#I dunno I’m starting to realize this is a real sensitive topic

[certaindreamchopshop]

I dunno if I’d say Gwen is strictly speaking “suicidal”. But I think both she and Jinx (and I’m talking pre 2.09 Jinx) have, let’s say a suicidal or near-suicidal lack of self care.

They throw themselves at things with the expectation that thing might kill them, and don’t seem like they’d mind too much if it did. But again for Gwen especially that’s super up to interpretation, and even if it was intentional it’s wayyyyy more subtle on account of ATSV being a child-friendly property.

I suppose a more kid-friendly way to phrase it in Gwen’s case is that she and Jinx are both super comfortable with taking a lot of punishment to the point it seems like they’re seeking out a degree of pain for themselves.

Idk why people compare ekko + jinx with miles + gwen i just dont see the vision. At all :(((((

[luulapants]

Stories We Tell

When I was eight years old, my parents split up, and my dad, as divorced dads are wont to do, got a shitty apartment in a weird neighborhood.

The building was two stories with sixteen units. There was an in-ground pool out back, unheated in the shade, so the temperature hovered just above arctic. Half the time, instead of swimming, you ended up fishing a dead squirrel out and changing your mind. The laundry room in the basement flooded every time it rained. The appliances were junk, constantly breaking. The doors and locks, too. The landlord never fixed anything.

I didn’t give much thought to the neighbors until I was fourteen, when my dad got full custody. Someone broke into our ground floor apartment around the same time (and by “broke in,” I mean waltzed through a door with a broken lock) so we moved to the second floor, where it was a little safer. Our new balcony looked out over the rodent graveyard pool.

Over the next few years, I developed a colorful picture of our neighbors:

--

Across the hall was Doris, a madam and a raging alcoholic. She was in her fifties or sixties, but there were always astoundingly attractive young women coming and going from her apartment. She threw parties where she was the oldest woman by about three decades.

On quieter nights, Doris would sit on her balcony and get wine-drunk. If my friends and I were walking past, she would lean over the railing and shout super appropriate things at us like, “Izzat yer boyfriend, honey? R’you two using protection?!”

One time, my dad did some legal work for Doris. She paid him with two cases of wine.

(My dad doesn’t drink wine, but somehow, it was still gone by the end of the summer. I dunno, Dad, it’s a mystery to me. Couldn’t tell ya.)

--

Next to Doris was a big old dude that used to stand on his balcony in whitey tighties and watch me and the other kids while we waited for the bus. I never learned much about him, except he was creepy with a capital “Eeeugh.”

--

Across the hall from Captain Underpants were the Five to Eight Guys. So called because there were at least five of them living in that two-bedroom apartment, but no more than eight. They all looked vaguely the same: twenty-something stoners with a lot of tattoos and piercings and a fashion sense that hovered somewhere between Hot Topic and PacSun, while somehow managing to be worse than either.

I don’t think all of them were drug dealers. But at least some of them were. Absolutely. People would go into the apartment and re-emerge thirty minutes later in a veritable cloud of smoke. Our coat closet shared a wall with them, and my coats always reeked of pot. I mostly started smoking because people assumed anyway.

The summer after my Freshman year, they hung blankets up around their balcony to create an extra room. I told my dad, “That’s smart – there’s so many of them living in there, so they made an extra bedroom.”

My dad looked up at the tell-tale red glow of a grow lamp peeking out through the cracks of the blankets and told me, “Kiddo, I don’t think it’s a bedroom.”

--

Below the Five to Eight Guys were two elderly nuns.

Yes, really.

They never had a mean word for anyone: not the madam, not the drug dealers, not the creepy old man standing outside in his briefs. That wasn’t to say they had a kind word for them. Their go-to was smiling and minding their own fucking business.

I liked to think of them as our building security. Because, sure, we had no real security to speak of. The doors were always propped open, and I don’t think there was a functional smoke alarm in the entire building.

But surely God wasn’t going to let anything too bad happen to a building with nuns living in it, right?

--

Next door to the nuns was the strangest of the whole lot: Crazy Cat Man. He was Russian, in his seventies, and had lived in the building since before the landlord added the ‘no pets’ rule to the lease. And I’m pretty sure Crazy Cat Man was reasons A through Z for that rule.

I never got a real count on the cats, but it was somewhere in the ballpark of ten. But ten cats wasn’t enough to sate Crazy Cat Man’s love for animals. Oh, no.

One winter, he decided to feed the geese, and hangry geese laid siege to the building for weeks.

Another time, I heard the landlord’s voice downstairs. He was screaming, “What the fuck is the matter with you!”

And Crazy Cat Man was yelling back, “I no let squirrel in the apartment! I never!”

He had. He had spent weeks feeding the squirrels, getting friendly with them. Then he started cracking the patio door to lure them inside.

Crazy Cat Man was married. His wife had albinism and was photo-sensitive, so I only ever saw her outside once.

See, once a year, Crazy Cat man delivered phone books. It was his only job. He spent the rest of the year trying to fix his van up so it would run well enough to deliver the phone books. He was constantly working on it. Every part he put in, the van attacked and destroyed like a body rejecting a donor organ.

One day, he hadn’t pulled the van quite far enough into his garage, so when he lowered the garage door, it hit the back bumper and got stuck. That day, I learned that his wife’s absolute favorite thing in the world was watching her husband be incompetent, because she came out of the apartment for once. He couldn’t get the door back up, so he had to try to crawl under it to get inside the garage, and she was standing there shouting, “My husband is an idiot! My husband is an idiot!”

My dad and I stopped to watch this seventy year old man crawl under a mechanically compromised garage door. My dad said to her, “If he’s not careful, he’s going to be a dead idiot.”

The albino wife turned to him and hissed, “I should be so lucky.”

--

My senior year of high school, the recession hit, and my dad’s law practice went under, and my older brother died of a brain aneurysm. A week after I graduated, my dad told me we were going to be evicted, and I’d have to find somewhere else to stay until I went to college.

We moved everything out of the apartment, so nothing would be trashed when they evicted us. My dad ran off to the mountains to contemplate suicide (as one does), and, for about a month, I had this big, empty apartment to myself. My friends and I threw parties, got drunk. Hot boxed the bathroom.

