#(also they had a bit of a mix up of whose parts area whose and that’s why she’s blue she got some of violet accidentally)

[sunkissedscribbles]

Prejudiced - Chapter Two

this is only a part of the series, the previous and next chapters can be found here

a/n: i’m so excited for this one, it is mostly angst, mainly hermione and cassie beef

word count: 3742

tw: swearing i guess??

summary: cass doesn’t find her place, starting to drift apart with friends, a little bit of nostalgia. oh, and we meet enzo and theo xx

<previous chapter next chapter>

dividers by @chachachannah

"Cassie, he's no good!" Hermione claims as we head through the portrait hole back from the library where I helped her take back her books. "You know whose son he is and he's a Sly-"

"Oh shut up, Mione, will you?" I snap back at her, getting more and more upset with her stereotypes.

"I won't! You've always been too kind to realize the wrong!"

"Oh, we're going with personal attacks, aren't we?" I let out a frustrated laugh, turning around to face her. "You don't even know him, that's why you think he's bad, that's why you believe the rumours instead of your friend!"

"I'm just trying to get you out of trouble before you get involved too much!"

"And you're also saying not to befriend him only because he's not a Gryffindor!"

"No, I'm saying not to befriend him because he's a Slytherin!"

"I don't care if he's a Slytherin, a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw, or a Hufflepuff, Hermione!" I turn my head away with a lingering sense of frustration visible in my eyes for a moment before looking back at her. "My father was in Slytherin, almost all of my family have been. I can't base it on myths like all Slytherins and Slytherins only are cruel, evil, and bad! Funny enough, you aren't this concerned about Enzo, for example!"

"But he's not a..." She stops mid-sentence but it hits me just like it would if she said it out.

I look away for a moment with a mix of disgust and fury before looking back at her.

"Because he's not a Riddle," I finish instead of her and she looks away, embarrassedly sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. "When the fuck are we going to finally end this bloody caste system going around?! We are supposed to learn how to live together with other people but with y'all thinking Gryffindor's top tier it won't ever happen!"

When I get no response to what I've said, I storm out of the common room, deciding to take a walk around the castle, leaving Hermione standing in the middle of the common area with our other housemates who've witnessed our whole argument. I don't even care about them and what they think anymore; they are concerned about me being a spy in Gryffindor for the dark side already, alongside the rumour of me helping Sirius Black escape from Azkaban. Now it's only the icing on the cake: me defending Mattheo Riddle. They can all fuck it.

As if my body had its own will, my legs take me to the Dungeons. I do this quite often, stopping by the glass cabinet that exhibits trophies won by Slytherin students of the past. I stand in front of the cabinet, looking at a trophy won by Regulus Black for a potion. My gaze soon shifts to a picture of the Slytherin Quidditch team, my green eyes analyzing him in the image I've seen so many times; longer, curly black hair, pale skin, and ice-blue, more like grey eyes. I wonder if I look like him a little bit, or more like, if my personality is similar to his a little, at least as I know my brown hair and green eyes look nothing like his. Nor does my skin that's a little more warm-toned compared to the boy's in the picture. Probably the only thing about me that looks like him is the curl pattern of my hair and how defined my bones are under the skin of my face - I have to state again, for the hundredth time this school year, as my focus shifts to my reflection in the glass cabinet.

"Good afternoon, Ms Black," I hear a familiar voice from behind me that shakes me out of my thoughts.

"Professor Lupin," I turn around to face my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher — he's my favourite of all of the DADA teachers I've survived so far. He really does have a talent for teaching and a bonus point for communicating with his students so well.

"What are you doing in the Dungeons? Up to no good, I assume as I have passed by Mr and Mr Weasley just a few minutes ago?" He smiles warmly at me and I sense some mischievousness in his voice but when he sees my troubled face expression, he changes the topic but is smiling at me the same way. I haven't talked to Fred and George in days. "Care to join me on a walk? It's a rather beautiful day for spending it inside."

I offer him a thankful smile as we head towards the Clocktower Courtyard and onto the bridge where we stop, admiring the view around us; the bare trees and bushes that are about to come out in buds in just a short month, finally.

We lean on the wooden railing of the bridge and I can feel the light winter breeze in my hair and on my face.

"What's bothering you, Ms Black?" Lupin asks and I sigh, turning to face him.

"Everything just got... piled up, all my studies. I do all of my homework the day I get them but it got too much these days and I barely have time for what I want to do. And I've had an argument over a sensitive topic with one of my close friends today," I sigh.

"Conflicts can stand between friends easily but it's never too late to make up for them."

I just nod, continuing, "I know, but I'm just honestly getting really tired of everyone sticking to believe the stereotypes of each house. It's always the Gryffindor bravery, the Ravenclaw wit, the Hufflepuff kindness, and the Slytherin commission. No one talks about how prejudiced everyone is against each other. No one talks about how we all are different and how we are not our parents to make the same mistakes."

Professor Lupin doesn't say anything and seems to just digest my words. I bet he knows exactly who I'm talking about.

"This kind of thinking only shows your intelligence, Ms Black. I'm impressed, I must admit," he smiles at me and I reciprocate the gesture with a hint of gratefulness in it. "You remind me a lot of your father, you know."

He can see my eyes widen slightly and how my brows change their curve when I furrow them, to which he chuckles, continuing, "I knew him, yes. I can tell you've got a lot after him; your wit and intelligence are notable, indeed."

"Might I ask how you knew him?"

"He was a year below me at Hogwarts. We were friends. Well, sort of." I look at him, fascinated by his words, asking what he was like only with my eyes, nonverbally. "Unlike you, he was reserved but had always carried a book with himself, as I've noticed you do too. We switched recommendations every once in a while and often studied together in the library. He was really smart. He was also a part of the Quidditch team, just like you. I have also heard you inherited his talent in potions as well."

I smile at his words. I have never really heard anyone talk about dad like this other than mum; only heard words referring to him as a cowardly boy who couldn't bear his duties as a Death Eater. But I knew he wasn't like that. I knew he wouldn't have left mum and me if it hadn't been for the good.

"Did the Gryffindors think they were better than the rest back then, too, professor?" I ask curiously and the teacher seems to think about it for a moment, his face reflecting a nostalgic emotion.

"I think we did."

Coming from the walk with Professor Lupin, I make my way back to the Gryffindor Tower. It was really nice to talk to Lupin; seems like not everyone in this school is against me.

I'm walking up the stairs at a rather calm pace as my mind is racing, filled with everything all at once. Once I reach the common room, I enter and find myself being stared at by my fellow Gryffindors, hearing them all go quiet in a split second or lowering their voices to a slight whisper. I don't even bother to look at them but I of course see some familiar faces from the corner of my eye. Dean and Seamus from a year below me, the first one looking at me with a hint of sadness, the second with pure concern. I pass through the room toward the staircase to head to my dorm as I feel too tired of the judgments I face every day. The judgments I have said aren't bothering me, or at least I can cope with them.

"You heard 'bout her fight with Hermione? Think she got brainwashed by Riddle," I hear someone saying in a low voice as I disappear behind the wall of the stairs. My fists tighten as I hear this. I'm so fucking tired of all this shit!

I'm almost on top of the staircase when Harry passes me by. I mutter a hi and he turns around.

"Cass," he starts, to which I turn around, already standing on the top step and he comes back to face me from my level, "I've heard about your argument with Hermione."

"Oh, Merlin, don't even start," I sigh as I can already guess what he's thinking. "Look, I don't need any of your approval to have friends from the other houses and I've got really tired of having to listen to everybody's concerns about either Mattheo or me so if you're going to tell me off, don't expect me to either start an argument or bow at your words."

He smiles softly with a hint of confusion mixed in his expression, "I-I just wanted to reassure you that I'm still your friend. You know, even if everyone were against you."

I know why he says this; he got judged a lot too, last school year when people thought he opened the Chamber of Secrets after they found out he was Parseltongue but I stood up for him, that is what our friendship was based on. I think I attract people who get misjudged.

I reciprocate his smile, nodding, "Thank you."

But still, I can tell he's thinking 'But why him?' As neither of us says anything, he turns around to head down the stairs and I turn to the girls' dormitories. As I step into my room, the first thing I do is put on some music before lying down on my bed, thinking about what Professor Lupin has said about the conflicts between friends. I haven't talked to Fred and George in days and now I seem to have a fallout with Hermione as well; I can't help but wonder if this is all my fault — choosing to believe there can be friendships between people from different houses and trusting them. I wonder if my so-called friends talk about me behind my back like that too. At the end of the day, who even can I trust?

Days go by with things unchanged, more likely; getting worse. In the Great Hall, where I used to sit either with my Quidditch teammates, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, or (most of the time) with Fred, George, and Lee, now I'm sitting alone and can't help but feel betrayed. Betrayed by my friends who are too proud to apologize and betrayed by myself for turning inwards as if I were the victim. But I got issues, I can't help it; I feel like any of the arguments I have had with the others didn't happen directly because of me, I just... shot back and snapped back at them for starting the fights.

These days, I mostly spend in my room or in the library, studying or walking around the estate with Enzo. During lessons though, it hasn't changed; I'm sitting with Kiara, a Slytherin girl, one of my closest friends. I'd say, she's one of my best friends alongside Fred and George and she's head over heels for Professor Lupin for some reason. To my even bigger surprise, for Professor Snape as well. I know that she got daddy issues.

"You gotta talk to them, Cass," says Lorenzo as we are walking by the Black Lake on Friday. "Can't bear seeing you like this: sitting alone in the Great Hall with book in one hand and walkman in the other."

I have known Enzo since first year when we once got paired for a Herbology assignment. I've never really cared about herbs and plants; got all my flowers killed within a week whenever I got any. But he seemed to be rocking the subject. He talked a lot about Mandrakes when we had to work with them and during this assignment, he was extremely patient with me, explaining the steps as many times as I needed to hear them to understand stuff. In return, I helped him with Astronomy and sometimes Defense Against The Dark Arts. We instantly became friends thanks to his friendly nature and how much talking the both of us were capable of keeping up.

"Getting used to it at this point," I say, picking up a rock from the ground, about to throw it into the lake on my right.

"Bloody stubborn, you aware how much you are?" he laughs lightly.

"Like a Gryffindor, am I?" I reply sarcastically. "Fuck these bloody stereotypes, I'm tired of them all!" I grunt in a frustrated manner.

I step up onto the trunk of a fallen tree, walking over it while Enzo tries to enlighten the mood or at least calm me down a bit.

"Going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" he asks as he offers his hand to help me down from the tree.

"Nah, think I'll just stay at Hogwarts. Got a lot to study," shaking my head, I take his hand as I jump off the tree.

"Shall I stay with you?" he offers with a light smile.

"Don't you dare to spend your Hogsmeade Saturday in the castle just because of me. I'll be alright," I shake my head, chuckling. "I thought you had a date?"

He shakes his head. "Why would I?"

"I don't know. Might've heard Theo teasing you about a girl," I nudge him with my elbow. His face becomes red in a second.

"Oh, that... No, I'm going with Theo and Mattheo. No date."

I nod in understanding, picking up another rock from the ground and throwing it into the water. I wonder if you can swim in the Black Lake?

"Do you think..."

"I don't think we're allowed to. But we could," he shakes his head, cutting me off mid-sentence.

I smile in confusion.

"C'mon, I've known you since first year, I know the way your brain works; you look at something, stay silent for a moment, and ask a question, usually a dumb one. Like a child," he chuckles.

I place my hand dramatically over my heart, "Ow, Berkshire, you did not just call me a child, did you?"

"No, I said like a child," he laughs it off. "But I don't think we are allowed to swim in the Black Lake."

The next morning, I make my way to sit with Enzo, Mattheo, and Theo instead of sitting alone at the Gryffindor table. At this point, I'll stand by the opinion that everyone can suck it. I'm not going to pity myself for not being good enough for top-tier Gryffindor.

"Morning," I sit down next to Mattheo, across the two other boys. Enzo has a welcoming smile on his face, waving at me.

"Didn't know you've switched houses," Theo comments as I sit down. A grin forms on his lips, "Another hot chick for Slytherin, thank Merlin."

I kick his shin under the table with an innocent smile on my face. I slightly turn my head in Mattheo's direction but for some reason, I don't dare to look at him directly without a proper reason, so I ask him: "Could you pass me the butter?"

He nods his head, doing what I have asked for. I mutter a 'thanks'.

"I think Granger's about to snap," says Theo, looking over at the Gryffindor table. I pretend not to care as I sit up with a straighter back. "I guess you still didn't make up since?"

"No. But she started it, I'm not going to apologize for standing up for my friend," I answer bitterly.

I can see Mattheo frown from the corner of my eye but he doesn't say anything.

I'm spending my Saturday studying in the library to catch up with all the homework I didn't have time to complete during the week yet. I walk back to the Gryffindor common room after the others have come back from Hogsmeade. I planned to come back earlier but got too productive for once and forgot about the time.

I enter the common room where only the trio is present.

"There you are," Hermione exclaims bitterly as she looks at me. I feel my blood boil in my veins. "Thought I wouldn't see you step in here anymore."

"C'mon, Hermione... don't-" Ron starts but Hermione cuts him off.

"Not now, Ronald," she then turns to me, clearly waiting for an explanation or an apology. I laugh bitterly.

"What should I have done? Y'all are against me. You don't like my friends, I get it. But that's no reason to cut me off like that," I say calmly but hurt. I thought at least Harry would stand up for me after what he said the other day but I guess that won't happen. That won't happen as I'm the heiress to a pureblood-maniac family in which almost everyone is a Death Eater even after the Dark Lord's fall — and I'm clearly just like my family. And it won't happen when they're both afraid of an angry Hermione. "And I won't apologize," I continue, "for standing up for my own views. Not all Slytherins are bad and cruel!"

"But he is You-Know-Whose son!" claims Hermione.

"He didn't even raise him! They've had no contact," I snap back. "Are we really going to have a fight over him again? You're doing the same thing Malfoy does to you!"

I catch her off guard, she doesn't know how to reply to that statement, so I continue.

"You expect people to respect you but you are just as prejudiced as they are towards you!"

The boys are just watching, Hermione's about to shoot back.

"As if you were perfect! Coming from a family like yours you shouldn't be surprised what people think of you!" now this one stings. Even my friends are on this opinion.

