark wood, in the center of the table the Jaeger falcon was carved into the surface beautifully. Eren’s eyes trailed over the twists and turns of it, the way the feathers jutted out just slightly from the otherwise flat surface. Beyond that was a desk at which his father sat, looking contemplative and worried. When he and his son make eye contact, he only sighs deeply and gestures for him to sit down at the center table before getting up and following him there himself.

“You wanted to speak with me, father?” Eren prompts, looking slightly nervous. His father was acting like he was going to give him bad news, and that expectation sent his stomach reeling.

“I did.” His father begins. His voice is rather soft, but also clear. “I wanted you to be aware of some things. I couldn’t oversee your education myself, and in addition, some recent developments in the world are...pertinent to our family. To you. So it is important that you know.”

Oh no. Eren hoped this wasn’t a pop quiz, he hated studying, he hated his teachers back at the estate. “Well?”

“Do you remember how our Kingdom was founded?”

That was an easy enough question. “Yes, uh, like over 100 or so years ago, the Great Queen Maria Jaeger the First defeated The Rosian Empire in a battle, and then sowed seeds of rebellion throughout Rose’s holds. The uprisings forced Rose to cower and return to its homeland, where they remain today. Queen Maria allowed the holds to either retain their sovereignty, or to become part of her Kingdom. The people were so thankful for her overthrowing the Rosians, who were tyrants, that they became part of Maria’s new Kingdom. And that’s why Maria is the largest nation.”

“Correct. Maria was your great great great grandmother. We never had a very large family, but now…” He trails off and then begins again. “You are the only heir to our name right now. Once I am gone you will have everything. Rose wants you dead. More than they want anything else. They still hold a grudge against us, even though the decades have passed by. If you die, we have no heir and our government falls apart. There is no system in place for the possibility of no members of the family being left. Would my wife’s family claim the crown? My grandmothers? Perhaps our treasury master, or the general of our armies? It would be hell.”

“We don’t have any other family? Didn’t grandfather have a brother and a sister?” Eren looks skeptical, how could he really be the only one?

“He does, but his sister, Maria the Second, joined the church when she was young. She is not having any offspring. Neither is my uncle. He disappeared as a young man. We don’t know if he is alive or dead.” Grisha shakes his head at his son. “You are it, Eren. You are the end of the line.”

“Why are you telling me this? I already knew I was in danger. That’s why I grew up far away. That is why I’m back now.” The boy can feel his body begin to heat up, and this time it had nothing to do with the weather. It was purely emotional.

“Rose has built up their navy and army once more by colonizing far away lands.” The King explains, voice strained now. “They… we believe it will not be long until they attack one of our holds. We are preparing for war. They’ve always held a bitter resentment for us. And an undying tenacity to conquer the world.”

“Then I should be on the front lines.” Eren decides, looking at his father with determination as he slams his fist down the table, “I should be-”

“No. You should not. You are not a soldier, not a warrior; you’re just a boy.” Grisha looks insistent, worried.

“I’m sure there are boys younger than me out there! And...no, I’m a- I should be a leader. I should become someone that people would be willing to follow. Like you. Like Maria!” He’s getting even more worked up now, thinking again of all the stories he heard of his long since deceased family members. Stories of them winning great battles. His own namesake, the first Eren Jaeger; he was a fighter. His battleaxe hung above the mantel at the Jaeger Estate.

“Maria was trained for years before she even set foot on a battlefield!” His father explains, looking pained now. But how could he explain to his son, who he barely knew, why he couldn’t be the prince that the world was asking him to be?

“Argh! Then start training me now! Levi has been training me, what about you! What about my mother?” His voice is getting louder, he knows it but he cannot help himself. “You’ve barely done anything for me other than stick me in that estate! I don’t feel like a prince! I wasn’t raised around this shit.”

“Watch your language Eren.”

“This is ridiculous. I finally show to you that I want to be a Prince, that I want to be a leader, that I want to uphold our name, and you shut me down? What else am I supposed to do? Sit here?!” He’s enraged, his voice reverberating sharply off the stone walls of his father’s study.