And I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor in the living room, because it felt too weird to sleep in my old room with none of my things in it.

Late one of those nights, alone in my empty apartment, I heard screaming outside. I went on the balcony. All the neighbors were coming outside to see what the noise was.

On the property behind ours, across from the squirrel-killing pool, there was a huge cottonwood tree, maybe fifty feet tall. On the end of this long branch near the top, there was a raccoon. Closer to the trunk were two more. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a raccoon scream, but it’s almost human sounding.

One of the two at the trunk rushed at the third, and forced it farther to the end of the branch. Then the two raccoons started bouncing the branch. The one at the end screamed.

I think we all realized what was happening at the same time, because I heard someone downstairs say, “What the fuck,” at the same time I thought it.

It took a long time. Pushing the raccoon back, then bouncing the branch, then pushing it back again. By the end, the one raccoon was hanging from the end of the branch, which was pointing straight down. It was screaming continuously.

When it finally fell, you could hear the thud.

I heard the same person say, “What the fuck,” and I had no idea who it was.

--

If found out years later that the rumor in the complex about my dad was that he’d been a lawyer for the mob, and he got on someone’s shit list, and that’s how he ended up so broke. And it’s why he had to disappear so suddenly.

The truth was, my dad was a good lawyer, but a terrible businessman. His clients were mostly small businesses and everyday people. When they didn’t pay him, he assumed it was because they didn’t have the money, and he didn’t want to rub it in by asking.

When I heard that theory, it occurred to me that I had created characters out of our neighbors with no real regard for what was true or logical, only what was interesting. I think that night with the raccoons was the closest I ever got to any of them, as real people. Standing in the dark, faceless, watching something horrible that we had no control over.

I’m not sure what the rumors about me were, but here’s the truth: by all logic, I should have been a pretty miserable kid. My dad had untreated depression, and sometimes he stayed in bed for days. When there was no food in the fridge, I assumed it was because we didn’t have the money, and I didn’t want to rub it in by asking. I went to friends’ houses to eat. That guy that broke into our apartment when I was fourteen? He had a brain tumor, and he thought I was his girlfriend. And I should have been scared shitless that a forty-something year old man had tried to get in bed with me before my dad woke up and beat the bajezus out of him in front of me.

But instead, I started making these stories about the weirdos we lived with. I loved them. I was obsessed with them. I talked about them all the time.

“Say, Julia, how are things at home?”

“Well, you’ll never guess what the Five to Eight Guys were up to yesterday, let me tell you!”

--

I saw Crazy Cat Man two years ago. He’s still delivering phone books, and he looks nothing like I remember him.

[itskateak]

Mint Ice Cream & Bubblegum Kisses - Chapter Six

(Bucky Barnes x Single Dad!Reader)

Chapter Summary: Bucky offers to help Y/N take Peter Parker and Angelica out for the day since they've been causing chaos and getting into trouble. The hiking trail behind the compound seems like the perfect place.

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Some Language (Sam and Bucky were military men shh), Sam Wilson being a great friend and actual character instead of a 2D support, Anxiety attack, Mentions of time-correct homophobia, Fluff, Sam and Bucky being Bros, Sam Wilson being an Ally

A/N: For those who don't know, my best friend is in the hospital and I had to take a break from being online and writing for a bit. He's doing great right now and is getting much better :) - also, I know I have a thing for Bucky and that log crossing a river. Okay just let it happen. It's cute. 

And as a final side note, I really hope I’m putting more character into Sam Wilson. I wanted to expand on Bucky and Sam’s friendship more in this chapter and to build Sam as an actual character. I’ve read countless stories where he’s just a prop to get Bucky and the reader together or to just be Best Friend to Bucky and go along with anything. Sam Wilson is his own person and I really, really hope that he’s got some life in him in this one. Feedback on that would be nice if anyone wants to give it :)

Taglist is open! PM me, send an ask, or @ me on a chapter to let me know you’d like to be tagged! Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, but I will send you a message with a link to the new chapter when I update. :)

Masterlist

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ 

Y/N checked his messages quickly, head tilted as he waited for it to update. Over weekends, he decided to work three hours each day to make sure nothing important and time-sensitive came in. He was close to the end of those three hours, which wasn't eventful at any point. Just low-level information relating to other movements that he'd already taken note of earlier that week.

He watched the few messages come in and glanced over them. Nothing seemed to be important other than Gamora saying that they would be stopping by to drop off Peter Quill for a recovery period. Something about an injury he gained through his own stupidity. He responded with a confirmation and said that Monday afternoon would be best since the landing strip would be clear.

"Do you have a minute?" Bucky called from the doorway. He smiled, but it looked a little forced. His posture was closed off and he looked physically tense.

"Always. What's up?" Y/N pushed away from his desk and closed the programs on his screen since he didn't need them anymore.

"Uh...I'm kind of...having an anxiety attack or something." Bucky said though it sounded more like he was questioning himself. He ducked his head sheepishly for a moment. "And Steve and Sam are not here and I dunno what to do."

"Oh. Okay." Y/N was taken by surprise for a moment. "Uh, come on in. Let's see if we can calm you down."

Bucky nodded and sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, his arms wrapping around his stomach. His fingers bunched up the fabric of his shirt and he gasped suddenly. He cracked a slight smile and snorted. "Didn't realize I was holding my breath."

"Breathing's important, Bucky. Do you know what set this off?" Y/N asked, pulling his chair up to the side of his desk and giving his full attention to Bucky.

"Loud noise. Not even sure what it was. It took me off-guard and...then I fell off the obstacle course." Bucky grimaced and took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment. "I...have a fear of fallin'. Ever since I fell off the train."

"Is it the height or the feeling of falling itself?" 

"The feel. I hate it." Bucky wrinkled his nose up in disgust. "I can still remember the feeling of my stomach in my throat."

"Hey, don't think about that. No need to get yourself even more worked up." Y/N paused, trying to find a random question to distract him with for a little bit. Maybe taking his mind off the things causing him anxiety would help calm him down. "Tell me about something Steve did in school. Did he ever get into big trouble?"