"Coming from a family like that is why my job is to stand up for others like me," I slowly walk backward until I reach the door, tears already burning my eyes as I try to hold them back.

"You shouldn't have said that," I hear Harry's voice. "Cassie!" but I'm already on the outside of the portrait of the Fat Lady, temporarily replaced by Sir Cadogan. Oh yeah, I might have forgotten to mention; that I have helped Sirius Black into the castle. According to the latest rumour.

As I'm running through the corridors, I'm trying to hold back my sobs with my heart beating in my ears. I'm running without a destination; just trying to escape my thoughts, my feelings, and overall, people.

By the time I step out of the castle, my breath becomes heavy and shallow and I feel as if the world was spinning with me. The only thing that keeps me on my feet is the fresh air I feel in my hair and on my face as I'm trying to catch my breath. I start sweating but I'm getting colder by the second as if I have a fever and I feel like I'm losing my mind.

"Cassie?" I hear someone call my name behind me but the world starts spinning with me more as I turn around.

I'm getting weak, my legs can barely keep me up. I try to talk as I realize it's Mattheo but not a sound comes out of my mouth as I feel a suffocating feeling pull my throat together, not even able to breathe properly.

I don't even sense him getting closer, only feel his hands on my forearms, trying to keep me on my feet, leading me to a bench somewhere more hidden between a few bushes.

I'm still crying, sobbing against his chest, trembling in my whole body, wanting just to be dead as we are sat on the bench. It takes some time for me to calm down and although I have no idea what he's saying, I figure he's trying to comfort me verbally as he holds me tight and steady. It feels an eternity until I catch my breath and my heartbeat normalizes.

Finally being able to talk again, Mattheo asks what has happened that had this effect on me and I tell him about my argument with Hermione and how almost all of my friendships seem to fall apart; first, we don't talk with the twins, and now Mione, with Harry and Ron nonverbally telling me they take her side.

He stays quiet for a while and the only thing that can be heard besides the whistle of the wind is me, still trying to catch my breath.

"What you said at breakfast, did you mean it? I am your friend?" he asks after a short while.

"I meant it," I nod, slightly furrowing my brows. I'm feeling slightly embarrassed by how he saw what happened minutes ago, me losing my mind. However, at the same time, I'm thankful he helped me so willingly. "I consider you as a friend. Shouldn't I?"

He looks at me with a hint of surprise in his eyes. "I'm just not used to people calling me their friend this soon. Or, at all."

I just shrug with a light smile trying to shrug off being overwhelmed and still embarrassed. "Anyhow, you've just proved to be my friend. You helped me. Sorry for that, by the way, I don't know what happened," I apologize, shaking my head.

He looks at me with an expressionless face, "You've had a panic attack."

Thank you if you made it this far! comment to be on the tag list.

tag list: @reyys-letters @mqstermindswift

[alwaysthefool]

Melting (like ice in whiskey) Part 2

Part 1 is here:

Tags: alcohol mention it’s chuuya so borderline alcoholism, fluff, gun mention, dazai mention

Warnings: mild cursing, reader has very anxious responses, power imbalance

“Uh, I don’t drink.” During work, at least.

“Bummer.” He smiled at you, taking a sip. “You’re can take a break, seriously.”

You smiled back a little awkwardly, bowed, and left the room. That was strange. It was still only around lunch time, so you went back to the dark office, with the blonde woman finally off her keyboard. You didn’t really think about lunch as you took that opportunity to ask her about your new boss, his favourite coffee order, anything that could help you.

“Coffee? I’ve never seen him drink anything but whiskey and wine.” She replied.

Another red haired boy, with a bandage on his nose, rolled near your desk with his rolling chair, and chimed in “I saw him drinking gin once.”

The next fifteen minutes were spent between you, Higuchi, and the red haired boy known as Tachihara in discussing Chuuya’s favourite coffee order. You settled on authentic Irish coffee, sweet coffee mixed with whiskey and cream. You worried about his liver a little, it’s not like you wanted your hot and cold tempered boss to die soon. You wanted to keep this job as long as- well, until you found a legal job.

You tried looking up authentic coffee shops that sold Irish coffee— some place niche but still well rated. The place you found was almost across the town but it’s not like you had anything better to do. On your train ride there, you thought a little more about your boss’ schedule. It started late and ended late. Technically, you were supposed to stay until he did, but getting home that late was worrisome. You were also issued a gun but chose not to take it, simply because you didn’t even want to think about having to use it.

You eventually reached the Victorian style building, standing out from the modern architecture of the surroundings, giving you a strange feeling, almost like you’d enter another world once you stepped in. The café surprisingly didn’t have any customers except one brown haired man dozing off near the window. Something about him felt familiar to you, and something in the well lit café gave you a sense of peace in absolute opposition to the darkness of the Mori building.

You didn’t realise you had just stopped in your tracks until someone held your hand. A rough bandaged hand, but soft fingers, smelling like buttercream and iodine. “My, what a beauty.” The man from before spoke. “Tell me, have we met in a past life?”

You were confused, as a red haired girl yelled across the room “Stop harassing the customers!”

You pulled your hand away, murmuring an apology, and going to the girl at the desk, whose name tag read ‘Lucy’. “Could I get an Irish Coffee to go?”

“To go? Is it for someone else?” The man leaned on the counter beside you.

“Ignore him.” The girl spoke irritatedly, leaving to make the coffee.

“Um, yeah, it’s for my boss.”

“Your boss drinks at the workplace?”

That question stressed you out. This man wasn’t just anyone. You refused to respond and took a seat near the counter, but the inquisitive man sat right beside you, not showing any intention of leaving you alone. You had lies planned out in your head but it felt like he could see right through them. Almost like he was one of the guys from the detective agency you read about in the papers.

Actually, wasn’t it somewhere in this area…?

Realisation dawned on you as your heart beat rose. The man beside you felt familiar because you recognised his coat from a newspaper article. You were in the very vicinity of the detective agency.

That was alright, it wasn’t like he’d arrest you or anything. “So, about your boss, what do you do?”

You already know what I do.

“I’m working for a shipping company.” You wanted to tell yourself to shut up, or say something smarter at least. You put your head in your hands, shutting your eyes. “Sorry, sudden headache.”

“That seems to happen to a lot of mafiosos when they talk to me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished the barista would hurry your order but she seemed to be taking her sweet time. You didn’t open your eyes, wishing all of this would stop. “Look, I… I’m not a criminal, this was just the only job available.”

“I know.” He spoke kindly, putting a hand on your back. You could feel him smile and as you opened your eyes and peeked at him, he really did have a gentle expression. It was like, with him, you didn’t have to watch your back. You wondered what Chuuya would think about a person like that. “But, there’s always a way out.”

He handed you his business card. You kept it in your pocket after a glance, meeting his eyes finally, a little relaxed.

“By the way, Irish was a good choice!” He patted your back, after removing his reassuring hand from it, whispering something to the barista and going up the stairs.

Was the agency on the top of this very café? You were amazed at how you went to the worst possible place, purely by coincidence. And what did he mean, Irish was a good choice? It wasn’t like he knew exactly who your boss was, and on top of that his favourite coffee order.

After a while, Lucy finally called on you. You hurried with the payment, leaving as fast as you could without looking insane. You decided to take the taxi back, lest you ran into another Agency member on the way, and reheated the coffee at the office. There was nothing else on Chuuya’s schedule until a little later, when he had to go for an inspection.

You knocked on his door. “Come in.”

Your boss’ table was filled with papers and files, so much so that even an assistant would need an assistant to go through them. He probably did not trust you enough to let you help with them, but like a golden employee, you sure as hell would try.

“Boss, I got you coffee!” You had heard from Tachihara he liked being called ‘Boss’, and being referred to a bit casually from people working close to him.

“So that’s what you were doing.” He did not sound happy. Your heart stopped. Could he have put a spy on you and thought you were a double agent for the agency considering you went there and spoke to one of their detectives? Part of you found this to be too far fetched, but your pounding heart told you to get on your knees and beg for mercy.

With quivering lips and shaking hands, you asked “Sir?”

“I told you not to fucking call me that!” He banged his fists on his table. You tried not to show your emotions but your body betrayed you.

You bit your lip. “I’m so sorry.” If you said anything more than that, you’d start crying. Didn’t your boss tell you to scram earlier in the day? So what was this now? Why was he so fickle? Did he have anger issues?

“You can’t even bring the fucking files in, do you think you get paid for nothing?”

You simply shook your head, keeping your head down, trying your best not to cry. You were just gone for 40 minutes. Why were you being scolded on something so trivial?

“Just keep the coffee and leave.”

You couldn’t afford to do that. You had to try your best. Mustering up courage, you began “Can I help you with-“

“I said fucking go!” He yelled at you. You bowed your head, kept the coffee on a table, hoping he wouldn’t notice your shaking hands. The second you left the room, the tears fell like water from a faucet. Even if it hurt, you had to keep it in and try your best. You couldn’t cry, not here. You had to keep going on. You took a deep breath, going to the washroom to wash your face.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Taking a break inside the stall, you heard people outside say.

“Did you see them cry?” You realised they were talking about you.

“This one was so easy to set up.”

Set up? Why would they do that?

When you heard these laughs fade and footsteps leave the washroom, you stepped out. Who were these people and why did they put you in that situation? And by ‘this one’, did they mean they did it to other assistants too?

You got the gist of what was happening. A group of people in the mafia sabotaged all of Chuuya’s assistants to the point he’d stop wanting one, or to put a particular person in that position. They may even be spies who needed something from him. You couldn’t really go to your boss, or the boss with this outlandish theory, or even the detective you just met, considering that would be plain espionage on your part. You had to investigate that yourself, and maybe that could be your big break. You remembered their voices, at least.

You walked back to the assistant’s room, seeing the blonde woman typing again, and Tachihara goofing off with a masked mafioso. Surprisingly, things were left on your desk, a bouquet with a card congratulating Chuuya for something. “Oh yeah, a delivery guy left them at the lobby. You should deliver that to him.”

“Right.” You replied. The card was signed ‘Mackerel’, making you think it was code for someone Chuuya knew. The flowers were so fresh, even the thorns were intact, and they looked like they’d been picked with great care. Whoever ‘Mackerel’ was seemed like someone who did everything for a reason. You resisted the urge to open the card it came with.

You took a deep breath and knocked again. “Come in.”

Chuuya was relaxed, done with almost half the files. To your relief, he did drink the coffee. “Uh, someone named ‘Mackerel’ left these for you.” You felt weird calling him by his first name, or ‘Boss’ remembering the last time you called him that, so you chose to not call him anything, and go with ‘ums’ and ‘uhs’, as one would do when they didn’t know the name of a person.

“Who?” He sounded nice again, as if his mood changed like the time. You handed him the card and left the bouquet on his desk, wanting to say something, but staying silent. He opened the card with one gloved hand, looking somewhat cool in doing even that, making you sad somehow. Even a card was being treated better than-

Chuuya crushed the card in his hand. “That fucking mackerel.” He cursed.

Great. Is his mood gonna change again?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it to you.”

“No!” He said politely, almost in a guilty tone. “I’m sorry. Truly, I shouldn’t have yelled at you when I was the one who told you to leave.”

Your eyes widened. None of your previous bosses, professors, or teachers ever apologised to you after yelling at you.

“The coffee was really good too.” He smiled. Actually smiled. At you. “Did you spend your own money on it?”

You just nodded, not really knowing if saying something could set his mood off again. “That won’t do. Here, take my card.”

He handed you a premium black card, one of those that even top celebrities couldn’t obtain. How did you get to work for someone so cool? You thanked him for the card, realising even a percent of money in that card could probably solve all your problems. However, it was for business use only.

Chuuya reached for the flowers, and something came over you, stopping him by holding his wrist.

“They’re thorny, Chuuya. Let me.”

You took the roses out of the bouquet, picking the largest one and clipping off the thorns with a nail clipper, and then handing it to Chuuya. As he took it slowly, you saw his wrist, ears, and face were turning red.

Shit, is he angry again?

“Thank you.” His voice was, for once, a little low.

You bowed, and put the rest of the flowers in a vase, removing all the thorns. You could feel Chuuya just watching you, and in your distraction, you pricked your finger, pulling it away.

“Shit.” He ran up to you, holding your hand. “Be careful now.”

His gloved hands brought your finger to his mouth, as he licked the blood off. You would’ve done the same thing, but never expected him to do it. He blew on your finger, grabbing a band-aid from a nearby drawer, still holding your hand. He wiped off your finger with his own, and wrapped the band-aid on you.

Perhaps noticing your bewildered expression, he clarified “Habit. Taking care of wounds in the field and all.”

Sure. Surely it was just that, you figured, disappointment coming over you as he let go of your hand.

[dangerous-disposition]

WIP Wednesday - here i have found some peace of mind (formerly titled 'spent all winter waiting for the sun to arise')

This is from the modern AU I'm writing where Eddie is a rockstar and Steve is a group housing coordinator at a hotel that Corroded Coffin is staying at, except during a whole mix-up with a typo in the system and Eddie being a disaster and stealing his tour manager's phone, Steve thinks he's talking to the tour manager of the band whose name is Chris and not the front-man of the band 😩

“Good afternoon, this is events, Steve speaking?” he said quickly.

“Good afternoon, handsome. How are things going in hotel land?”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes a little bit. “Busy, as always. Can’t complain though,” he replied as he tapped his pencil against his notebook. “How can I help you, Chris?”

“What if I just wanted to hear your voice?” Chris teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’m on the clock, Chris. How can I help you?” Steve asked again, but there was a part of him that was still flattered by the attention, interested in the attention even.

And so began the almost-daily calls from Chris. Steve never actually reached out from his end because there was no reason for him to until closer to the actual cut-off date. It was always Chris calling him to make requests, to discuss the area a bit more, or sometimes just to chat. As their work relationship progressed, Steve found it easier to fall into more friendly banter, even returning some of the flirting.

Steve still refused to try to find out who the band was or look Chris up, but mostly because he didn’t want to give a face to the man he was talking to on the phone just yet. He knew that if Chris was even half as hot as he sounded he wouldn’t stand a chance.