“No. You will be going with Sir Levi Ackerman into hiding again.” Grisha drops the news simply, crossing his arms. It was hopeless now, Eren was already angry, there was no helping it.

Eren stares at his father, mouth agape, cheeks flushed red with anger. His fists were clenched tightly, his knuckles were white in contrast to his otherwise tanned skin. “How, could you possibly-!”

“You have to live. It would be irresponsible for you not to protect yourself as best you can.”

Before Eren could respond, he heard a door slam, and familiar footfalls nearing the table.

“It would be damn near suicidal to do anything else, Eren.”

Eren turns to look at Levi with a red hot glare. He knew. He knew his father was going to request this of him again, and he was on his side. The stoic man leaned back against the door, looking down towards the ground. Eren felt like he was avoiding his gaze on purpose.

“You. How could you?!” Eren pushes back from the table, standing as his chair clatters to the floor.

“Calm down, Eren. It’s not worth getting so upset. We’ll continue to train, you’ll get better, then someday you will be a leader. Have a little faith.” Levi’s voice is strong, but quiet, and that’s the end of it. The King tells his son that he is dismissed.

Eren walked briskly into the throne room when he was summoned to meet his betrothed. His mood was still rather awful, and Levi could only hope the younger wouldn’t let those emotions seep into the first meeting with the girl he would be marrying. Eren wasn’t dressed properly, either but his retainer certainly was not going to waste his time trying to get the boy to change into something more appropriate. Arriving in the grand room, Levi spotted the three arrivals. One, the princess no doubt, and two others in traveling armour, carrying heavy bags. The King and the Queen sat atop their usual seats, waiting for their son. The Queen hurries to stand when Eren arrives, clapping her hands together with a smile. “Eren, dear! May I introduce you to Princess Krista Lenz of Sina...” Eren’s gaze traveled from his parents and to the new guest.

Princess Krista was short. Her long blonde hair was tied up into some sort of jeweled capitulation of hair and hair pins. Her gown reached the floor. It was sky blue in color, not unlike her eyes, with accents of gold. Images depicting bears and woodlands were embroidered into the fabric. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Eren was clear headed enough to realize that despite his distaste. After all, their fates were now being tied together.

“It is such a pleasure to meet you, Prince Eren,” the girl greets him, holding out her hand to him with one of the sweetest smiles he had ever seen, but there was something off about it. It felt fake. Forced. He wondered what sort of personality this girl really had, trapped behind her facade. Quickly Eren dropped on one knee and took her hand to kiss it, as was the courtesy.

“You as well, princess,” he responds simply before rising back to his feet, still holding her hand gently in his. “Would you like to take a walk with me? Our gardens are beautiful. If you enjoy that sort of thing.”

“I would like that very much,” she tells him, voice upbeat and friendly. Eren’s voice was less so, making it obvious he was less than pleased at his current situation. Levi had no idea, even after knowing the boy for so long, how to get him act with some more tact. It was hard enough making Eren do things he didn’t want to do, let alone making him do it with a smile on his face. He watches as the prince leads her off to the gardens without complaint, relieved at least at that. He finds himself then alone with the Princess’s two retainers as the regular palace guards follow after the couple.

The first one was a woman, a tall one. She had freckles that dotted her brown skin. Although she was easily recognized as female, Levi would certainly not describe her as feminine. Her hair was hidden in the helmet she wore, so he had no idea how short or long it may have been. He wonders a bit how a woman was able to hold such a position in a traditionalist and religious kingdom like Sina. But then again, it was none of his business.

The other one was a man built like a bear. Or not a man, because he still looked rather young. Perhaps around Eren’s age, he figured. He had a complexion more similar to the Princess: pale, blue eyes, blonde hair. He might have been handsome in the conventional sense, but was far too stocky to take the cake. His nose may have been a bit too prominent as well.

“I’m Levi.” The knight introduces himself, holding his hand out in greeting to the woman first. No hand comes to shake with his.

“We know.” The man says, even as Levi stares at the woman, obviously addressing her first.

“Then we’re at an imbalance. You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are.” Call it intuition but Levi had a bad feeling about these two. He knew to trust his gut, and would keep tabs on Eren in their presence. However, he couldn’t go to the King simply on a feeling.