"Oh, yeah. This one time - it was like sixth grade, I think - he nearly got us suspended for a week. Johnny Sarsburg, a boy in our class who picked on Stevie for being short, was this tall and burly kid. Real jerk of a guy." Bucky moved his arms and laced his hands together. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "One day, Steve got fed up with all the nicknames. Shorty Stevie, Munchkin Man...they went on and on. So, Stevie stood up to him. Thank God I was there, though."

"Don't tell me he tried to kick this kid's ass." 

"He tried to kick the kid's ass." Bucky nodded with a tone full of disappointed frustration.

"Oh, no." Y/N snickered behind his hand. 

"So, it was recess and Johnny came up to us. Stevie tried to hide behind me for a second, but I shoved him away. Johnny started picking at him and picking at him. Steve straightened up and clenched his fists, looked Johnny in the eye, and said: I may be short, but I'll always be a bigger man than you." Bucky laughed, breaking out into a smile for the first time. He ran a hand through his hair. 

"He didn't!" Y/N could see Steve Rogers, the man who had no regard for his own personal safety and hated bullies, doing something so ridiculous but just so...Steve.

"He did! Johnny didn't like that so much, so he cocked back his fist and came at Steve. Stevie tried to fight back, but he really wasn't a fighter back then. Just looking at a running track could make him break into an asthma attack and thinking about lifting a book could've snapped his spine."

Y/N snickered, shaking his head. Bucky was looking far more relaxed than he did when he came in. His shoulders weren't rigid and he wasn't gasping for breath. Though, it looked like his hands were slightly trembling still. "So, how'd it turn out?"

"At some point, I grabbed Steve around the waist and tried to haul him away. But Johnny didn't like that either, so he went after me. Now, I was a bit of a troublemaker so I knew how to fight. I wasn't lookin' to get into trouble, but Stevie had dragged me into a mess. Had to clean it up, like I do now." Bucky winked and chuckled. "The teachers had to come break it up and we had to explain what happened. Johnny was suspended for a week and our parents said they'd punish us at home, so we got off easy." 

"Even at home?"

"Oh, no. My dad was pissed and Stevie's mother almost hung him out with the laundry. But at least we weren't suspended like Johnny was." He leaned back against the couch and sighed. "Did you just distract me?"

"Maaaaybe. How're you feeling?" Y/N laughed and checked the clock. His time was up which meant the rest of the day was his to do whatever he wanted.

"Better. Not like I'm choking on my own air, at least. I'm still wired, though." Bucky held his right hand up to show how it was still shaking a bit.

"Wanda told me about a hiking trail behind the compound. We could go check that out and get Peter and Angelica outside for a bit. If you're up for that, of course." Y/N offered. He secretly hoped Bucky would take him up on the offer. He wanted the chance to talk to him more when they were both completely sober.

"That sounds...great, actually. Besides, I don't think you could wrangle both of them on your own." He said with a teasing lilt and stood. "I'll find Peter and meet you downstairs."

"I need to shut my computers down first." Y/N pushed his chair back and moved his mouse to wake his monitors. "If you find my kid before I do, send her my way."

"Roger that."

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Peter was walking a few feet ahead with Angelica on his back, bouncing her every so often to make her squeal and laugh. There was a light breeze rustling through the branches of the trees, which were providing the right amount of shade from the late autumn sun. The weather was that perfect balance of warm and cool. Just right for a light jacket. The trail wasn't well used, evidence provided by the undergrowth creeping along the edges of the path, threatening to overtake it. 

Y/N and Bucky were casually talking as they followed the kids. The conversation flowed easily between them like they'd been friends for years. 

"So, she's how old, again?" Bucky asked, hitching his chin toward Angelica.

"Eight. Nine next Wednesday." Y/N smiled wistfully, watching his daughter shoot a bright smile at him over her shoulder. He'd been so afraid that this move would've negatively affected her and caused her to be miserable. But she had never looked happier or carefree. She'd always been a solemn little girl with many worries on her shoulders.

"She's growin' fast, huh?" Bucky smiled, too, shaking his head as another loud squeal floated back to them.

"Too fast. She's always gonna be my little girl, though." Y/N glanced up as a couple of birds flitted from one tree to the next. "I'm glad she's happy here and finding her place. She doesn't say it, but I know she feels like an outsider sometimes."

"Why's that?" Bucky asked, sinking his hands into his pockets.

"I know she feels out of place among friends a lot. The fact her mother isn't around and she doesn't have a second parent...some kids can be really mean about that." He sighed. "And it's not like that's her fault. But she feels that way and I don't know how to help her."

"Why would she think it's her fault?" Bucky stepped closer as if he knew the topic needed to be kept quieter to not disturb the girl a few feet ahead.

"I don't know where she got the idea, honestly. Her mother did leave a note when she left and part of the reason she left...well, Angelica wasn't exactly planned." Y/N muttered the last part to make sure it didn't reach his kid. He loved her, he really did. At first, he'd been terrified at the prospect of being a father when he wasn't ready. But the moment he held that little girl in his arms, he was smitten. "And her mother said some...nasty things in the letter about her."

"I can't imagine how that would've been for you." Bucky gave a sympathetic grimace. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"No, it's okay. I don't talk about it much because it's in the past and we're doing great without that woman." He shrugged and smiled. "I kept the letter, though, as precautionary measures in case she ever decides to come back and fight for custody. I doubt that would happen, really, but the court system is so messed up and might not rule in favor of me despite the fact I've raised her."

"If a court of law can see how much you love that kid and how much she loves you and is happy with you and still not let her stay with you, then I might have to return to my vigilante days." Bucky joked, though he sounded and looked serious.

"Bucky, no."

"I'd do it."

"I know, but no." Y/N laughed and shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but I think an appeal would work better."

"Okay, you have a point," Bucky said. "So, I've never asked but what got you on the team? Steve didn't tell me and Stark won't because he's still mad about game night five months ago."

"I caught four embezzlers in the compound by hacking into the hidden servers that keep backups of pretty much everything, even if it's been wiped from the main servers. I would've gotten away with it if I hadn't tripped the single silent alarm monitored by FRIDAY. Tony promoted me shortly after I handed the information over to Grace Stevens in accounting." Y/N explained with a smile. "I thought I was fired or being thrown in jail. Those were the most terrifying few minutes of my life."