As it stood, most days Chris would call, they would discuss matters pertaining to the band’s stay in July for five minutes, then spend the next twenty minutes just talking about other stuff. Usually, it was just Steve talking about his job and and complaining.

“The worst way to receive a rooming list is as a PDF,” Steve grumbled into the phone as he painstakingly copied and pasted a rooming list into a spreadsheet. “Please know that if a group housing coordinator receives a rooming list as a PDF? They hate the client just a little bit.”

On the other end of the call, Chris chuckled before stopping abruptly. Steve smirked a bit as he could practically hear the dots connecting in Chris’ head.

“Didn’t we send our rooming list as a PDF?”

Steve snorted. “Maybe,” he replied cheekily, and Chris groaned.

“Is that why you are resisting my charm?” Chris whined and Steve laughed.

“That, and I’m also on the clock,” he reminded Chris teasingly.

“You could always give me your number?”

Steve sighed and thought back to the employee conduct manual. It would be wildly inappropriate to give a client his number. “Not while you’re my client,” he responded, resolving to pull out the conduct manual and read it over again.

“So… after?” Chris pressed and Steve laughed.

“I’m not making any promises, Chris,” Steve sighed, chewing his lip while a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

There was some shouting on the other end of the call and Chris sighed. “Alright, Stevie, that’s my cue to go in a bit. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Steve almost said yes, but then remembered he had requested the next day off. “No, unfortunately I won’t be in the office tomorrow. I’m taking a personal day,” he replied.

“Oh, doing anything fun or interesting?” Chris asked, and Steve actually grinned at how interested he sounded.

“I wish. Uh, nah, I have appointments and then visiting a cemetery, so,” Steve trailed off with a shrug before cringing. Chris couldn’t see him shrugging, what the hell?

“Oh shit, sorry. That was really stupid of me to ask,” Chris said and Steve laughed.

“It’s all good, man. I wouldn’t’ve answered if it bothered me,” he admitted and on the other end of the line, Chris chuckled lightly.

“That makes sense. I’ll talk to you another time then.”

“Or you could relax and not call me again about your stay in July,” Steve insisted as he always did when they were about to hang up.

“Mm, no. I think I’ll continue to micromanage our stay, just to keep you on your toes, Stevie,” Chris replied and then hung up.

Steve sighed with a little grin as he hung his receiver up, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

“What the hell was that, Dingus?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin and looked up at Robin peering over his cubicle with wide eyes.

“Nothing,” Steve lied, and he could feel his face burning with his blush.

“Stephen, are you flirting with a client?” she hissed as she hurried around the cubicle wall to sit on his desk.

“No,” Steve hissed back, glancing around but thankfully no one was paying attention. “No, he is flirting with me.”

Robin gasped dramatically. “He?” she questioned excitedly.

“Did you need something? Because I’m kind of busy,” Steve said, shoving his glasses up to scrub at his face.

“I texted you about food in Dustin’s Office, but you didn’t respond so I came to find you,” she immediately replied, smiling when Steve locked his computer and got up.

“I’m definitely in,” he replied happily.

“We’re talking about everything I overheard there tomorrow, you hear me, Harrington?” Robin said as they walked, pointing at him accusingly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes with a chuckle.

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist for snippets and/or when this goes live! Taglist! @scarcrossdlvrs, @patchworkgargoyle, @indigohightide, @steddieas-shegoes, @afewproblems, @mylilplanet, @amerikanskaya-krassavitsa

[yourneighborhoodneighbor]

super cool ghost ice mega slide

(masterpost to my fics while ao3 is down) AO3

fic under the cut

Having another superpowered person as part of Batclan was great, even if he wasn't technically a meta (I'm dead, Duke, that's more of a medical condition-). Having a portable snow maker year round was even better.

Duke had taken to Danny pretty quickly after the younger teen had been picked up off the street, hurt and borderline delirious, surprisingly not by Bruce, but by Jason. Once he had been cognizant enough to realize in which city he was, and in whose cave, he had had a pretty major freak out, believing himself in danger through a mix of the idea that Batman hated metas and whatever had hurt him so badly in the first place.

After Duke had managed to get out of his stupor at seeing whatever it was the kid had become (and seriously, he had seen some pretty unusual things because of his meta abilities, but a 4k HD 1080p 4D experience of a real life eldritch being was not one of them) he had promptly kicked everyone out of the room in the med area (except for Alfred, whom he very politely asked vacate the room) to try and calm the kid down.

After revealing his own meta status, assuring the glowing kid that Batman didn't actually hate metas, he just wanted to protect his city from mind-controlled superpowered people, and that he was safe from whoever had hurt him, the kid had finally calmed down enough to return to a more human-like appearance. 

From then it was really no surprise to anyone that the new kid (who could transform into an actual human, and really? Black hair and blue eyes again?) got promptly adopted and revealed information that got an entire branch of the government taken down by the blazing wings of fury of the entire Batclan (even Damian had quickly become attached to the newest kid once his katana was gushed about with the accuracy and fervor of someone who knows how to wield the weapon). 

What had been unexpected was the kid having a connection to the Lazarus Pits (which were apparently something called ectoplasm) and being able to help Jason get rid of what turned out to be a huge amount of toxic gunk from himself, leaving him with only the good gunk (Duke tried not to think too much about it), which made the too dead-but-not-really boys bond quickly.

On top of all that the kid was also an engineering and astronomy nerd (as well as had a knack for math and physics), which appealed him to Tim greatly, and he made puns like would die (again) if he didn't, which appealed him to Dick, and, he preferred communicating with means other than spoken words (usually inhuman sounds and growls), which he bonded over with Cass, and he was actually good a baking, which appealed him to Alfred, and he was also already a vigilante, which appealed him to everyone else-

The point being, everyone loved Danny, including Duke himself, so it was a bit hard to get some to spend with him by himself, which was why Duke was going to make the most of this day.

He wasn't actually alone with the young half-ghost, Cass was also left at home while all the others went about some business or another out of the manor, but Duke knew hanging out with both Danny and Cass was often double the fun since underneath the chill facades both of them were actually feral little shits, so that wasn't an issue.

That brought him back to his first point: having a brother who could make no-melt snow on command was the best!

So now here they were, the three of them standing side by side on top of the tallest point of the manor, facing a slope so steep it was almost 90º degrees at first and then bent and curved all over the yard in ways Duke just knew wouldn't pass a safety inspection, those tiny cheap plastic sleds in hand (“for the full experience,” Danny said, even though they certainly had the money to buy other sleds). Duke was regretting some of his choices, looking down, but now he was committed, no way was he quitting, Danny and Cass would tag team on teasing him for the rest of time.

“Ready?” Danny asked, a too wide smile on his face and eyes open with the kind of crazed excitement only someone who was already dead could have.

Cass answered by putting her sled on the ground and sitting on it, position ready and her face mirroring Danny's. 

Duke stood corrected, only people who were already dead, and Cass.

He really was going to regret this, wasn't he. Well, too late to back out now. This is what he got for hanging out with the two most unhinged people in the family, he supposed (and that was saying something, considering the kind of family Duke had).

“Sure, yeah, what's a little sled race down a death slope of doom?” the meta answered with more confidence than he felt. He was the Signal! He could do this! Besides, Cass and Danny wouldn't actually let him break his neck and die, right? Right.

Cass patted his shoulder sympathetically (as if-) as he sat down. Here went nothing.

“Remember, whoever makes it down in the least amount of time wins an ice cream! And no powers! You're up first, Duke!” Danny exclaimed as he pushed Duke forward.

Duke had barely any time to process the fact that he was already in a semi-free fall before he was already approaching the tunnels that made up the bottom half of the “super cool ghost ice mega slide” (patent pending). He remembered he did, in fact, need to breath, filling his lungs to the top and letting the air out in a scream.

The meta boy could do nothing but keep screaming as he reached speeds he was pretty sure went against the laws of physics, making loop-de-loops and turns so steep he thought he was going to slam against the side instead of turning a few times.

After what felt like an eternity but also too little time to have actually completed the Slide of Doom (more accurate name, in Dukes opinion), he finally made it to the end, promptly getting bowled over by a gleeful Cass and cackling Danny, who he hadn't even noticed were right behind him.

“Mmfffhblggggheroff-” Duke grunted, turning over and subsequently throwing off the other two into the surrounding snow. Danny accepted his fate, while Cass sat up and grinned at him.

“And?! Wasn't that fun?!” Cass signed excitedly. Duke was about to say it was terrifying, but cut himself short when he noticed he was smiling.

Huh. That actually had been fun. It had been really, really fun.

“We should do that again,” he breathed out. “We should do that again, but all together! More weight means more speed! We can see how far off the finish we end up!”

He was excited now, he was PUMPED! He grabbed Danny around the waist, carrying him like a sack of potatoes and and running up the ice steps (sibling with ice powers for the win-) back to the roof, Cass behind him with the sleds.

He ignored the ghost boy's protests about being able to walk (“and fly!”), eager to enact his new plan.

Once up there, he dumped his brother and accepted a sled from his sister, sitting down on it.

“Cass, sit on my lap! Danny goes on top because he's a lightweight!” he told the others, receiving a token protest from Danny, who got further teased about his half weight by Cass.

Once they were all settled, Duke got really to start them off by pushing with his legs when Danny yelled out.

“Wait!”

Cass and Duke looked up at him with questioning glances. In response, the boy got up, touched the slide and… Oh-hoho, this was gonna be good.

“There, it's extra smooth and slippery now. We're in for some Cool Running!” Danny said, settling back on top of the pile, grin matching his two siblings'.

“Alright, let's break some legs” Duke muttered, pushing forward with his feet.

And damn-

If Duke thought he was going fast before, they were racing the Flashes now!

All three siblings let out manic laughter, whopping and screaming as they held on to each other for dear life, the forces of the turns threatening to pull them apart.

As they neared the finish, Duke saw a shadow, barely having time to process before he was blinded by the flash of a camera.

They kept going a bit after the finish, the speed they came with not letting them stop, eventually colliding with a pile of snow and finally flying in different directions.

Duke couldn't stop laughing where he had landed, full of adrenaline and absolute mirth. A little ways away, he could hear both his siblings in the same predicament.

After a managing to get himself under control and trying to get his breathing back to normal, he sat up, freezing when he saw the amused audience they suddenly had.

“Umm, guys?” he called out to the other two.

“What?” Danny asked, sitting up as well and freezing as he saw what Duke had seen.

Cass was the last to rise, looking at their audience with as innocent a face as she could manage while clearly a culprit to their exploits.

Bruce simply raised an amused eyebrow, Alfred at his side looking perfectly regal while innocently holding a camera in his hands.

“I see you were having fun on your day off,” he stated, lips threatening to curl into a grin.

The three sibling looked at each other, before Cass reached over and simply offered one of the tiny plastic sleds to the man.

All of them were locked in a staring contest for the next few seconds, before Bruce's face finally broke into a grin and he grabbed the sled.

“Thought you wouldn't ask!” he said, turning and running up the steps, yelling back at them for being slow pokes.

The siblings all grinned at each other before running after the man.

Yeah, having access to unlimited snow was great, but getting to spend time with his family in it? Even better. bonus unrelated snow LBM drawing

[midnight-light]

Master Detective Archives: RainCode; THE FINALE

SPOILERS AHOY! IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THIS GAME PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Alright, with the obligatory warning out of the way, LETS CRACK INTO THIS. First of all, I was definitely not ready for the twists this game was boutta knock me upside the head with, like, at all. Starting with the simple fact of how they turned something the fandom MILKED for all it's worth in jokes into a key plot point was just... well fucking played. Also known as the pink blood. Trying to wrap my head around 'Homunculi' was a trip and a half. Once I DID have my head wrapped around the concept though, things made way more sense . Makoto being a Homunculi I saw coming after the investiagtion in the labratory in the restricted area. Specifically that he was the first successful one that disappeared. I was confused, but not that confused. What did get me good was Yuma Kokohead...not...being...Yuma Kokohead...but rather number one. Oh dear. Cause I had originally suspected that the number one we saw on the screen in the office was the big bad or smth, I just knew there was something kinda off about him. I was barking up the wrong tree clearly. When I got to the part where the game finally revealed that homunculi have pink blood I had a realization and was very happy that this information was the confirmation I needed to know, MY CHILDREN WEREN'T DEAD. (Aka the other detectives for those who may not have seen my previous blab.) Then there was Makoto...hoo boy. Don't get me wrong, I like Makoto as a character, but I was a MIXED ass bag of emotions with him. Between first cussing him out wondering where the hell the others were, then changing to applauding him for his cleverness in using us to get rid of Yomi, then finally to; "Oh shit, I don't actually want to kill you anymore... uhhh-" Then the emergency exit coming out and Shinigami finally telling us what the price is for using it and... Oh dear I nearly started crying (and usually when it comes to emotional moments in fiction I am a stone wall.) We've been through so much shit with Shinigami, it HURT to have to go our separate ways from her, it just hurt! Finally I just wanted to touch on that EPILOUGE. I was SO happy to see all the other detectives (Sans Yakou, RIP.) at the office and getting ready to head out. Nearly had a panic when I couldn't locate Vivia, only for him to be hiding in a suitcase hoping someone would carry him. Kurumi going out to search for Number one and travel is kinda cute, I was also EXTREMELY relieved that the ramen shop owner was able to develop a ramen with all of the nutrients Homunculi need so they didn't have to eat the meatbuns anymore. Thank goodness TvT. ALRIGHTY. I DID mention I would list my favourite characters so HERE WE GO. (Keep in mind this is just MY opinion. I'll just do a top 5 list for the sake of length) 1. Vivia Twilight (Yakou WAS my favourite character at first, but then I got to know Vivia's character a bit better I couldn't help but love his lazy ass. Not to mention I found his forte SO cool!) 2. Yakou (I Miss My Wife Tails) Furio. (Ah yes, my favourite Hobo detective as I like to call him. I call him that because when he wears that big coat he kinda looks like a Hobo. Anyways, watching him try to be the voice of reason for the other detectives is just too entertaining to not like him.) 3. Fubuki Clockford. (She's so sweet, yet so forgetful. Tbh I find it cute. She's another one of the detectives whose forte I find really interesting. I will admit though, my first impression of her was; "Dumb, dumb as hell." but she's so cute. I just love her.) 4. Halara Nightmare (They're SO badass! Watching them kick around the Peacekeepers like it's nothing is always a good time! Also, we appreciate an Animal lover here, yes we DO! I love Halara's forte and using it during the Nail Man investigations was quite interesting. 5. Shinigami (Our adorable, lenient, troublesome, and mean companion! God I don't know how anyone can't like her? She's so amusing and has literally NO filter! Only reason she's lower on the list is because MY emotional attachment was more towards the other detectives.)