“I’m Ymir. And this is Reiner.” They stare each other down for a few moments more before a servant hurries over to the three, insisting that they show the new arrivals to their chambers. Levi lets them go, and reminds himself to warn Eren about the two, to make sure they would never get him alone.

It wasn’t until sunset that Eren and Levi found themselves alone again. This time they sat together on Eren’s balcony, overlooking the gardens. A simple fence blocked them from a fall, but it was roomy enough that the prince could sit with his feet dangling off the edge. Levi doesn’t sit in the same way, merely cross legged next to him as he peels an orange with his knife.

“How was the girl?” Levi finally asks, knowing Eren was probably desperate to tell him all about it.

“She’s too nice,” Eren complains.

“Too nice? That’s a new one. Explain.”

“She’s all smiles all the time, never says no to anything. I feel like I could have asked her to lick the ground and she would have done it.” He shakes his head. “I hate people like that. Pushovers. But I don’t even know if that’s how she really is, you know? Because she sounds so scripted. Like an actress.”

Levi shakes his head, amused at how far Eren was reading into this. “You don’t know a lot of young women. I would chalk it up to that. I’m glad she’s nice to you.”

“Yeah yeah.” Eren pouts. If all young women were like that, he sure knew why he had different tastes.

“By the way, those two she came with. Her liegemen I assume, “ Levi beings, finally having finished peeling the fruit. He breaks it in half and hands one part to Eren, who turns to take it from him, “stay away from them best you can.”

“What? Why?” Eren asks before breaking off a piece of the orange and eating it.

“I have a bad feeling about them. Humor me.”

“If you say so Levi.” Eren shrugs, not thinking it was a big deal anyway. They seemed just fine to him. Besides, the other boy was around his age. Maybe he could befriend him. Maybe he could ask them what those powders in his room were for. No, never mind. The boy wasn’t a noble, so he probably had no idea. Eren looks over to Levi and considers asking him. “Uh,”

“What is it, love?” Levi asks, munching on his own half of the fruit now.

“I have powders in my room, makeup powders. Am I supposed to wear them?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Do you think someone knows about us? And they’re making fun of me by giving me girl things?”

“I don’t know, maybe with how loud you are, but I doubt it. I would have heard the servants gossiping about it. And hmm, now that I think, you are cute when you blush. Some of that makeup would suit you.”

Eren blushes in response and tears his gaze away to look at his lap as he shoves more of the fruit in his mouth. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles as he chews, “I get into it. I can’t help myself.”

Levi shakes his head again, small smile gracing his features. “I know that Eren. I’m teasing you more than anything. But if you don’t want these rumors to spread we have to be more careful. Whispers we can handle, but I don’t want this to escalate into a scandal for you.”

Eren nods, but even as he does he makes a kissy face and points to his lips. “I know I know, I’ll be quiet. Now give me a kiss.”

Levi huffs out of his nose and leans forward to indulge him.

What they don’t know, is that someone in the garden is looking up and watching him in the fading daylight.

Written for @thefitzsimmonsnetwork‘s 4x11 Coda Challenge! 

Apologies in advance. This one gets kinda heavy. Enjoy! (lol)

Read on AO3 or below! 

The first time, his question surprises her.

They sit at the edge of the pool, their feet dangling into the water. It still doesn’t seem real. To think that the entire time they spent on the Bus, Ward was playing them the entire time. Fitz wants to think Hydra brainwashed him, that somehow, Ward is still a good person. Jemma wants to agree with him, but the feeling in the gut tells her the opposite. But that’s just Fitz, of course. Always seeing the best in people.

Even if sometimes it’s a mistake.

“Tell me that you’re not Hydra.”

She turns her head in confusion. “What?” How could he think such a thing after all they’ve been through together? Everything, from the Academy, and Sci-Ops, and now all of their experiences on the Bus. Together. But after everything that’s suddenly happened, she really can’t blame him.

“I know that it’s ridiculous, but I just need to hear you say it.”

She raises her eyebrow half an inch, but realizes he’s completely serious. She turns to face him and leans in closer, looking directly into his eyes. “I’m not Hydra,” she tells him firmly.