Bucky whistled. "That's impressive. Even Nat couldn't get through Stark's security lines to retrieve deleted footage of him drunkenly singing karaoke in his lab."

"I might have to go digging for that to earn a favor from Nat." Y/N took his phone out and made a reminder, causing Bucky to start laughing. His eyes crinkled up at the corners with his bright smile. "Oh, Pete, be careful! That might be slippery!"

Peter was halfway across the large fallen tree trunk over the moderately moving river. He turned his head to listen to Y/N and nodded, shifting his grip on Angelica. He moved slower then, watching his footing to make sure they didn't fall.

"So, we're gonna cross that?" Bucky asked, eyeing the log warily. Falling. He hates falling. That's right, Y/N thought. Of course, he'd be uncomfortable with something like this because he might fall.

"I guess. Wanda said there's lakeside access across the river and down the path." Y/N stopped at the tree, watching to make sure the kids made it across safely. He trusted Peter, considering the kid was a literal superhero and gymnast, but he was also a dad and his Dad Instincts were kicking in. "You gonna be okay with crossing?"

"If I don't fall, I will," Bucky forced a smile, but Y/N could see the anxiety behind it. 

"Here, take my hand. We'll cross together and we'll go slow. I'll make sure you won't fall." Y/N held his hand out to Bucky and tried his best to ignore the small jolt of electricity that shot through his veins when Bucky accepted it. "Come on."

"If I fall, I'm dragging you with me," Bucky said with a joking tone, but there was a shake to his voice as he stepped onto the log after the man holding his hand.

"Valid." Y/N snorted before focusing on where he was putting his feet. He couldn't slip and risk giving Bucky a heart attack. He was trusting him to get him across this river safely. "If you need to stop at any point, just tell me and we can."

"Nope. Just keep moving even if I start to freeze up because if I stop, I won't move again." Bucky was able to flash a quick lopsided smile even though he was doing something that ultimately terrified him. 

"You got this, Bucky!" Angelica shouted from the other side, bouncing on her feet like a highly-caffeinated bouncy ball. "You're almost there!"

Y/N grinned to himself. Leave it to his kid to become a cheerleader for them without even knowing that Bucky really needed that encouragement. He swore his daughter had supernatural abilities of knowing what someone needed when they needed it. When she was much younger, there had been nights where he was stressed about making ends meet and she would crawl into his lap and hug him tightly until he forgot what was bothering him.

Lost in thought for just the brief moment spelled ruin for him. His foot slipped on a wet spot and he lost his balance.

Bucky grabbed his arm and pulled him back, keeping him steady until he regained his footing. He chuckled. "Jeez, Y/N. I thought you'd be saving me from falling and not the other way around."

"You're lucky I'm nice 'cause I would've just shoved you off this log and let you wash down the river." Y/N retorted though he couldn't keep his expression stern and a smile broke out. "So, that spot's slippery. Be careful."

"Oh, I was just planning to plant my foot on it and run the rest of the way." Bucky teased, appearing way more at ease than Y/N expected he would. Maybe that's what happens when someone has to save their non-fearful friend from falling.

Once they were on the other side and on solid ground, there was a pause of silence between everyone before they all burst into laughter.

"Mr. Barnes, your face when Mr. L/N slipped! You were so surprised!" Peter bent over, trying to catch his breath. 

"Y/N, I thought you were a goner for a moment. And if I hadn't already had a hand on you, I probably would've just let you fall." Bucky was barely able to speak through his laughter, smile so wide his eyes were crinkled up. 

"Oh, I see how it is!" Y/N acted offended. "See if I ever team with you on game nights again."

"Ooh, he's serious." Angelica giggled, wiping tears from her eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N but I was not risking falling just to save you if I hadn't already had your hand." Bucky took deep breaths, also wiping his face with his jacket sleeve. 

"What happened to till the end of the line?" Peter asked, taking deep breaths. 

"That's a me and Steve thing. And even then, I'd just let his dumbass fall." Bucky winced. "Sorry, language."

Angelica grinned broadly with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, don't worry. Papa swears a lot more than you might think. He thinks I don't hear  him mutter things under his breath, but I do."

"You little snitch!" Y/N exclaimed. "I can't believe you!"

"Oh no...Angelica, we gotta go!" Peter scooped Angelica up and dashed down the trail. Y/N started to give chase but slowed down as they turned the bend. 

Bucky followed at a slower pace, shaking his head in amusement. He caught up to the father who was straightening his jacket. "You're not going after them?"

"Nah. I just made them think there was an actual threat. They'll probably get all the way to the lake before they realize I'm not actually chasing them." Y/N grinned. "So, want to tell me about that game night five months ago?"

"It started when Nat brought vodka back from a mission in Russia and decided not to tell us it was hundred-proof..."

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ 

"Hey, Buck. How's your day?" Sam asked as he entered the training room with a towel around his neck and a water bottle in hand. "Sorry that Steve and I dipped on you."

"Don't worry about it. It's alright," Bucky grunted before setting down the set of weights he'd been lifting. "My day was pretty good. Except when Stark accidentally set off an explosion in the lab while I was running the obstacle course. Scared the hell out of me and then I fell off."

"Shit, man. You okay?" Sam placed his water bottle and towel on a bench near Bucky. "I know you don't like falling and loud noises so that just seems brutal."

"My adrenaline kept it low but I still started to freak out after I cleaned up." He admitted before taking a drink of his own water and using his shirt to wipe some of the sweat from his forehead. "Y/N helped me out with that."

"You went to Y/N? Why not Bruce or Wanda? Hell, even Nat?" Sam arched his brow and there was a hint of something behind his eyes.

"Dunno. He's nice, ya know? I figured he'd have some experience with that kind of stuff. Having a kid would teach you how to calm someone down when they're freaking out and I've seen him chill Angelica out faster than she could even process why she was upset." Bucky said, sitting down on a bench to give himself a break. He'd been in the training room for an hour already and it was about time to take a breather. "After that, we took Angelica and Pete out on that hiking trail Wanda found just to get them outside since they were causing trouble and everyone needed a break."