Whew! Okay I think I've rambled on this long enough, so this shall be the end of this ramble! Have a good day/night everyone!

[mllemaenad]

So ... I remembered that the Skyline Valley update exists for Fallout 76 and since it has nothing to do with the Brotherhood of Steel, and in fact deals with one of my favourite bits of Fallout lore (ghouls!), I thought I'd dip my toe back in and do that part.

But ... ohhhhh. That was to be one of the most frustrating experiences of my existence.

To be clear, I also found a lot of the mechanics of, say, the Expeditions extremely frustrating. I feel like Fallout games encourage solo play (read the terminals, chat to the NPCs, look for notes, examine the scenes for environmental storytelling), and this is true of Fallout 76 as well, but the bullet-sponge waves of enemies encourage group play, which doesn't generally involve engaging deeply with the story. So I found playing those difficult to deal with.

But in story terms? The grim backstory of the Pitt; the brutal knowledge of how this must end; the ... well, tragic beauty in the fact that the old trade unions kept fighting the good fight even after the bombs fell – it added something. Likewise Atlantic City. By the end of it Tessa was so done with all of those people (except poor Vin, who should run the hell away and never look back), but it was a story – and another glimpse at a new part of the post war world.

But the whole Vault 63 experience was just ... infuriating.

Its biggest issue was that it had so many interesting ideas and spent zero time exploring any of them.

First, Vault 63 is supposed to be enormous. A vault the size of a city, in which the dwellers still had to commute to work every morning on underground trains. This alone sounds like a profoundly interesting idea. We know, for example, that suspicion of Vault-Tec was high in Appalachia. The Free States movement was specifically formed around the idea that a sinister shadow government was pushing the world inexorably toward nuclear war, and that Vault-Tec and the US government were conspiring against the people of America. Sam Blackwell should have been all over this. But ... no? This massive construction effort seems to have had virtually no impact on the region, and to the small extent it did only people actually involved in the DLC noticed it.

A gigantic vault might have been a fascinating thing to explore – to see how it worked, and how that society ran itself. Except you can't. Virtually all of it has been blown up by the time you get there, and you can only visit small, disconnected areas. There are hardly any terminals and you can't talk to most of the residents. I feel like I have far less handle on the culture of Vault 63 than I do of, say, Vault 94 – and they were all dead by the time the game started! But you could walk through their vault, and look at how they lived their lives, and read their stories.

Second, the thing about Vault 63 is that it is entirely populated by ghouls because it was improperly shielded and did not protect its residents from radiation exposure when the bombs dropped. Now ... that's not the first time we've told that story. It is also the story of the west coast Vault 12 of Bakersfield. I might roll my eyes at repeating the idea, but, well, it had the potential to do something quite new and engaging.

The original Fallout starts in 2161, some 84 years after the Great War. There are very few non-ghoul first generation survivors at this point, and even for the ghouls the war was a very, very long time ago. Fallout 76 starts in 2102 and the current game year is 2105. We are up to our eyeballs in first generation survivors, and one of the most interesting things about the story is the mix of old and new: the people who can tell you their pre-war jobs, and where they lived and what they did; the truckers who became caravanners; the Unionists in the Pitt whose campaign for workers' rights has transformed into a fight against slavery; the people who keep on doing what they did before, with a few post-apocalyptic tweaks.

You could look at what the start of a ghoul community looks like. If you look at Vault 12/Necropolis and Underworld both are, pretty obviously, death themed. And sure, that's a little on the nose with the whole ghoul thing, but that's Fallout for you. But more to the point, it encapsulates the experience of a ghoul community. Because from their perspective, they are the survivors of a plague. Most people in the Fallout world, when exposed to radiation, just fucking die, exactly like in the real world. A small number become ghouls. The thing about the Great War is, if you expose virtually everybody at once to a lot of radiation, you find out very quickly who can become a ghoul.

People in ghoul cities will have watched their friends and family die horribly. They will have gotten "sick" themselves, losing hair and skin, and then miraculously kept on living. Their homes will have been packed with corpses, which people will have wanted to bury and mourn, and which public safety will have demanded be disposed of – and likely they will have had no way to do either of those things on that scale.

If you think of all those 14th century European dancing skeletons, you can see where the ghouls might be coming from.

It's a grim but fascinating idea. Scale that up to a community the size of Vault 63 and you can imagine a true city of the dead: whole streets given over as mausoleums for corpses (and later, rooms where the feral were sedated), areas shut down and abandoned for want of inhabitants, everything running at half speed and half power because the people who are supposed to run the place are gone. A twilight city of survivors, who still have a vivid memory of that experience.

You know what the bits of Vault 63 you can access look like? A normal fucking vault. The characters are barely interested in the fact that they're ghouls, except for the occasional bit of dialogue about whether there are people above ground like this too.

Third, the characters of Vault 63 have faced a persistent problem of feralisation for years. While in theory the whole plot revolves around their attempts to address this, the story gives it virtually no weight.

We don't talk about when it started, or their theories as to why it was happening. Now – you can try to do some storytelling legwork for them. Imagine a vault built to hold thousands reduced to a population of hundreds. Imagine the scale of the death in a place that was large and yet still confined. Imagine a surreal world where the overseer is your old pre-war boss and for some fucking reason he is still expecting you to meet the original quotas even though two thirds of your department died of radiation sickness and you personally are mourning the death of your spouse. You could see how people might not cope.

But nope! We're not discussing that. Something, something, weather machine – and we move right on to the Lost. The thing about the Lost, though, is that I kind of think they're the only ones behaving normally about the situation. This is this community's third apocalypse in the space of 30 years. It's like Buffy the Vampire Slayer in there, with less genre awareness. They lost people to the war, they lost people to feralisation, they lost the remainder to the Storm. More people should be screaming about ghosts and having nervous breakdowns in the forest!

Unfortunately, the story doesn't even seem deeply interested in the condition of the Lost – it's much more interested in setting up mysteries to which everyone already knows the answers. Hugo Stolz introduces himself as a member of Vault-Tec's board of directors. The easily accessible terminal right next to where you first meet him contains references to his association with Calvert and Desmond Lockheart.

So, yeah, he's the bad guy. I appreciate that not everyone will have played Fallout 3, but I think by this point everyone's clear on Vault-Tec being a problem. We did not need a half dozen quests demonstrating that Hugo is just manipulating everyone around him. He's a Vault-Tec overseer. That is literally his job.

It is especially frustrating when the game effectively railroads you into pretending you don't know that. Obviously, your player character is a vault dweller themselves. This is very much familiar territory. But there does come a point where the situation becomes almost absurdly obvious. A group who initially present themselves as "mothman cultists" show up. However, when you infiltrate them it is revealed that they are in fact a group specifically opposing Hugo Stolz – he took their land to develop his vault and when the bombs dropped locked them out of the shelter, despite promising them places. Their leader is Alex, the ex-girlfriend of Hugo's daughter, who has been presumed dead after Hugo sent assassins after her.

This feels like a juicy bit of drama. On the one hand – these people have every right to be angry. What Hugo did to them was terrible. On the other hand ... it wouldn't have mattered. The vault was poorly shielded. Any of the loved ones they lost to radiation would have died anyway. And Alex was a problem for the Stolz family because she had communist sympathies. This could be setting up for a really interesting ... nope. Nope. It's not setting you up for anything. The game forces you to kill all the cultists, whether you want to or not.

And the whole thing leads up to a painfully long boss battle (why the fuck do I have to kill this middle aged ghoulified business executive three times) that should never have happened in the first place. Hugo is the bad guy. Clearly. Why are we letting him leave the damn vault?

Tessa broke all four of her guns fighting him in the end, and that will cost a fortune in scrap to repair.

The whole thing is just baffling. They could have explored any one of these ideas and made it an intriguing new bit of lore. Instead ... this.

[bluerosesburnblue]

The last we talked about Final Fantasy XVI, you'd just seen someone get punched by a certain someone. Are you any further now? Like, have you seen the ending of the game? And if you have... I guess the developers of Final Fantasy XVI have said that this game has so much lore, they could make a sequel with it, which is most definitely true. LOL. Who knows if they'll ever actually do that (if so, it'll be very far off), but if they do, what do you think it'll tell? What would you want it to do?

I have indeed seen the end of it by now! To be honest, I kind of have mixed feelings on the plot of the game as a whole. Love the characters, Clive especially is now one of my favorite Final Fantasy protagonists, but I can't help but feel that the game is a little disjointed in spots. They advertised it as the story of Clive's life spanning three eras, but those three eras don't have equal weight and end up coming across as Prologue #1, Prologue #2, and The Actual Game if that makes sense given that you've actually played the game and I've only seen other people play it. And, honestly, when I think back on it, I kind of liked what Prologue #2 with Clive in his late 20s was putting forward the best out of all three sections

I liked the darker and more personal angle that they were putting down, with a story about a man whose latent powers went berserk and he ended up hurting someone close to him, desperate for revenge without realizing that the one he wants revenge against is himself. But then it feels like they resolve that angle very fast and everything after that is a very classic "god is evil kill god" Final Fantasy plot. It's a well-done version of that plot to be sure, and I can really respect how well they tried to capture the feeling of old-school Final Fantasy games, but given how much of the marketing was about this game being darker and more mature, to me it felt like the themes got almost less mature as it went on, going from personal grief, this desperation to rebuild, the price of revenge, etc. to a more generic "free will good" story

Spoilers from here on out

That said, the developers are correct that there's so much lore, and to me that's the best part of the game. I've always found stories that heavily feature elemental-themed areas a lot of fun, like Avatar: The Last Airbender or One Last God: Kubera, so this game giving each summon a specific element and, for the most part, keeping it one summon/element per faction was really interesting to see brought to light. I think the fact that they touched on different factions viewing their Dominants differently was a good start, I just wanted to see a bit more of it on-screen because again, like I said, they started doing that at the beginning, but then it kind of got completely overwhelmed by the "Ultima wants Clive to have all of the Dominant powers" stuff and then never bothered to really look back at how the people felt about losing their nation's Dominants (also they way that they handled Clive taking the powers was kinda weird? Like, Dion carries on just fine and can still transform but Jill gets benched? What?)

Ahhhhhh I just... I almost wish that Ultima had just been an interesting background element and that the game as a whole had focused more on the infighting between the nations and Dominants and Bearers, rather than the other way around. I just found Ultima so generic and uninteresting, and that the game focused too much on making Clive this Super Awesome Chosen One because of it, when I found he was at his best when he was just a kind, awkward man struggling with this unprecedented power he was stuck with and the trauma it brought him

Because to be honest, at the start of the game I wondered if, maybe, what was happening was that they were gonna pull some classic Final Fantasy Dark World stuff and have it be that every Eikon had a dark counterpart. So Ifrit would be the Dark Eikon of Fire to Phoenix's Light Eikon of Fire and they could have used other classic FF summons as the Dark Eikons, like Garuda vs. Sylph. And the Light Eikons could bless people with their power like how Clive had the blessing of the Phoenix, while the Dark Eikons could steal powers. But, no, it's just Ifrit being Super Special and everything. Also... why... was Joshua the only one who could seemingly bless others with his power? Dion couldn't give Terrence a Blessing of Bahamut or anything and give him some light powers? Jill had to let Clive absorb her Shiva powers rather than blessing him with them becauuuuuuse...? And, man, it could've been so interesting if they had a sideplot on Anabella trying to force all of the Dominants to bless Olivier to match Clive or something. Or maybe not even a sideplot, that sounds like I would've liked it way more than the Ultima stuff because of how much more personal it has the potential to be and the game could've been a race to take the power of each Dominant before Olivier could get their blessings. Olivier was so underutilized

As for the lore, I think they do a really good job fleshing out Bearers, so really if they had more to look into, it would be the unanswered questions. Like, we know that Valisthea is only one continent on this world (Cid isn't originally from there, and IIRC neither was Barnabas's family), so what are the others like? Where is Leviathan? Are the theories that the Medicine Girl was Leviathan's Dominant, just not yet awakened, true? (Also, if Ultima needed Clive to have all of the other Eikon's powers, why were we even allowed to skip Leviathan? Shouldn't we have had to track them down? Why did they end up lost?) If the truth is that Ultima's people descended from another world and created humanity, then where did the idea of the Goddess Greagor come from? And what about the legend surrounding the star, Metia? Is Metia magical or is it just a cute legend thing?