The worry fades from his eyes. Nodding his head, he rambles on about how he’s not Hydra either and how he wouldn’t know what he would do if she ever were. This makes her heart sink. Oh Fitz. She knows, deep down, how much he cares about her. And she feels the same way. Without Fitz, none of this would have been worth it. She can’t see them moving forward without each other. The image of them not working together, side by side, it’s something she cannot comprehend.

“You’ll never have to find out.” She places her hand gently on his knee in a gesture of reassurance.

She make a silent promise to herself that whatever happens, she’ll do whatever she can to keep him from experiencing any more pain. They will figure this out, whatever this is. As long as they stick with their team and trust one another, everything should be fine. Even if the world seems to be crashing down around them, at least they still have each other.

Everything should be fine.

The second time, his question is more painful.

S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, or whatever they are, make their way in and out of the lab, escorting innocent lab technicians to God knows where. Jemma sits next to Fitz against a lab station on the floor, watching in confusion and horror. This is their lab. And just as things seemed to be settling down after Tripp’s death, the world decides to pull the rug out from under them.

She never thought they would have to go through something like this again. As if the Hydra infiltration weren’t painful enough, along with everything going on with Skye, now the very people they thought were their friends were actually working against them. Or behind their backs. Or whatever they were doing this whole time because nothing makes sense anymore.

They don’t speak to each other. They’re not really doing much of that at the moment. She knows he’s upset with her for keeping things about Skye from him. And the last time they spoke, he said some things that took her by surprise. About how she’s changed, and that she’s scared. But he’s right. She is scared. Not because of how her friends are changing, but more of simply the unknown. Of not being able to save her friends. And not knowing what’s going to happen next.

And look where we are now.

She pulls her hands up to her face in frustration.

“Tell me you’re not with them.”

His desperate words catch her off guard. It’s the first thing he’s said to her all day, but the question itself doesn’t surprise her. It pains her. She was gone for so long undercover, and was close with Bobbi, so he really can’t know for sure.

Pulling her hands down, she turns to see his face. He looks at her wearily, but she sees a small bit of hope behind his eyes. It warms her heavy heart a little, knowing he’ll always be on her side and still believes in their partnership, but the fact that he still has to ask makes this whole situation even more painful.

“Of course not,” she says softly. Looking away, she hangs her head down as she continues to process the last few hours. But as much as she thinks about how much this hurts her, she thinks of Mack, and how this must feel so much worse for Fitz.

She wants to reach out to him in some way, let him know that she’s there for him, but she can’t bring herself to make the move. She knows that would probably just bring him more pain. She’s done enough of that already. Her actions, going undercover and not telling him, were for the best. But still. She never wanted him to go through something like this again.

Her eyes follow a few men in suits heading down the hallway. She crosses her arms across her chest, annoyed by the invasion of their space. “Why does this keep happening?” she says under her breath. Her voice catches in her throat at the last word, so she swallows down hard, hoping Fitz won’t notice.

Closing his eyes, he leans his head back and exhales. “I don’t know.”

Unable to fight the urge any longer, she reaches across him and clutches onto his hand. It only takes him a few seconds before he places his other hand on top of hers.

Jemma feels her heart flutter. The joining of their hands seems like the only solidarity left in the world. God, she missed this. Him. So terribly much. Naturally, it takes the world crashing down around them to bring them back together. She feels his hand tighten his grip on hers just a touch. Maybe he misses her too.

The third time, he doesn’t need to ask the question.

He already knows she’s not an LMD; he would have figured it out in an instant. But that doesn’t stop her from wanting to reassure him of this fact.

She waits in the corridor, sitting against the wall on the floor. Fitz is finishing up locking away the Radcliffe LMD with a few other agents, working nearly in a daze after his discovery. She chose to step aside, give him his space. Let him process. But she still waits, hoping he’ll come to her when he’s ready.

She pulls her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and rests her chin on her knees. Somehow, this time feels so much worse. She remembers how excited Fitz was the first time Radcliffe invited him to his apartment to talk science and watch the football match. Seeing the light finally return to his eyes after grieving the loss of Lincoln, and accepting Daisy’s departure from the team helped Jemma feel as if things were finally going to be okay. She doesn’t want to think about when the shift occurred, when Radcliffe turned from being a friend and mentor to Fitz to someone else entirely.