"Hey, as long as you found a way to calm down and not have a panic attack, I won't knock it. Happy for you, man. You're doing really good recently." Sam started to set up the machine he liked to use. Can't have a tree without the trunk, you know what I'm saying? Sometimes Bucky really didn't like Sam, but he was a great friend and great company when he wasn't being an annoying shit. But then again, he could be an annoying shit when he wanted to be. "Proud of you, man. Long road, but you're sticking with us."

"Yeah, yeah. Save the sappy shit, would you?" Bucky leaned his head back against the wall, taking deep breaths. "The hike was nice. Though Y/N almost fell off the log when we were crossing the river. I caught him before he did, but if he hadn't been holding my hand, I would've let him fall."

"You told him about your issue with falling?" Sam straddled the bench and rested his forearms on his thighs. "Dude, it took you like eight months to tell me about that and he's been here four months."

"Don't take it personally, Wilson." Bucky shrugged with a smile. "He's just got that calming feel to him. He's easy to trust and he's just really nice."

"And you were tellin' me to quit with the sappy shit? Do you hear yourself?" Sam cracked a smile as well. "I like Y/N, too. He's a good fit for the team."

Bucky nodded, agreeing. There had been something missing in the team dynamic for a while that no one could quite name or place, but Y/N and his kid had certainly brought it. The game night had really shown some of Y/N's full personality away from his daughter, though Bucky liked having Angelica around a lot. She was bubbly and sweet and brought a little bit of light on his bad days.

But Y/N...Y/N was just so thoughtful and selfless. It was obvious when he'd walked into his office that Y/N had no idea how to help him and was taken aback, but he'd helped him anyway. He showed genuine interest in the story Bucky had been telling him and even invited him along to an outing. They hadn't exactly hung out outside of the team nights and work hours. It was nice and he liked the idea of getting to see Y/N more often out of that stuff.

"Wait, don't tell me...Barnes, do you have a crush on Y/N?" Sam asked with a cocky grin.

"What? No!" Bucky said far too quickly, his face starting to flush. He was lucky he was already a little red from training, but Sam knew otherwise. His grin widened.

"You totally do!"

Bucky went to defend himself again but he sighed and turned his head away while Sam started to snicker. "Fine. Maybe I do a little."

"Man, I didn't take you for one to like guys," Sam said.

"Is...that an issue?" Bucky asked warily, his heart starting to flutter in his chest. For most of his life, he'd shoved that part of him aside and hidden it. Sure, he fooled around with a couple of guys in the forties but it never went very far. And war made people do desperate things. But he was worried that even now, he'd have to keep that part of him tucked away and ignore it.

"Hell, no. My best friend in college was the most flamboyant gay guy I've ever met. Smart as a whip and a beautiful musician. I don't give a shit, but I don't wanna hear about all the details. And that goes for women, too. That stays private, man." Sam wrinkled his nose up and it made Bucky chuckle. "I don't know how it was back then, but people are a lot more accepting now than they were. They legalized same-sex marriage a few years back. And if anyone gives you shit about it, I'll kick their asses."

"Thanks, Sam. That means a lot." Bucky smiled. "But if you tell anyone that I have a thing for Y/N, I'll kick you off the helicarrier again."

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ 

Taglist: @shadowolf993​ @supernaturalwintersoldier​ @booty-ass-hoe​ @fightmemacbeth​ @pastel-boy-sungjae​ @unsure-username​ @myybebe​ (it works!! ^-^)

[kindiekritz]

Get Some Rest, Samurai...

Via Anon Ask; “because im also a sap for Johnny and V- How do you think Johnny would help V cope with a panic attack? Especially when its likely something he's feeling laggy echoes of himself if he's in her head during it? (hurt/comfort is a FAVE of mine and i have anxiety, can ya' tell?)”

B ro,, don’t worry anon bc same here, we are anxiety homies together 👏😔 - This is my first time writing for Johnny Silverhand! Trying to get back on the writing boat, (haven't forgotten my previous fic!) and there's nothing like simping for video game characters to get that inspiration flowing. Do let me know what you think! Johnny may be a bit too OOC in this, I may have gone a little bit overboard with the soft? Ah well, I hope someone will enjoy it regardless :P

Here is the Ao3 Link! :D

V’s time was running out. 

Every time the relic in their head would malfunction, every time they went into a coughing fit and the disgusting taste of metallic blood would fill their mouth, every time he would manifest himself in her head and V would catch a glimpse of his stupid fucking face…

V was reminded of the fact that their time was running out, and fast.

And despite the fact that they were doing everything in their power to stop the construct in her mind from completely destroying her from the inside out, that didn’t stop the fact that she still had to pay the rent. 

In fact, it wasn’t cheap coughing up the eddies to pay Rouge for her services, or having to pay for bigger and better gear that would keep her alive when dealing with Arasaka guards, hell, it wasn’t cheap to keep purchasing more and more bottles of Omega Blockers, the pills were the only thing that kept him from completely taking control. 

She found herself taking more and more gigs, trying to simply keep up with the extra costs of having a completely second personality living rent-free in her mind. But even then… she couldn’t find it in herself to reject or turn away people who needed her help, even if they had little to nothing to offer in return. 

It seemed as if her phone was constantly buzzing with calls and texts of people who wanted and needed her help. No matter where she went or what she did, people needed her services, people needed her time.

And yet, time was something that she had very little left of.

V was exhausted. The bags under her eyes revealed that she hadn’t slept in days, and she couldn’t remember when she last had a proper meal.

She was always on the go, she didn’t have time to take care of herself.

But as she groggily opened the door to her apartment, she thought to herself that… maybe, just maybe… she would finally let herself take a nice, long warm shower.

V was too exhausted to care about the possibility of Johnny potentially staring at her nude form as she stood under the running water. Hell, let him stare for all she cared! The thought of warm water running over her exhausted muscles, washing away the dirt and grime of the city… it was too appealing at that moment. 

She removed her weapon slung across her back, letting her beloved leather Samurai jacket slip off her shoulders and onto the ground, too exhausted to care about putting it away properly. 

The weight of the gun in her hands was normally a welcome and grounding presence for V when she was on a mission, the weapon in her hands keeping her safe from those who wished to do her harm. But now? It felt too heavy, unbearably so, as if the weight would make her topple over onto the floor below. The muscles in her arms were exhausted and spent. As she rotated her shoulder she heard the joints audibly pop. The consequences of pushing her body too far.