Hmmm. If they ever did more with FFXVI, it would have to be a prequel, wouldn't it? Because I think where it left off was exactly where it should have, with some hope for the future and the world moving on, bittersweet with all of the losses that it took to get there but worth it all the same. (I know that there's a lot of theories about who "Joshua Rosfield" is in the end, and I actually prefer that it's ambiguous. Whether you think Clive succeeded in bringing Joshua back at the cost of his own life, or that Clive took Joshua's name which is the one that I think has the most in-game hints to it, or even if you want to think of a third option like one I've seen where Clive survived, but the "Joshua Rosfield" in question is actually his and Jill's son named in Joshua's honor, sacrifices were made and hope remains)

So I think the route with the most potential might end up being a Cid-centric prequel about what life on other continents is like. And I would never complain about more Cid, especially in regards to how he was chosen by Ramuh and what about how things are on other continents is that made him so averse to how Valisthea does things. I think that Cid is really something special due to his status as an outsider looking in on Storm and Ash and how his different perspective compared to everyone there is such a catalyst for what happens in the plot and it's a real shame that most of what we get of Cid is posthumous. So if FFXVI was to get its own sub-series, that's where I'd take it

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

just some thoughts under the cut.

this is a mixed bag of a post.

it's true that the idea of a husband going to work and the wife just staying home is definitely a very very modern idea.

but the rest of the first paragraph is a bit questionable. the system before "the factory ate up humanity"? not sure what's meant by this. before the industrial revolution? before capitalism? what is the system that preceded these? you mean agrarian feudalism? where most people (like 90%, depending on the region) were farmers?

yeah most men, throughout history, did NOT "have his own business or enterprise". as i said, most men would have been peasant farmers. maybe a tiny percentage were lucky enough to be yeomen/freeholders. but yeah, men and women, for most of this period, would have both been doing lots of work around the farm. in urban areas, maybe the women would work as laundry workers, chamber maids, prostitutes, weavers, brewers, midwives, etc.

yeah if a woman was lucky enough to be married to a man who did operate his own enterprise she most definitely would have helped him with it but this wasn't a common situation. it'd be the premodern equivalent of being upper class.

in fact, this is one of the things that makes america so special because it actually broke this mold. from america's founding onward we have had a high rate of independent (family run) businesses, yeomen farmers, homesteaders, land ownership, etc. so yeah what she's describing here only would have really been relatively common in america (post-industrial revolution).

also, i don't know how true it is that people has less debt. debt has been an issue since time immemorial. but i also don't believe less debt necessarily means wealthier? in fact, in reality it seems like the opposite. many of the richest people in the world have lots of debt. most of the richest countries also have lots of debt. debt almost seems like a prerequisite for debt.

had more freedom? in what sense?

their work was meaningful? according to what metric? and compared to what? i live in a town that has a pretty strong manufacturing base and i know the factory works are very proud of and find a lot of meaning in their work.

they had more time with each other? perhaps.

"The "trads" lament that women must go to work instead of being with their families. But they have no problem with men suffering this fate. The reality, the true traditional reality, is that this "office work" is for neither man nor woman. It is an inhuman modern invention for organizing work and it serves mainly those who want to make money from interest."

i mean, yeah, obvious i support people in general, both men and women, getting more time to spend with their families. but like in "traditional" societies everyone is still working. even the kids for the most part. it's not like everyone is just chilling together all day. and even in premodern times there were still office jobs and clerical/administrative roles and bureaucracy and all that. that stuff isn't any more inhuman or modern than pretty much any other job short of hunting and gathering. like, i've seen people say agriculture is inhuman/unnatural. i personally think that's silly but you do you.

again, i'm in favor of reducing the amount of work people do and increasing time spent with family and for recreation and stuff. but this just seems no better than the idiotic prattle of other trads.

speaking as someone who has spent my life doing backbreaking manual labor and whose body is already breaking down as i approach the age of 30 i'd love having an office job. in fact in premodern times having an "office job" would have been "making it". the way everyone wants their kids to become doctors and lawyers and computer programmers, premodern folks wanted their kids to become priests and scribes and accountants and so on. there's a reason why people are leaving their "traditional economy"-based countries and rushing to becoming office workers in modern economies.

not saying office jobs are extremely fulfilling or anything. but digging ditches or pulling weeds ain't that fulfilling either. most jobs in general are just shit. lmao. if they were fun times you wouldn't have to be paid to do them.

[medicate-myself-with-monster]

alright welcome to part one of oxalis rants about 5 completely random genshin songs let's see if this catches on (for myself)

first up we have: Evanescent Moments

this is one from the Islands of the Lost and Forgotten album. In-game, it plays in Enkanomiya. This particular song is mostly ambient, it portrays the vibes of the area without doing too much else. I believe this uses the motif for Whitenight Enkanomiya. Fun fact: All of the OST from Enkanomiya was NOT written by Yu-Peng Chen, though he hadn't left genshin yet.

number two we got When the Herb Fades

OMG??? as of writing this I didn't realize the Chenyu Vale OST had been released!!! this one I recognize as one of the ambient songs from the overworld. it's super emotional. It also uses the main motif of Chenyu Vale. It's really pretty, I like this one

Numero tres, we've got Mesmerizing Waves!

This one's from Golden Apple Archipelago. This one I think played at night? It's a variation on the GAA theme, but a bit softer and slower. It's very beautiful and slow. Somewhat older players like myself will probably recognize it better than players who joined after the 3.0 update.

NUMBER FOUR! Pure Sky

OMG! I LOVE this one. Not only is it from The Wind and Star Traveler, which is an album with the most BANGER of Mondstadt OST, but it is also one of my favorites of all time. It plays in the overworld at night. It's a phenomenal piece. It's quite short, but it conveys feelings that are hard to put into words.

My fifth and final song: Rage Beneath the Mountains

I cannot believe this one came up random. I LOVE this song, and pretty much everyone whose listened to it does too. It starts with this incredible build up, with the intense percussion, which builds up into the introduction of the strings... and then the BRASS hits you. The melody is just phenomenal. It's fantastic? It slows down a bit, and then builds back up into a pretty cool guitar solo. I'm gonna be honest, my least favorite part is the guitar solo. I don't like it much. Once it ends, though, a CHOIR comes in with the main motif again. And then it's epic again and it's not just like "oh sick guitar solo." the guitar comes back, but it's a bit cooler the second time around.

[americangrove]

Kituwah

Landscapes are made of mixed messages—sometimes composed of land, sometimes composed (and posted) in the land.  The first sign I saw that told me I was at Kituwah, was the metal, monochromatic NC Highway Marker Q-57—

Kituwah: Cherokee mother town. Council house stood on mound here. Town was destroyed, 1761, by Col. James Grant’s forces.

Pretty clear message. This “was” a town; it is no more. 

But then about ten feet away was another sign, wooden, painted, a bit worn—

Kituwah Ayeh: ᎩᏚᏩ ᎠᏰᎵ/ ᏧᎾᏦ ᎯᏍᏗ Mother Town of the Cherokee, National Historic Site Since 1973

Though redoubling the historicity of the first sign, this one did not speak of completion or an end (“stood on”, “was destroyed”); instead, its red, green, blue and yellow parts refused coalescence into the black and white of history, especially history that speaks more as text than as place or image. In addition to being colored, the text on this sign was also partly written in Cherokee, and so was also partly beyond my understanding, a foreshadow perhaps that something about the place would remain partly beyond me too.

 The next sign I saw (30 feet later) gave guidelines to my visit: 

This is private property of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, please be respectful while visiting: 

Drive only on roads

Park in designated areas

Not allowed: alcohol, ATVs, motorcycles, or camping 

Artifact hunting or removal is punishable by Federal Law

Please stay out of gardens & farm plots

Pretty clear rules. I proceeded over a private railroad crossing (a curious sign in itself) into the parking lot. Two or three cars were there. A woman was walking away from one of them, a large blue pick-up whose color seemed like what you would get if you baked sky on the parking lot under the day’s insistent sun. When I got out, I read the next sign: 

!NOTICE!

You are not entering Tribal Land of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians. 

Tribal Code….PROHIBITS 

Non-Members and Members of The Eastern Band from Trespassing on Tribal Land without the Authorization of the land owner or EBCI. 

Violators can be fined up to $1000. 

Violators will be prosecuted.  

So, could I walk around or could I not? As I asked myself that question another occurred as to what exactly I was to see if I did stay. The single structure and pieces of equipment in view did not seem historic though they did seem aged (a tractor, a cart, an old shed); everything else was corn, kudzu and pieces of concrete—perhaps the marker sign was right Kituwah “was destroyed”.

A week prior to visiting, I learned of Kituwah incidentally while reading about Cherokee use of switchcane. A brief search described it as a sacred mound considered by the Cherokee to be their place of origin, or “mother town.” It was inhabited for centuries, until it was razed near the end of the Anglo-Cherokee war. Sparsely reinhabited after that, it was taken by treaty during the time of Indian removal in the first half of the early 19th century.[1] However, unlike most of their former lands, Kituwah came back into Cherokee possession by purchase in 1996. Some in the community wanted to build on this new land, develop it into something profitable (it had cost millions) others thought it too sacred for development. If the posted signs were sending mixed messages, maybe it was due to the succession of conflicting claims to/on/for the land. 

         Unsettled by the notice sign, I walked back to the previous one to attempt to reconcile its welcome guidelines with the violator warnings of the other. As I re-read it, a truck passed with two Cherokee men in the front and two teens in the cargo bed. We all waved at each other, but I could tell my presence seemed strange to them, which persuaded me that I was more a trespasser than visitor. I went back to my car, about to leave, until I looked into rearview mirror and saw a runner coming down from one of the paths returning to his car. I approached him and asked if all paths were open to foot traffic. They were he assured me as he went on to describe their layout. He said the only places not to enter where the fields, maintained by sharecroppers, and the grassy area across from us, which was the area that the !NOTICE! specifically pertained to, for this was considered the sacred center of Kituwah. I thanked the runner who then went back to his car, took out a folding chair and sat directly in the sun with the tranquility of a solar panel. 

His clarification of the area cordoned off by the notice sign resolved the seeming inconsistency between it and the guidelines sign. On looking closer I realized that the center area was not only demarcated by the sign, but also by a mixed border of large stones, and double stacked wooden beams partly overgrown by herbaceous plants. I also had not noticed that several feet beyond the border the land rose gently, as if a hill was almost finished melting into meadow; this was Kituwah mound.

As I would learn afterwards, in the 1880s when agents of the Valentine Meat Juice company were digging around various mounds in search of artifacts for their museum, Kituwah was about twelve feet tall; later in 1937 when Hiram Wilburn undertook his survey and preservation efforts in Western North Carolina it was about nine feet high; now it is less than five.[2] The work of the plow has diminished this earthwork to where it almost seems unworked, but there must have been a time when settlers and later owners had to decide whether it was worth tilling or not. Even in a land of mountains, a mound in a field must have a seemed a strange obstacle, especially to plow by the push of foot or by the pull of cattle, though once plows became tractors, maybe the task seemed easier, merely one other hillside to drive up, and this one slowly yielding in its rebellion to the discipline of furrows. Photographs of the site from the 1920s show it when it was known as Ferguson Field; it is hard to see it (literally and otherwise) as Kituwah then—[3]

Not very far away (forty miles) from Kituwah mound is Nikwasi mound, another Cherokee earthwork which rises about twenty feet tall today across from a CBD oil seller and a tire shop in the town of Franklin.  Elsewhere in the southeast there are other mounds taller and shorter than what is found at Kituwah today. Thinking about height is useful not so much to figure a contest of superlatives, but because it is related to time, ceremony, and tradition. Mounds were made by basketfuls of soil gathered and dug from one place, carried to another where it was dumped, compacted, and shaped until form was achieved.[4] Platform mounds, like Kituwah were constructed into pyramid like shapes though without the peak; they were smoothed instead to create platforms upon which structures like meetinghouses or the residence of a chief were built.[5] Overtime these structures would be rebuilt, but before that the mound would be covered with a new layer of soil. If you could slice a mound it would look like a wafer candy, thick layers of mound fill, thin layers of the previous structure alternating. Interspersed in these layers you would find graves—“intrusive burials”— sunk vertically into the mound’s horizontal strata.[6] Making a mound then was a commitment to past, present, and future, or—in case of Kituwah—it is still (or is once again) such a commitment. During the debate about what to do with Kituwah’s repurchased lands, the estimated presence of hundreds of graves in the ground decided matters in favor of leaving it as it, which is not to say as a place unimproved, but rather a place ongoingly preserved for the dead so that they can continue to reside below while those living above honor them by continuing to “make” the mound by maintaining it.[7]

But ancestral piety only seems to be one braid of time past and time present wound into the history of the place. Other practices, memories and meanings seem to be in Kituwah’s history, though they are harder to trace, including just what Kituwah itself means as a word.  James Mooney, after his years long ethnography among the Cherokee in the 1890s gave this gloss: 

Kĭtu′hwagĭ—This word, which cannot be analyzed, is derived from Kĭtu′hwă, the name of an ancient Cherokee settlement formerly on Tuckasegee river, just above the present Bryson City, in Swain county, North Carolina. It is noted in 1730 as one of the “seven mother towns” of the tribe. Its inhabitants were called Ani′-Kĭtu′hwagĭ (people of Kituhwa), and seem to have exercised a controlling influence over those of all the towns on the waters of Tuckasegee and the upper part of Little Tennessee, the whole body being frequently classed together as Ani′-Kĭtu′hwagĭ. The dialect of these towns held a middle place linguistically between those spoken to the east, on the heads of Savannah, and to the west, on Hiwassee, Cheowah, and the lower course of Little Tennessee. In various forms the word was adopted by the Delawares, Shawano, and other northern Algonquian tribes as a synonym for Cherokee, probably from the fact that the Kituhwa people guarded the Cherokee northern frontier. In the form Cuttawa it appears on the French map of Vaugondy in 1755. From a similarity of spelling, Schoolcraft incorrectly makes it a synonym for Catawba, while Brinton incorrectly asserts that it is an Algonquian term, fancifully rendered, “inhabitants of the great wilderness.” Among the western Cherokee it is now the name of a powerful secret society, which had its origin shortly before the War of the Rebellion.[8]

Kituwah describes a place and a people but the relation of these people, the Ani′-Kĭtu′hwagĭ, to the greater Cherokee nation is not clear, their “controlling influence” perhaps not wholly welcome, for Mooney also recounts the Cherokee legend of the “Ani′-Kuta′nĭ or Ani′-Kwăta′nĭ” a people—

whom the modern Cherokee know so little that their very identity is now a matter of dispute, a few holding that they were an ancient people who preceded the Cherokee and built the mounds, while others, with more authority, claim that they were a clan or society in the tribe and were destroyed long ago by pestilence or other calamity.[9]

These predecessors, he goes on to suggest, were probably destroyed by “other calamity”— 

 Fortunately, we are not left to depend entirely upon surmise in the matter, as the tradition was noted by Haywood some seventy years ago, and by another writer some forty years later, while the connected story could still be obtained from competent authorities. From the various statements it would seem that the Ani′-Kuta′nĭ were a priestly clan, having hereditary supervision of all religious ceremonies among the Cherokee, until, in consequence of having abused their sacred privileges, they were attacked and completely exterminated by the rest of the tribe, leaving the priestly functions to be assumed thereafter by individual doctors and conjurers.[10]

If the Ani′-Kuta′nĭ were those who lived originally in Kituwah, directing its mound building and its ceremonies, then in maintaining the mound long after these people were “exterminated”, not only are predecessors remembered, honored, and recognized as part of the land, so are past persecutors acknowledged as part of the layers in place under the place which grounds the present people’s memory and self-perception.[11] In its millennia ago founding then, Kituwah was already a mixed message. 