A few moments pass and Fitz suddenly rounds the corner, his hands in his pockets. She looks up at him with questioning eyes.

“It’s done. He’s all locked up.” He pauses, bites his lip. “It. It’s all locked up.”

Stretching her legs out in front of her, she breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. We’ll find him. Wherever he’s hiding. He won’t get away with this.”

He doesn’t respond,  but the expression on his face tells her everything she needs to know. He’s hurting, much more than he’ll ever care to admit. Through a drawn out sigh, he slides down the wall until he’s sitting next to her hip to hip. She immediately pulls his hand into her lap, cradling it between her own.

She leans her head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand. “I’m not one, you know. An LMD.”

“Yeah, I know.” His defeated tone makes her heart sink, a feeling that’s all too familiar to her. “Jemma, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” She sits back up to look at him. “If you don’t want to.”

His lips part. She can see it in his eyes, the processing. But she can tell that keeping his feelings buried isn’t an option anymore. It takes him a few moments before he speaks. “I’m sorry I lied. I just…I just wanted to be sure.”

“I know. I understand. I didn’t…before, but I do now. And you wanted to be wrong.”

“Yeah.”

She brings his hand up to her lips. “I’m sorry you were right. But I want you to come to me, okay? Even if you’re not sure. Even if you’re afraid of what you’ll discover.”

He looks down at their hands. “I will. I promise. I know I’ve been…distant. I think part of me felt like if I told you, it would be real.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“No, it’s okay—”

“No, really. I was upset. Not at you, just at…everything, I guess. You just happened to be the target.”

He nods in understanding, and then looks back up to meet her eyes, his own more serious. “Why does this keep happening to us? We keep putting our trust in the wrong people.”

Tilting her head slightly, she lets out a sigh. “I think it comes with the territory. It’s S.H.I.E.L.D. Everyone has secrets. But that definitely doesn’t say anything about who you are as a person. Quite the opposite, actually. You always want to see the good in people, and that’s noble and just, and it’s part of who you are. And you should never try to change that.”

His eyes suddenly go much darker.

“What is it?” she asks, gripping his arm.

He hesitates, looking anywhere but her eyes, but another squeeze from her hand brings his focus back to her. “I’m scared. I’m scared of why he’s doing this. Something’s missing. Some piece of this puzzle and it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand. And it’s making me sick. Because the last time we were betrayed, things got worse before they got better.” He swallows hard, struggling to continue on. “I’m scared of what’s coming.”

This is the most he’s admitted to her in a long time. He tends to hide his fear, to protect her, probably. When it seems like something catastrophic is about to happen, he’s always the one to reassure her that they’ll figure it out. But not this time. When he says the words, they hit her hard, reviving old fears still simmering within her. As much as she tries to bury those memories as deep as her mind allows, they always manage to find a way to haunt her. And it doesn’t hit her until now how similarly the events of the last few years played out. A heavy blow, and then so much more.

They were so naïve that night by the pool. They didn’t anticipate Ward’s next move. Or being kidnapped. Or everything else.

And when everything finally settled the second time, and they made plans, they didn’t anticipate how a split second later, a mysterious rock would swallow her up into oblivion. Or how he wouldn’t get her back for six months. Or all the pain they would encounter when he finally did get her back.

He’s right. It’s always so much worse than they can ever imagine.

She shudders, the weight of his words sinking in. “Me too,” she tells him gently.

They stare at each other then, and watch as their eyes fill with matching anguish. Before the weight seems to bring them both down, she pulls him closer, letting him rest his head against her shoulder, and wraps her arms around him, holding on for dear life. For them, it’s usually the other way around, her head fitting perfectly underneath his chin. The moments blend together now, countless times he’s comforted her in times of sorrow. But today, it’s her turn to hold them together.

As they sit in near silence, she feels fresh tears trailing against her neck. His tears. She shifts to press her lips to the top of his head as tears collect in her own eyes.

“Me too,” she whispers again. “Me too.”