She would do anything for the physical ache to go away. 

As she stepped through the door to her armory and switched on the fluorescent lights of the room, her gaze fell upon someone already there, casually lounging atop her workbench and raising a cigarette to his mouth, pausing to speak before inhaling a deep puff of smoke.

“Damn V. You look like shit.”

She rolled her eyes at his comment, and made her way to her weapon locker instead, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on the nape of her neck.

V fiddled with the combination, her foggy mind struggling to remember the correct numbers and the correct order, her fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated as she inputs each digit. V cursed herself for making it so damn difficult, but eventually, she finally managed to swing the metal door open, proceeding to put her gun away amongst her collection of stored weapons. 

Johnny hopped off of the workbench, stepping towards V as she organized her storage, resting his metal arm against the locker, using his height to his advantage as he towered over her and confronted her. “No, seriously V, you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

“Fuck— Johnny, I dunno… A few days I guess?” V slammed the door of the locker using more force than necessary, Johnny already starting to get on her nerves, the last thing she needed was Johnny Fucking Silverhand following her around like a worried mother hen. V pouted and huffed, blowing away a stubborn strand of hair that had fallen across her face, then turning to meet his gaze, hidden behind wine-colored lenses, and asked, “Why do you care anyway?”

“You’ve been on edge all day, I can feel it. You’re like a string that’s been strung too strongly. I feel like you’re ready to snap at any fuckn’ moment, V.” 

She could feel his stare on her body and the tension in the room was beginning to suffocate her. He was poking at a sensitive topic for her, and he knew it. 

V stuttered, trying to find the right words to say as she couldn't bring herself to look at him in the eye anymore, instead choosing to halfheartedly push him aside and walk away, “Johnny… I’m fine. Really. I just— I just need a shower and a nap, that’s all.”

As V stepped out of the room, the weight on her chest seemed to grow heavier with each step. 

She wanted to crumble, she wanted to cry. 

She just wanted to wrap up herself in a bundle of blankets and cry into an order of takeout. One of those ugly cries that made snot dribble from your nose and your cheeks flushed and red.

She wanted— no, V needed to let everything out.

But… she couldn’t. She didn’t have the time for it, she needed to get back to work soon. Here were people that needed her help and there were eddies to be made. She would let herself rest when she’d gotten that damned biochip out of her head.

It was at that moment when V’s phone began to ring, the sound interrupting her thoughts and causing her to pause in her step.

Almost as if on reflex, she quickly reached into her pocket and withdrew the device, not even bothering to check the caller ID before answering, “V speaking, what do you want?”

“V, it’s Regina. I’ve got another report of a cyberpsycho attack…”

V stopped listening to the voice on her phone, too distracted by the crushing pressure on her chest and the fact that she had begun to tremble and shake like a leaf.

All she had wanted was a hot shower and a night in, was that too much to ask?

After weeks of dodging blades and bullets, running meaningless errands and tasks for just a few eddies in return, spending sleepless nights that left dark circles under her eyes, and going days on end without even seeing her fucking apartment, all she wanted was a night in.

Was that too much to fucking ask?

She could faintly register Johnny’s voice coming from behind her, an uncharacteristically concerned tone in his voice as he asked, “...V? What’s wrong?”

The pressure in her chest grew heavier by the second, her breaths becoming strained and labored as the increasing fear and dread overwhelmed her body. She gripped her phone tightly in her hand, glaring at the device with tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“V? Are you listening? I said that there’s another report of a cyberpsycho near your current position, are you still—“

With a press of a button, she hung up the phone.

Johnny watched V, her form trembling and shoulders tensed.

In all of their weeks stuck together, he’d never seen his little merc look so small. A real juxtaposition when compared to her usual self; a real fucking hardass, she was the only other person Johnny had ever met that was just as bullheaded and stubborn as himself. 

As much as he teased her about it, Johnny knew one thing for certain. V was strong, V was determined. A damned force of nature and he pitied the bastards that stood in her way.

But despite the cybernetics in her body and the chip in her mind… V was human. V had her limits.

The facade she’d built up for herself couldn’t last forever, and Johnny knew it. He’d sensed the cracks in her resolve grow larger and larger with each sleepless night and after every exhausting gig.

But for a brief second, a thought crossed Johnny’s mind; 

V was fractured… V was broken… V was weak.

And with that thought, V finally snapped.

“I AM NOT FUCKING WEAK!”

V cried out, lobbing her phone at him. It phased right through him, instead hitting against the wall, shattering the screen, and sending the device flying into some unknown corner of the room. 

She froze, her eyes widening in shock, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she had done. The realization slowly setting in after the result of her outburst.

V’s vision blurred as tears welled in the corners of her eyes, she slowly fell to the cold floor, cradling her knees up to her chest and muffling her sobs in her arms.

Johnny watched as she sat in the middle of the room and sobbed. 

She didn’t let herself cry when Jackie had died, she didn’t let herself cry when Vic told her that she was practically dying. V didn’t cry as she carried Evalyn’s bloodied body, and V didn’t cry late at night when she was alone, and her chest felt tight and her throat choked up.

He knew it was coming, he could feel V’s emotions as they bubbled up and reached their boiling point. 

But what truly surprised him, was just how much it hurt him to see his little merc cry.

“Shit— V…” he nervously swallowed his throat, but try as he might, for once in his goddamn existence, he couldn’t find the right words to say.

Johnny didn’t like the way he felt. 

Johnny didn’t like the way she made him feel at that moment.

He didn’t like the way his chest tightened at the sound of each of her sobs. The way he felt so restless as he could only watch her curl onto herself for comfort. He couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth across the room, unsure if it was her anxiety or his that was setting him off. 

Johnny could almost feel V’s heart racing in her chest, the adrenaline flooding her veins, adrenaline meant to stimulate a fight or flight reaction. But when the pain and panic swelled from within her own chest, there was nowhere V could run, nobody she could physically fight.

All she could do was sob into her knees, desperately trying to hide her sobs and cries from him, but her own cries easily overpowered her. 

And because of him, she didn’t even feel like she had the ability to freely have a goddamn mental breakdown in her own apartment, even as she choked and sobbed, she tried to grasp onto the shattered remains of her facade. Was it for her sake, or for his?