As the runner sunned, I began walking away from the mound down a path paralleling a field of corn on one side and a hedgerow bordering a hay field on the other. I set a timer for fifteen minutes as I did not want to walk too long under the strong midday sun. An opening appeared in the hedgerow, so I steped into the field. The wind stirred and it felt like something was whispering, but I did not know how to hear it. I stood for a moment looking out over the grass thinking about crossing it to the island of trees in the middle, but I decided to go back to the path I was on. Mountains bound the distances, large gravel turned underfoot, most of what was in-between was corn. The healthy, well-tended stalks, and the husk busting ears of the tall crop made me think of a painting, Benjamin Hawkins and the Creek Indians (1805)—[12]

 On his plantation in Georgia, Hawkins, who was the country’s primary Indian agent for tribes in the southeast, is seen instructing Creek people in the use of the plow. The image has a strong, though not absolute, left to right advance, whereby Tradition (moccasins, feathers, a chest bare women, a wattle and daub home) meets Progress (the plow, a timber building, buckled shoes) and results in Bounty—a glut of potatoes and turnips, though really these are but dividends to the windfall profit of corn spilling out of cart, piled into basket, already the most plentiful crop in the landscape as it would become in country and as it has become in the world. But where did the corn come from? The painting would make it seem that it was a European invention, gleaming golden like Hawkins’s pants, given to the first people like the plow for their benefit—(though note the burden of preparing the cornfield and reaping its harvest as those who do so have backs distinctly bent by their labor). But of course, we (now and in the 19th century) know the gift of corn came in reverse from Native Americans to Europeans—and perhaps the painting “knows” this too for its narrative of progress-in-action in the foreground is belied by the background wherein a seemingly round river suggests that the progress we see is but a partial prospect in a realm more cyclical in nature. Human time, measured in actions and results, moves forward within a landtime that works by something other than linearity, the curves of before that are also the curves of tomorrow only intuited on the edges of sight. Aside from the hint of repeat and return in the distant river, maybe recurrence is also there in the midground timber house, seeming a sign of advancement, but an advance which seems founded on a mound (the Creek also made them). 

Speculating on a logic of landtime, I would not say its circles are so perfect and its returns so absolute, such that the corn of Kituwah is reclaimed corn in the same way that the land of Kituwah is reclaimed land, now once again Cherokee—though, in truth, what reclamation of the land means is not so straightforward either (I guess it could not be straight if I am talking about circles). When archeologist dated the mound in the 1990s the uppermost foundations detected below were said to be from the 15th or 16thcentury, meaning the last one, two, perhaps even three centuries of its use was eroded away by all the plowing. Deeper remnants may remain to earlier centuries, but the complete circle will always remain broken like the pieces of pottery that must have been tilled up occasionally throughout Kituwah—partial curves intuiting a wholeness one can imagine but not hold.

After walking past and even into the corn fields, long after my fifteen-minute timer beeped to tell me to return, I started making my way back to the parking lot. Along the mound boundary, clumps of weeds grew at the edge between the tended ground and trodden path as they always do. That term “weed” conceals such a variety of vegetal life, abjecting by disparagement. Call them by more specific names (common or scientific) and suddenly the places where they grow sometime seem like something other than incidental. Along the main entrance was kudzu, across from the corn field at the edge of a woodlot not far from the river was bamboo, by the highway marker there was pokeweed, and along the mound boundary horseweed. The first two plants point to the various ways in which the cultures that succeeded the Cherokee at Kituwah and throughout the United States used plants imported from abroad to advance their desires to ornament and to fix the land—bamboo inhabiting environs that switchcane and rivercane (native bamboos) used to flourish in, providing, among other things, material for Cherokee baskets and tools; elsewhere kudzu puts down roots and shoots everywhere to hold (and heal) ground which so much farming and progress has eroded. Of course, both bring their detriments to the native flora and fauna of Kituwah, but as already stated, the ground of the place knows how to honor mixed legacies, whether of plants or of people. As for the other two weeds, which are native species, they suggest something of indigenous persistence (botanical and human). Pokeweed or “Cherokee sallet” as the settlers called it was something they learned to eat from the Cherokee and other natives who showed them how to make it into food (though it did not quiet take off like corn) and into medicine.[13] The tall one by the highway marker (draped in kudzu), grows perhaps as a vegetal objection to the past tense of the sign’s wording for those by the entrance, just as the horseweed does for those who come further in and stand at the edge of the mound. In the past, it would have been the plant that kept the fire going in the council house atop the platform—

One man, called the fire keeper, stayed always in the townhouse to feed and tend the fire. When there was to be a dance or a council he pushed long stalks of the ihyâ′ga weed, which some call atsil′-sûñ′tĭ, “the fire maker” (Erigeron canadense or fleabane [or horseweed]), down through the opening in the cedar log to the fire at the bottom. He left the ends of the stalks sticking out and piled lichens and punk around, after which he prayed, and as he prayed the fire climbed up along the stalks until it caught the punk. Then he put on wood, and by the time the dancers were ready there was a large fire blazing in the townhouse.

Presumably this fire was extinguished when Kituwah “was destroyed” by forces under James Grant. And yet as Mooney relayed—

The fire burns yet at the bottom of these great mounds, and when the Cherokee soldiers were camped near Kĭtu′hwa during the Civil War they saw smoke still rising from the mound.

Where there is smoke, there is fire we say for terrestrial flames. Maybe where there is ihyâ′ga(horseweed) there is fire of another kind feed by the plant’s roots, which, as far as I know, go all the way down and touch the first layer of the mound. 

         Just before getting back to the car, the Great Smoky Mountain Railroad’s Royal Palm sounded its horn from down the rails. As I waved at the conductor from the now empty parking lot, I wondered, what, if anything, was announced onboard about the place they were passing:  “Attention passengers to your left was Kituwah…is Kituwah…is again Kituwah. There was a sacred fire here…there is a sacred fire here…there is again a sacred fire here.” Whatever was said, I hope it was a mixed message, because a land that only straight talked would not be land at all. 

Images Here

Notes:

[1] For an attempt to hang onto Kituwah during the Indian Removal periods see the story of Chief Yonaguska (who actually is commemorated in a highway marker very close to the Kituwah sign. See: https://trailofthetrail.blogspot.com/2010/02/yonaguska-and-kituwah-mound.html

[2] Mann S. Valentine became a rather wealthy inventor after marketing his famous meat juice formula for health. With his wealth he established the Valentine Museum in Richmond, Virginia whose agents often raided Native American sites in Virginia and North Carolina. Hiram Wilburn was a surveyor who interests in historic preservation provided significant support for saving much of the cultural and natural landscape of Western North Carolina.  For more on Cherokee mounds see:  Steere, Benjamin A. “Revisiting Platform Mounds And Townhouses In The Cherokee Heartland: A Collaborative Approach.” Southeastern Archaeology, vol. 34, no. 3, 2015, p 207. 

[3] Citation for first image: 

Ferguson Field and Site of Kituwah. Kelly Bennett. Photographic negatives. c.1920. Western Carolina University, Kelly Bennett Collection.

Citation for the other three images:

Plowing Ferguson Field. Kelly Bennett. Photographic negatives. c.1920. Western Carolina University, Kelly Bennett Collection. 

See all at: https://southernappalachiandigitalcollections.org/browse/search/search/keyword:ferguson-field/item-no/2

[4] See: Building the Mounds Essay -- National Register of Historic Places Indian Mounds of Mississippi Travel Itinerary. https://www.nps.gov/nr/travel/mounds/mounds.htm. 

[5] For more on the townhouses see: Rodning, Christopher B. “Mounds, Myths, and Cherokee Townhouses in Southwestern North Carolina.” American Antiquity, vol. 74, no. 4, Oct. 2009, pp. 627–63.

[6] The Wikipedia page for Platform Mounds has a diagram, which I have more or less described above. See: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Platform_mound

[7] See: Cooper, Andrea. “Embracing Archeology: The Eastern Band of Cherokee was once suspicious of archeology.” American Archaeology. vol 13, no 3, 2009, p. 24. Online at https://web.archive.org/web/20200523235652/https://www.archaeologicalconservancy.org/?wpfb_dl=64

[8] Mooney, James.  Myths of the Cherokee. Washington: Government Printing Office, 1902, accessed online at https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/45634/pg45634-images.html#s108

[9] Mooney, James.  Myths of the Cherokee.

[10] Ibid.

[11] For a contemporary account of the Ani′-Kuta′nĭ see: Fogelson, Raymond D. “Who Were the Aní-Kutánî? An Excursion into Cherokee Historical Thought.” Ethnohistory, vol. 31, no. 4, 1984, pp. 255–63. 

[12] Benjamin Hawkins and the Creek Indians, ca. 1805, artist unknown. Oil on canvas, 35 7⁄8 x 49 7⁄8 inches. Greenville County Museum of Art.

[13] See Davis, Donald Edward. Where There Are Mountains: An Environmental History of the Southern Appalachians. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2000, 80.

[eyeballtank]

Guess i still got more OC related ideas, so i lied again.

But let's see what they are instead of updating the main OC post:

Thought that Bonka's birthday might as well be April 1st but in Brinkaedea, nobody sees it as "April Fools" day.

Maybe Linda's main design might be a "theater stage play female warrior" one instead of the jester design.

With Holmes and Marlon, i could develop their relationship a bit where there's a "third actor" between them and it'd be a mysterious figure (Was thinking of Corto Maltese, Rasputin and the monk from that series as one bit of inspiration).

The character Reptile could have a large shuriken/"blade boomerang" like weapon that could serve as a bouncy projectile and to add some absurdity to the setting.

Because i'm copying Punisher Max, i thought of a moment where Booker forces some cop guy to dig his own grave, who even tells Booker that he could help him find who killed his family; Then the guy just accepts his fate after digging deep enough and Booker blows his brains out with a shotgun.

Some new location being a weird castle in a white cloudly/foggy area and the bridge has like pillars/entrance things that are black and with golden decorations.

New character 1: Upper half of an orange colored female robot where almost everything about her is orange but she has like black/brown hair and a blue cap hat?

Char 2: Like a cartoony "ghost" dog where the head is white and has color splatter spots (Yellow, blue, green, purple) and the body is like a "sheet" thing (Almost like Zero from The Nightmare Before Christmas).

Char 3: A similar "ghostly" figure but there's a skull attached to a part of the "sheet" (And the skull is upside down and hanging while missing a lower jaw/row of teeth).

Char 4: Some weird fleshy monster with a tube coming out of its mouth and it's like a wall sized creature.

Char 5: A female soldier with a bald head and she has some tattoo on her head (Not sure if it's inspired by something from Warhammer).

Char 6: A short anthro pig character who's a cartoony soldier with a mask covering hs head but still has the pig nose on said mask and the eyes are "animated" (Like a mix of Porky Pig from Looney Tunes and that one guy from Ralph Bakshi's Wizards with the gas mask that accidently killed his friend).

Also, said midget pig soldier had a crush on the bald chick (They came from a dream i had lol).

Once thought of a character called "Maggot" and still thought of using that name somewhere, because the one that originally had it is now "Fragile".

Might make a guy called "Phineas Abe" as pat of the "Krimb-Stone" setting, like a mobster with an Irish accent.

Anyway, with Nortubel, i thought of showing off characters outside the setting through optional levels and do it like this:

Bonka, Leon and Holmes show up in easy-to-find levels where you get to interact with some characters and explore parts of their settings.

Kalub, B-Man, Uulga and Booker get to be the "harder secret" characters whose levels are a bit more difficult and their settings are not as explorable maybe.

This is because the 3 characters above are in "E/T rated areas" while the other 4 are in "M rated areas".

If i'm lucky, i could even have other characters from certain settings show up as NPC's or in some story moments, but for other characters they show up in their memories/flashbacks or mentions.

(Even if this sounds like a bloated version of when an MCU movie has a "reveal" for an upcoming movie or something).

I also said i wouldn't show more OC art because "i need to develop them ingame first" but i think people would be more interested IF i show them being developed alongside their games being made.

(And see my art hopefully progress alongside my game dev skills).

Though Booker is a character that might have his main game a bit after other characters.

I might need some more time to figure him out, but i want to keep most of what i thought for him (Because i don't want to regret thinking out stuff, even from a severe case of "ideas guy syndrom").

At the very least, these characters will push my "range" in certain areas.

[indigochromatic]

Sure, we can take a crack at this--it's a bit of a complicated question, honestly, but we'll do our best. Traumagenic vs endogenic (vs mixed-origin) is a labeling scheme that can sometimes be helpful, but also isn't always perfect--just like any lens for trying to understand a complicated internal experience. In terms of definitions, a traumagenic system is one who ascribes the origin of their plurality/multiplicity directly to trauma, whereas an endogenic system is one who ascribes the origin of their plurality/multiplicity from anything other than a direct response to trauma.

In practice, this can get pretty messy, because exactly what "trauma" means can be hard to pin down (and there are a lot of conflicting definitions out there, from "practically everyone on earth has trauma" to "no, it's only literal, critical physical danger to life or limb, SA, or witnessing either of those happen to a close friend/family member").

In terms of how you'll often see the endogenic label used on tumblr, it's systems who don't experience their plurality as being directly caused by trauma. This can be intentionally (or unintentionally) created systems, systems with origins related to spiritual practices, systems who have been plural as long as they can remember, and also some systems who may have experienced trauma later on in life but whose plurality feels unrelated to it.

In terms of how they're different from traumagenic systems, there's a lot of variability (and there can be overlap and gray area, too), and no one answer that'll be true for everyone. But some common differences you might see around are things like: - little to no dissociative amnesia, and very good internal communication (this can also be true for traumagenic systems, especially after some recovery, but it's very common for endogenic systems, and when it's not true, is almost always because of some later traumatic event causing problems) - plurality/being a system is "ego-syntonic" for most endogenic systems, which is a fancy way of saying "it doesn't feel wrong, disordered, or dysphoric". (again, this can also be true for traumagenic systems! but while some traumagenic systems can experience being a system as inherently distressing or dysfunctional, it's extremely rare for endogenic systems to feel this way, unless it's about changes to their system resulting from later trauma). - little to no experiences of typical trauma-response symptoms like flashbacks, frequent trauma nightmares, depersonlization/derealization episodes, panic attacks, specific system members who act as trauma-holders, etc. (unless they happen to have had traumatic experiences unrelated to their system origin) - often less likely to have clear, obvious "functional roles" for system members (things like protector/caretaker/persecutor/social masking host/emotionless shutdown holder/etc etc), but not always - if an endogenic system's plurality is part of a specific spiritual, cultural, or psychological practice, they may have a framework for understanding themselves that doesn't particularly line up neatly with western psychiatric thinking about dissociative disorders. (also, though, there are some traumagenic systems with dissociative disorders who may still also use these other frameworks for understanding themselves)

...I think you might be starting to see a pattern, here, lol. It's less that there are hard rules about "endogenic systems are like X, traumagenic systems are like Y", and more like "X can happen for any system, but/and is almost always true in endogenic systems; Y is generally a trauma-related symptom, is very typical for traumagenic systems, and almost never happens for endogenic systems unless they also experienced trauma later on".

That's a long answer, but hopefully it's useful, and feel free to ask any follow-up questions too. -S (+L)

can someone please explain like, endogenic stuff please? i don’t really get the differences to traumagenic, other than the fact that endo systems probably do exist

[much-the-millers-kid]

Random Monster Prom/Camp Headcanon: Vicky Schmidt is the reanimated Veruca Salt from Charlie/Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Do I have anything to support this? Only that both of their initials are VS and in the Musical CATCF Veruca gets dismembered so she’d have to be Frankensteined back together.

Am I going to be thinking about it all night anyway? Hell yeah.

[projectjasper]

ARCHER!! what do you think about thua outing akk and ayan? i have mixed feelings about him rn because im obsessed with him getting shit done and being a bad bitch but like…. wtf dude why would you out them.. it feels. not ooc but just confusing. IDK IM JUST CONFLICTED

JACE!!

so i think this particular instance is incredibly complex. i will try to articulate myself as best i can, in hopes that this will somehow make sense. yes, this is an essay.

to begin with, i'd like to point out that i definitely view the eclipse as a small-scale model. what i mean by that is percieving it as being a literal story about a very strict school is not only a disservice to what i think they were trying to do with the script, but also just makes the whole thing incredibly silly. if you think "oh, these students are fiercly protesting not wanting to wear a uniform and these teachers are evil for not letting the kids use their phones, while the prefects are evil for reinforcing this rule", it all gets a bit ridiculous. but if you think "oh, this is all a metaphor for how a totalitarian regime seizes total control of all areas of life, with examples of how it affects the marginalized, how it affects more privileged people, how it is done by those in power and how it is reinforced by those who serve those in power", then it becomes this really profound, smart thing.

so, before we try to transform our small-scale model of thua and the situation he found himself in to a bigger scale, allow me to start with an example from another piece of media. it is most certainly an extreme example, but one i want to make nonetheless. if you have seen jojo rabbit, you will have a bit of an easier time understanding what i have to say, but i will try to explain it in general terms for everyone who hasn't. (but please do watch jojo rabbit at some point).

so, jojo rabbit is a movie about nazi germany, and there is a character there called captain klenzendorf. klenzendorf is a retired officer from the nazi army, and he is also most often cited by people with zero critical thinking skills when they try to prove that a movie written and directed by a jewish brown man is excusing nazis. you see, klenzendorf is gay, which is particularly dangerous, of course, as that is a direct road to a concentration camp with a pink triangle sewn onto your striped shirt. he is also altogether not inherently evil, and helps the main characters of the movie twice (including helping to hide a jewish girl from the gestapo). at the end of the movie, when the war ends and the soviets arrive, klenzendorf is executed, as a nazi undeniably deserves to be.

so what taika waititi teaches us here with klenzendorf's arc is that there have been many different types of people in nazi germany at the time (people like klenzendorf, who were certainly pretty decent before the war) and that those different types of people had different circumstances which lead them to the choices they eventually made (like the choice of "proving himself" to the nazis that he made not to end up at a concentration camp). overall, taika shows us that any person - if they aren't careful enough and are selfish enough - can go down that slippery slope. and at the end of the war, that person is just like any other nazi - an awful human being, whose execution is a natural and just part of the end of the war. (the main point of jojo rabbit is that anyone can become a nazi and we must continuously step back and assess our worldview and our actions in order not to end up a despicable human being).

now that i have given this extreme example, which no doubt the quickest of readers have already desiphered, let's make the scale a bit smaller, though without returning to the silly bounds of a school.

thua is a marginalized character. he has also not made an active choice there - he is visibly marginalized and so he experiences daily oppression due to others "clocking" him. though he does hold a position that gives him some protection, it is not a position of power, such as the prefects, for instance, have. he also sees that there are people who are marginalized in a similar way to him experiencing the same oppression he does, but even more severely, as they do not have the same protection he does. he sees that they are so unprotected that they have no other choice but to fight.

at the start, the system seems quite clear to him. there is some overarching threat behind everything (the curse) that requires protection from, which is "provided" via implemented rules by the first line of power (the teachers) and reinforced by the second line of power (the prefects), which is semi-comfortable to most people out of power (the majority of the students) and actively harmful to people put down by power (our trio). i'd say thua is placed somewhere between the last two groups, which allows him to be in the necessary position for everything else to fall into place.

now, the moment things change is when thua realizes that the very foundation upon which the entire system is built simply... does not exist. it was invented by someone in the first line of power, and is now being knowingly reinforced by someone in the second line of power. the former is, of course, at fault, but all the suffering that the trio first and foremost and thua in part have experienced is actively due to the latter. you know how it goes - if a dictator has no one to dictate, the dictatorship fails.

and the moment thua's world finally turns upside down is when he realizes: the person actively causing the suffering of his marginalized group is a part of that group, and he is choosing to cause that suffering because he chooses his own safety not just in favor of himself, but at the expense of people like him. like both of them. and it could even be argued that thua understands akk is harming himself too, along with them, just because he found a place where he kind of fits in and sees no other choice but to follow the arbitrary rules of the people who have allowed him to take up that place (as long as he is doing what they want, that is).

and so thua understands: the only way he can make the entire harmful system tumble down is to make akk not only confess to what he has specifically done, but finally sit in the same boat as his fellow marginalized, instead of having an honorary spot on the ship that's shooting cannons at it. because for change to truly occur, the second line of power must seize to exist, which will only happen if akk steps out of his position of power forever and with no chance of return, as he is the only one holding up the second line of power at this point (khan was at a protest, wat is in doubt, namo admires akk and does everything to support him, everyone else is inconsequential).

at first, thua relies on ayan to do the job - the guy did come here for a reason, after all, and he's been quite proudly sitting in the boat with them. but nothing happens with ayan. and so thua takes matters into his own hands. at first he tries to nudge akk, but when that doesn't work either? he simply points at the empty spot next to him in the boat and shows that the empty spot has "akk" written on it.

thua outing akk is not some stupid personal revenge plot - his name is not wai and we are not watching bad buddy. thua outing akk is a deliberate push at the only brick in the wall that he can reach, but also crucially, a brick that does a lot to hold the wall in place.

and this is not me saying that akk is an awful character or a terrible person. i gave klenzendorf as an example not to literally draw a parallel between them but to show very vividly why what akk has been doing is bad and what the normalisation of such behavior can lead to in extreme circumstances. akk is a complex boy and he is also someone who's been through a lot. and i like him. and i like the way ayan has been consistently giving him a chance to become a better person, because thankfully he is not in extreme circumstances and he has the opportunity to change. but none of that makes what he has been doing fair, especially if we perceive the narrative as a metaphor, which i think we must do.

with klenzendorf being an extreme example, i can flip the script and go for something even more mild than what we have in the eclipse, like adam groff or dave karofsky. and i have intentionally chosen such drastically different representations of the "homophobic bully turned gay" trope, because i am not saying that it is a trope that should not be executed - i am saying that it is a trope that comes with baggage and responsibility. especially when we once more up its scale away from one single high school, leaving us somewhere between the homophobic bully and klenzendorf, but with a pretty similar conclusion:

akk's incredibly complex and frankly heartbreaking reasons for doing what he has been doing are not a big enough excuse for the suffering that he has caused, and - at this point - thua was justified in trying to end the suffering, even if it hurt akk in the process, especially because his personal pain is still incomparable with the pain that he helped cause to everyone by upholding an unjust system.

[cjsinkythoughts]

Suits, Dresses, and Heels

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, More Mentions of PTSD, Gun Violence, Slight Mentions of Drinking, Club Dancing (You’re all gonna hate me for that part, but I’m not sorry)

A/N: Here’s Part 4.2 - The Second Part to Episode 3 - as requested. This is a little more scene-by-scene, but there are some off-screen moments. I’ll be posting Part 4.3 (which will have the rest of the episode) later tonight.

There’s a bit more information on Reader, but not as much as the last chapter. Sharon comes in during this part, so you get to see her and Reader’s relationship.

Also, I have mixed feelings about Zemo at this point. Not in the story, the Reader’s not a fan as you learned previously, but for me personally, he’s surprised me a couple times by coming back and helping.

Anyways! Thank you so much for reading! This isn’t beta’d so excuse any mistakes! Check out my other parts before you read! Thank you again! Stay tuned, loves!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

The dress was far too tight for your liking, and showed way too much skin. Not that you didn’t like being a tease every once in a while, but for this mission, you’d rather have more cover and movement.

You had to admit though; Zemo had nice taste. The dress fit deliciously - which made you wonder how he got your size. The color and cut was devastatingly flattering. Plus, he let you do your own makeup.

Being the only female, you were in a separate area of the jet getting ready. Once you were done, you made sure to knock, even though you’d walked in on Sam changing too many times to count while on the run and had seen Bucky answer the door in nothing but a towel. It was mainly for Zemo’s sake, just a warning that you were walking in whether or not they were ready.

“Damn, girl! You clean up nice!”

You rolled your eyes at Sam, painted lips quirking up as you studied him, shooting him a wink. “You should try a mirror, Sammy.” You turned to Bucky to find him staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at you. “What do you think, Buck?”

His mouth snapped shut and he cleared his throat, eyes exploring the dips and curves your body. “You…” He blinked once. Twice. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his intense eyes making you heat up, before he shook his head. “You look good.” He rushed out, before spinning on his heel shoving past Sam who was snickering.

“Where’s Zemo?” You noticed he wasn’t in the main area of the plane when you walked in.

“Rearranging our ride once we get there.”

You huffed, fixing your hair. “Oh God. We’re really doing this.”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” You looked down at yourself before looking up at the boys. “Something’s gonna go wrong, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

“No doubt.”

Giving a slight groan at their simultaneous answers, you nodded. “Let’s try not to screw up too badly, boys, alright? I at least want to live long enough to see Peter graduate.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a scoff. “That kid’s a punk.”

“You’re a punk.” You shot back.

Bucky raised his hand. “I second that punk thing.”

“For which one?”

“Both of them.”

You chuckled as Sam gaped at Bucky, who shrugged innocently. The former assassin tilted his head in your direction to shoot you a grin and a wink, making you laugh more. Shaking your head, you go to make a joke when Zemo walked in.

“It’s time. We’re landing now.”

And just like that, the teasing atmosphere dissipated, leaving you anxious and regretful.

*******************

You walked by Bucky, arm linked with his metal one, listening as Zemo told Sam about his “character” he was to play.

“He’s a known womanizer - always has a gorgeous lady on his arm.” Zemo gestured towards you. “It’s the only way they’d let in a woman.”

“Aren’t we going to see a woman?” You questioned, gently patting Bucky’s metallic bicep when his hold on you tightened.

“Which makes it more imperative that you don’t act threatening. Women don’t make the same mistake men do; they don’t underestimate other women.”

You nodded. He had a point there. Bucky faced you, a frown on those pretty lips. “I don’t like this.” He mumbled.

“You think I do?” You whispered back. “With you being him again? Even if it’s just pretend? And need I remind you whose idea this was?”

“I know, I know. Just…” He sighed. “Promise me you won’t get hurt on purpose.”

Your forehead creased. “Why would I-?”

“To protect people. You always do. And I get it, I do. It’s why you started this in the first place, but…save yourself first, this time, okay?”

“Buck-”

“Promise me.”

It wasn’t often you could see the fear in his eyes, hear it in his voice, but you could then. Unable to do anything else you nodded, a soft, “okay” falling from your lips. He nodded back, pressing a kiss to your head, before letting you go as a car approached.

Bucky helped you in - the heels you were wearing were no joke - before sliding in himself, Sam getting in on the other side of you. “And you two can’t be…” Zemo gestured to the two of you as the car started moving, eyeing your still connected hands. “Doing that.”

“This isn’t my first theater production.” You snapped at him. “We’ll be fine.”

He raised his hands in surrender, turning back to look out the windshield. Once you arrived, you gave Bucky’s hand one last squeeze, before accepting Sam’s hand to get out on his side, linking your arm with his like you were doing with Bucky earlier.

“I finally get to see one of your performances, baby.” Sam grinned at you.

You smirked back. “Best seats in the house, too, Smiling Tiger.” He groaned at your jest, nudging you playfully with his elbow as you giggled.

“This way.” Zemo cut in, jerking his head in the direction you’d be going. You took a breath, steeling yourself, before the three of you nodded at each other and followed his lead.

You found the fellas reactions amusing, their heads turning to study and scan everything they could see. You were more subtle in the way you analyzed your surroundings, feeling a bit more at home in this situation than, say, fighting super soldiers on top of semi trucks.

Your jaw tightened, as did your grip on Sam’s arm, when Zemo started speaking Russian, the four of you pushing through a crowded bar. Sam ran his fingers over your arms, giving your hand a little squeeze, silently reassuring you.

It was a bit obvious Sam hadn’t done much undercover work, put he stayed in character and you were impressed. Especially when the bartender started cutting up the snake, which you had to look away for because if there was one thing you couldn’t do…it was snakes. You nearly gagged when Sam reluctantly downed the drink. 

Bucky eyed you, lips pursed in a way you recognized as him trying to hold in a smile. That made you feel a little better, hiding your own smile by turning into the crook of Sam’s neck. “Not. Funny.” He growled through clenched teeth, lips not moving.