At that point… neither of them knew.

V couldn’t stop her body from trembling. She tightly gripped onto herself until her knuckles turned white. But V didn’t notice. It didn’t even register in her mind.

She didn’t register the hot tears as they streamed down her face, the shuddering cries that caused her lip to quiver with each breath. She couldn’t recognize that no matter how hard she tried, her frantic breaths caused her lungs to feel as if they were on fire, incapable of delivering oxygen to her body.

V’s mind didn’t even register the fact that Johnny had stopped pacing back and forth.

Her mind cursed at her to get her shit together. V needed to wipe away those tears and she needed to get back on the streets. A moment of weakness could’ve gotten her killed in her past, and now was no different. 

But… the thought of standing up and leaving her apartment caused another fresh wave of sobs to rattle her body.

She was tired… she was so goddamn exhausted… 

“V…”

All she wanted was a night in. Was that too much to ask? After all of her hard work and effort, hadn’t she earned it?

“V, listen to me.”

Clearly, she hadn’t done enough if people were still calling, still demanding her presence. Clearly she—

V felt something warm touch her cheek.

Someone was there. 

Although her mind had stopped temporarily spiraling, she felt the wet salty tears dripping down her face, her vision was still blurry, and her cheeks were incredibly flushed. She must’ve looked… pathetic she thought. But regardless, she allowed herself to look up at the person who had reached out to her.

The cold of his metal rings juxtaposed the warmth of his hand, and as her eyes trailed up towards his arms, she caught sight of his familiar tattoos, but also an unfamiliar detail as she reached his face.

Instead of seeing her reflection in the lenses of his glasses, she was surprised to see his eyes staring into hers. Gone was any trace of malice or cruelty, instead his brown eyes reflected nothing but concern… an emotion she’d never expected to see from him.

Johnny. 

As her tearful eyes met his, he could’ve almost sworn that he felt his engram heart stop beating for a second. The tears rolling down her cheeks, the way her lip trembled with each breath. He didn’t know why the sight of V feeling so upset affected him so, he blamed her emotions, her hormones, whatever came into his mind. He hated the way she made him feel, he hated that she had this much power over him. 

But most of all, he hated the fact that he felt so powerless to stop it.

He would’ve gladly taken V cussing him out, he would’ve taken V nagging at him and complaining about the smell as he smoked in her apartment. He would’ve even happily taken V as she sang along to the car radio, something she’d originally done to get onto his nerves, but now it has become a sound he’s grown… to tolerate. Even sometimes… appreciate it. 

He wasn’t the type to comfort people like this, he was the type to leave as soon as emotions came into play, the countless amount of hearts that he’d broken in the past were evidence enough. Fuck, he didn’t know how to deal with his own goddamn emotions, blowing up Arasaka tower as revenge to deal with his grief, that’s what got him into this mess.

But as he wiped away a tear from her soft cheek with his calloused thumb… he wasn’t going to just sit there and let his little merc cry.

“V. You’ve done more than enough for this city than it deserves. You’re always running back and forth, trying to make this shithole a better place… all while trying to keep yourself alive.” He wanted to tell her that this damned city didn’t deserve her generosity, it didn’t deserve her hard work, fuck, this city didn’t deserve her.  

He didn’t deserve her.

And she didn’t deserve what he was doing to her.

“You keep spreading yourself too thin, you keep wanting to do shit for others, you keep wanting to help. But then you add the cherry on top — the fact that there’s a chip in your head slowly killin’ ya… You’ve got enough on your plate. You’ve earned a few nights of rest.”

V sniffled and tried to wipe away tears, her voice wavering as she spoke, “I-If I don’t keep goin’ if I don’t keep looking for a solution— I’m gonna die. Johnny, I don’t want to die—“

“V, you’re gonna end up dead long before the chip has an opportunity to kill you if you keep pushing yourself like this… You need to get some rest.”

He was right. As much as she fucking hated it… he was right.

She felt his metal hand cup her other cheek, the cool metal refreshing against the flushed skin, wiping away tears as he continued to speak.

“You’ve proven yourself enough to this city. You’ve proven yourself enough to me. But running yourself to the bone is not worth it in order to prove it to yourself. And you’re not alone V… as much as they get on my fuckn’ nerves, you’ve got chooms lookin’ out for ya, even if one of them is a fuckn’ cop—“

Through tears, V chuckled and playfully chided him, “Johnny…”

There it was… that little chuckle of hers that he was looking for. He wouldn’t admit it to others, he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but V’s laughter never failed to make him feel something funny in his chest… it wasn’t like the high of drugs or liquor, but it felt just as addictive. It wasn’t like the adrenaline rush of a firefight or the rush during a show, but it made him feel just as excited and lightheaded.

He cleared his throat, trying to get his mind off of that feeling, and spoke, “Listen… all I’m saying… is that you’re not alone V. And although I don’t have much of a choice, whenever you need me…” he playfully smiled as his eyes met hers, “I’m always here for ya V.”

And that’s all it took.

In one moment to another, V wrapped her arms around his waist, knocking him on his ass from his previous kneeling position, and burying her head against his chest.

Despite sharing a head and body, somehow, someway, V always found a way to surprise him.

He groaned, the deep rumbles from his chest as he spoke making V settle in closer, anchoring herself to his presence.

“Fuck, V, a little warning next time would be nice.”

But even as he whined… he wasn’t complaining. Not when her sobs were beginning to fade, and she was instead chuckling at his expense in his arms. 

He ignored that funny feeling in his chest as his organic arm wraps itself against her body, his calloused hand rubbing circles against the small of her back, feeling her trembling begin to slow under his soft touch. Over time, her breathing began to even, and soon enough she was taking deep breaths as she recovered. 

Without even consciously doing so, Johnny’s metal hand found itself entwined with the strands of her hair, softly caressing as V’s eyes began to droop, and exhaustion began to overtake her body.

“V… it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“I’m fine Johnny, I’m—“ a yawn interrupted her mid-sentence, “I’m not even tired.”

“And I’m not buying it.” He chuckled as his arm wrapped around her midsection.

“W-wait Johnny what are you— Johnny!” In an instant, V was thrown over his shoulder as he stood from the ground, and she gripped onto him in order to avoid falling to the floor.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking you to bed.” He chuckled as he felt her hand playfully slap against his shoulder.