“Kinda is.”

He grumbled under his breath, before the two of you tuned into the conversation between Zemo and a thug that came up, learning about the apparent power broker of Madripoor, which you a bit of from your time undercover there.

Sam held you tightly when Zemo turned to Bucky, knowing what was about to happen.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like how easily aggressive he became. You didn’t like the little smirk Zemo gave as Bucky attacked. You didn’t like the cellphones being pointed in his direction. You didn’t like it.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” You gave Zemo a warning glare, a shaky breath leaving you.

He’d been doing so well. At least, for someone who had been through what he had. Especially considering it’d only been a few months since he’d been pardoned - half a year since everyone came back. You knew bringing Zemo on board had been a bad idea, but-

A squeeze to your hand pulled you out of your thoughts. You let out an inaudible sigh of relief as Zemo allowed Bucky to let the man he was choking go.

“Selby will see you now.”

One step down. You hoped that would be the hardest part, but you knew it most definitely wouldn’t be.

“You good?”

Bucky sniffed, giving you two a curt nod, before following Zemo. You bit your lip. “That wasn’t really an answer, was it?”

Sam shook his head. “No. No it wasn’t.”

Selby wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but you’d come to expect that. You stayed on Sam’s arm, giving the guards coy smiles and playing with the fake nails you had on in faux-boredom.

When she purred at the man besides you, you and Bucky glanced at each other, with you resisting the urge to scrunch up your nose. “And who is this gorgeous creature?”

Your eyes snapped back to Selby, giving her a slightly bashful smile. “Celeste Addams. Pleasure.”

“Trust me, dear. The pleasure is all mine.” Alright, you thought as she scanned you with a smirk. She was swinging for both teams. You could work with that. “What’s the offer?” She looked back to Zemo.

Zemo gave her the offer - information about the super soldier serum for the Winter Soldier and the code words to control him. Your blood boiled as Zemo touched Bucky, fingers grabbing his chin. You swore, once this whole thing was over, you would kick Zemo’s ass. You should make a list, just to keep track of all the things he’d done, and no doubt would do, to piss you off. That way he’d know why exactly you were beating his ass.

A name came up, Dr. Wilfred Nagel, along with the knowledge that the super soldier serum was, in fact, in Madripoor. You and Sam met eyes. Second step down.

But before they could get anything else, Sam’s phone buzzed. You ducked your head, closing your eyes, mumbling “fuck” when you saw it was Sarah. Sam’s responses just made you inwardly cringe even more.

“The bank, yeah. We laundered so much mo-” He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. They’ll come around.”

Is he fucking serious? For the love of God, Sammy…

And then she called him Sam. Next thing you knew, Selby was shot and you, Bucky, and Sam were taking out a guard each, you growling at the fact that you couldn’t use your legs because the dress was too damn tight.

You had no choice but to trust Zemo’s lead, but word traveled very quickly here, and less than a minute after walking outside, you were getting shot at.

“C’mon!” Bucky grabbed your arm, pulling you besides him.

“Can you not right now?!”

“I can’t run in these heels!”

You glared at Sam, the killer six inchers on your feet feeling like hell. “Hell no! You did not just say that in front of me!”

“You started it!” You scowled at him, following Bucky into an alley, only to duck as shots rang out. Chest heaving, you looked around for the source of the bullets that killed the men chasing you.  Your “guardian angel” as Zemo put it.

She soon appeared in all her stunning, blonde badass glory. “Sharon?”

Sam quickly explained the situation, trying to get her not to shoot Zemo who she had a gun pointed at.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass,” she pointed the gun at Sam, then Bucky, “so that you could save his ass, from his ass.” And the gun was back on Zemo. She shot you a smile. “And your ass is looking beautiful as always.”

You grinned back. “Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

As she spoke, your lips turned down. You had tried calling her after Germany, but it always went to voicemail. First thing you did when you got back was try to get everyone pardoned, but it was a process. And then you found out about Wanda and ever since…

Sharon was your first real friend. She was only a couple years younger than you and had been one of your first partners during your time with SHIELD. And the fact that she’d been on the run for years now, even with the Blip, her family not having seen or talked to her since…that was exactly why you couldn’t take a break. She was family and you found there was nothing more important than family. But when she needed you, you were out searching for someone who didn’t want to be found.

How were you supposed to choose between two sisters? How could you cope with the fact that you chose the wrong one?

“Sharon, we need your help.” She laughed at Bucky’s statement. “Please,”

She glanced at you and you nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Share.”

She gave a sigh before nodding. “This isn’t over. I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for a while.”

She turned and started walking, and you were about to follow, when you remembered something.

Spinning around, your fist connected with Zemo’s cheek, Sam and Bucky shouting in surprise while the man stumbled back. “Don’t you fucking dare touch him like that ever again, or I will break every bone in your body.” You threatened, your expression twisting into a scowl as you grab his hand and bend it awkwardly. He grunted but didn’t move, knowing one wrong turn would break his wrist. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” He ground out.

You pushed a little more, making him wince, before letting go and rounding back to Sharon, who was smirking at you. “Let’s get moving.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She jerked her head back over her shoulder to where a car was waiting, leading them over.

You quickly followed after her with Bucky on your heels and Sam dragging Zemo along. Speaking of heels, as soon as you got in the car - getting shotgun for the first time ever at Sharon’s insistence - you prodded the stupid shoes off your feet.

“Nice kicks.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Unless you’re trying to kick.”

“Did you rip the dress?”

“I was tempted to.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you in something more comfortable. And you’ll look just as good. Not that you wouldn’t look good in literally anything.”

You chuckled, giving her a look. “Let’s not test that theory.”

She smiled back, nodding. “Fine. I’ll let you pick something out.”

Sam huffed, crossing his arms best he could, being squished with the two other fully grown men in the back seat. “Women.”

The two of you exchanged looks, rolling your eyes at the three pouting guys. “Men.”

*****************

“I’m gonna go check on the boys. But I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, looking through her closet. No dresses. And absolutely no heels. Flats, if you had to, but you’d definitely prefer sneakers right now. You decided on shorts and an off-the-shoulder blouse, grateful for the looser clothing.

“They’re idiots.”

You laughed and looked over at the door as Sharon entered. “Yeah. I know.”

“Cute.” She commented on your outfit, sitting on her bed. “They explained the situation. Sam said if I help, he’d clear my name-”

“Sharon.” You sighed, biting your lip. “I tried. I really did. I-”

She shook her head, smiling at you reassuringly. “No, I know. It’s why I’m not mad at you. Sorry I didn’t call back. How’ve you been?”

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Even with the whole ‘Cap is back’ thing.”

“Walker’s the government’s pet. He’s not Captain America. He’s not…”

“Steve?”

Looking up at her from the ground, you nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you miss him?”

You smirked, wagging your eyebrows at her. “Do you?”

She rolled her eyes, tossing a pillow at you. “It’s kinda weird now, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little. But I can’t blame you. Have you seen him shirtless? Good God.”

Sharon laughed, shaking her head as you joined her on the bed. “How come it’s always you getting wrapped up in these things?”

“I have no clue.” You chuckled, crossing your legs underneath you. “First I’m answering a phone call from Bucky at five in the morning and next thing I know, I’m being kicked off of semi trucks, breaking criminals out of prisons and running in six inch heels.”

“You answer Bucky’s calls at five in the morning?”

You gave her a look. “Sharon-”

“No, no. Hey. That’s cool. Some girls like bad boys, some like jocks, others like nerds. You like super soldiers from the 40’s. Everyone’s got a thing.”

A playful shove turned into a pillow fight, which turned into a sparring session, during which you pin her on her back. “You’re getting better.” You complimented, getting up.

She glared at you, taking your outstretched hand and letting you pull her up. “I guess that’s why you’re an Avenger.”

“That’s still weird to say.”

“Why? You’ve been an Avenger since, what? Ultron?”

You nodded, straightening your clothes. “Officially, anyways.”

“Right. Because you were there for the Battle of Manhattan as the secret seventh superhero.”

“Yeah…I miss it. The anonymity. I’m pretty sure I’m one half the Senators’ speed dials.”

Sharon frowned, brows pinching together. “What about the other half of the OG? Where are they?”

“Thor’s in space, Bruce is MIA - which I can’t really blame him for - and Clint’s retired with his family.”

“You think he’s gonna stay retired?”

You shrugged. “I hope he does. He’s been trying to retire for years. He deserves it. Knowing him, though…probably not.”

Sharon crossed her arms, nodding at you. “So that leaves you.”

“Yes it does.”

“Do you ever think of taking a break?”

You gave a half-sigh, half-groan, making her smirk in amusement. “It’s…come up a lot recently. I dunno. I think I’m burning out, anyways.”

“What makes you say that? I was watching you guys with Selby. You’re still one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“I-I’ve been having…problems.”

Her eyes narrowed, her hands setting on her hips like a mother about to scold her child. “What kind of problems?”

“Just flashbacks. Of different things. It happens at random times. Certain triggers; something someone says or does, or something I smell or hear.”

“PTSD?”

“Something like that.”

“Has it affected you in the field?” Hesitating to answer was answer enough and she nodded. “Then…maybe it’s time you do start considering retiring.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “At 36? There’s no way.”

“C’mon. It’s not too late for you to settle down. Go one a few dates. Meet someone. Maybe have a couple kids-”

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll.” Your features scrunched up in incredulity. “Pump your breaks. No one said anything about marriage or kids.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying…think about it. I heard even Bucky’s been on a few dates.”

It was your turn to narrow your eyes at her, hearing the suggestive tone in her voice and seeing the eyebrow raise. “Yeah. He has. A few. I told him to. Told him it might be good for him to, I dunno, get back out there.

“Or, you could just…go out there with him.”

“Not you too! Have you been talking to Sam?”

“Is it Steve? Is that what’s stopping you? Because you know he’d just want you to be hap-” She stopped as he phone vibrated, grabbing it and reading the text. “Company’s arriving.” She pointed a finger at you. “You got very very lucky. This conversation isn’t over. I’m not dropping this.”

You bit your cheek and nodded. “Alright, mom. Can we go party now?”

She breathed out a laugh and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go party.”

**********************

“Hey, gorgeous! There you are!”

You smirked at the boys as they met you near the top of the stairs, eyeing Sam and Bucky appreciatively. Damn, could Sam pull off a turtleneck. And Bucky in black and skinny jeans? Sharon sure had good taste. “Today’s the day for attractive outfits, huh, gentlemen?”

“I’ll say.” Bucky hummed, glancing at your own outfit. “You look beautiful, doll.”

“You look very dashing yourself, Barnes.” You grin, pulling at the lapels of his black blazer and fixing the collar. You smoothed your hand down the front of his shirt, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised when he caught your wrist, keeping your palm over his heart.

He clenched his jaw, taking a breath, before letting it out, almost dejectedly, and letting your hand go. “Um,” He cleared his throat, hand falling down by his side. “Did, uh, did Sharon say anything more about these friends of hers to you?”

“Nope.” You shook your head. “Just told me to enjoy the party.”

“I guess we should go enjoy the party, then.” Sam nodded towards the stairs, where the music was floating up, her guests already pouring in.

You made your way downstairs, looking around the room. Sharon sure did know how to throw one, that’s for sure.

People were pushed together, dancing to the beat of the music, drinking, with colored lights flashing every which way. Bucky’s hand found yours almost instantly, and you smiled at him. “C’mon.”

“What?” His eyes were wide as you dragged him towards the groups of people dancing. 

“Dance with me.”

He shook his head violently. “I-I can’t.”

“I thought you used to be a dancer?”

“Used to. And I was a swing-dancer. Not…” He gestured around to the people bobbing up and down, moving their bodies with each other.

You waved dismissively, pulling him closer. “All you need to do is feel the beat. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, Mr. Tough and Scary Assassin?”

He licked his lips, looking around nervously. You brought his hands to your hips, making his eyes snap back to yours, your own arms winding around his neck. You started moving rhythmically, nodding your head to the music, smiling up at him and giggling at the adorable concentration on his face.

“You, uh, you go to parties like this a lot?”

“I specialized in undercover operations, remember? I practically lived at these places for some of them.” He licked his lips, his grasp on your hips tightening. “Loosen up a little.” You laughed, catching his jaw between your fingers and making him look at you instead of the crowd surrounding him. You scratched at the scruff, speaking softly, but loud enough for him to hear. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and, slowly, a bit hesitant, started moving his body with yours, relaxing his tense muscles the longer you two danced.

“Nice hit, by the way. With Zemo earlier.”

You shrugged, turning in his arms, biting your lip when he pulled you closer, your back to his chest. “I didn’t like the way he grabbed you. It was unnecessary. I was thinking of making a list, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Your arms wound around his neck again, your head falling back to his shoulder. “Of things he’s done so far that warrant’s me beating his ass once this is done.”

He chuckled, warm breath tickling your cheek, thumbs tracing circles on the bare skin just above the waistline of your shorts. Your own fingers had found home in his hair holding his head where it was, his lips centimeters away from your ear. “Share it with Sam. I’m sure he has a few things to add.”

Your breath hitched as his metal fingers danced along your bare navel, arm tightening around your waist. “I’m sure he does…I thought you said you can’t dance.”

“I guess I just needed to warm up. I’m a bit rusty after eighty years.”

“Don’t seem that rusty to me.” You breathed out, turning your head to look at him. His tongue ran across his lips again, his eyes glancing to your own.

“Hey, guys!” The world and your situation came crashing down on you, the music you didn’t realize you’d been tuning out, along with the crowd’s boisterous laughter and cheers, rushed back to yours ears. The little bubble with just you and Bucky shattered. You both stepped away from each other; you cleared your throat and pushed down the heat that had nothing to do with the hundred bodies in the one room, while Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears red with no help from the colored lights. Both of you were panting lightly, avoiding eye contact with the other three staring knowingly at you. Sharon nodded her head, gesturing behind her. “I found him.”

Sam nudged Bucky - who was staring at you, his jaw ticking and his throat tightening as he swallowed thickly - before jabbing his thumb in Sharon’s direction. “Here we go.”

You nodded, eyeing Bucky with a small smile. “Here we go, Buckaroo.”