“Fucking hell Johnny, a warning would be nice!” He could almost imagine her expression as he walked across the apartment, the way she would pout in exasperation.

“Just repaying the favor, that’s all.” He smirked as he reached her bed. Slowly setting her down from his shoulder onto the mattress below. 

“There. It’s time that you allowed yourself to get some rest, and not that weird shit you do where you sleep across the bed huddled in a little ball, but some actual sleep, under the covers and all.” 

“Fine, fine…” V slipped into a pair of nightclothes as Johnny had the decency to look away, and then slipped under the blankets, making herself comfortable. But before she drifted off to sleep, she called out, “Johnny?”

“... yeah?”

“I just— I just wanted to say thanks. Y’know, for tonight and all.”

“‘Course…” he stepped towards the bed once more as he spoke, “I mean, if I’m the one telling you that you need some rest, you probably fucked up somewhere along the way.”

“That’s true… judging from your memories, you’re terrible at following your own advice, Johnny.” She smiled at him, uncertain if the lack of sleep had made her delirious or if perhaps she was feeling particularly honest that night, but she spoke, “Y’know, if fucking up this badly was the catalyst for us to meet… I would do it all over again.”

He smiled sadly in return, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his cold metal hand brushing her cheek as he did so. An action to acknowledge the words between them were best left unspoken and unsaid— at least, for now.

“...Goodnight V.” He tore his gaze from her as he turned to walk away.

“Wait— Johnny!”

She grasped his metallic hand before he had the opportunity to pull away.

“... stay with me? Just for tonight?”

With her eyes looking up at him, her smaller hand clinging onto his, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to race—

How could he say no?

“Fine, but just for tonight. I can’t have you thinkin’ I’m goin’ soft or something.”

Johnny slipped under the covers, and without even needing to be asked, he wrapped his arms around V, and she rested her head against his chest in return.

“Get some rest, samurai… the city will still be there waiting for us when you awake.”

-

Thank ya kindly for reading! I'm always down for some constructive criticism and I love to read any lovely comments about my fics. Do let me know if there are any mistakes, I don't have a beta reader for Cyberpunk just yet, so a few mistakes may have gotten away from me!

And feel free to send in asks/requests! I'm so in love with Johnny and V and I can spend hours thinking and talking about them aaaaa

[unforth]

Are there issues with svsss and consent (Just things I’ve heard I wanna know before I read it invade it’s rly not my thing lmfao) or are they more “issues” like in mdzs?

Hmm...okay, so I read SVSSS a bit ago, and pretty quickly, but the answer is basically...yes there are consent issues but I honestly think they’re actually more mild than in MDZS? But it’s also a little complicated, and some of them are different issues...

(spoilers under the read more)

Okay. So, on an overarching plot level, I can think of three potential things that might lead people to say there are consent issues related to the main ship, Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe. Note that I haven’t really seen any posts on this topic so I don’t, like, know what issues people single out? I’m pretty much just guessing.

1. Shen Qingqiu is an advanced cultivator and a teacher. Luo Binghe is considerably younger, and his student. This, obviously, could be seen as problematic. However, I personally didn’t feel it was (even though I’m personally sensitive to this dynamic and generally uncomfortable with it) for a few reasons:

a. Shen Qingqiu has absolutely no idea that Luo Binghe is crushing on him when they’re young. He’s as clueless as can be. (I’ll explain why when I get to “thing two that might make people think it’s problematic”). Like, to a reader who knows where things are going, it’s pretty darn obvious, but Shen Qingqiu is entirely fixated on a belief that Luo Binghe is developing a relationship with another disciple named Ning Yingying, and while he’s occasionally confused, like, “huh why did that happen?” he really is absolutely clueless. 

b. Then, for plot reasons, they’re separated for five years...and when Luo Binghe returns, Shen Qingqiu thinks Luo Binghe hates him (for  plot reasons), and then they’re separated AGAIN for another five years (or maybe it was 3? something like that) and only then does Shen Qingqiu finally realize he’s massively misunderstood literally everything. So...they haven’t had a student/teacher dynamic for about a decade by the time they actually start having a relationship.

c. While their apparent age difference is pretty big, their actual age difference isn’t, because...

2. Alright, so the basic premise of SVSSS is that a young man named Shen Yuan dies after reading a stag/harem novel, and then wakes up and discovers that he’s been transplanted into the novel he was reading...in the role of one of the villains. From that point forward, the older man “Shen Qingqiu” is actually Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan is still older than Luo Binghe, but less so...Luo Binghe is roughly 14 or 15 when the book starts, and Shen Yuan is probably 20 or 21. Now, that might be an awkward age difference if they started a relationship right away, but as I say above - years and years pass before anything happens. First, the story advances by about 4 years (give or take, it might be more even) before their first separation, and then ten more years pass before they get together. So at the point when Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan (in the body of Shen Qingqiu) actually get together, Luo Binghe is probably around 30 and Shen Yuan is probably around 36, which...that age difference is not significant between two adults, imo. 

Further, because Shen Yuan “knows” what happens in the novel, he also knows - it was a stag harem novel. So instead of seeing Luo Binghe’s behavior toward him and thinking, “oh no my student has a crush on me,” he spends ALL the time before the separation being like, “oh, Ning Yingying - she’s in his harem! Oh, that other character - also in his harem! Aw look, first meeting with a member of the harem! Oh oh look he’s talking to a harem member.” He has absolutely no fucking clue and it’s ridiculous.

However, all that said...Luo Binghe never actually finds out that Shen Yuan isn’t the same person as Shen Qingqiu, or that Shen Yuan is even in there. It’s clear in the extras that basically everyone who knew Shen Qingqiu figured out that something had changed and collectively decided... “well the change was for the better so uh let’s just not do anything about it okay?” Luo Binghe isn’t part of that conversation, so it could be argued that while Luo Binghe consented to be in a relationship with Shen Qingqiu, he never consented to be with Shen Yuan. It’s a weak argument, though, since Shen Yuan’s arrival is what derails the original harem plot of the “novel” and causes Luo Binghe to fall in love with Shen Qingqiu - so Luo Binghe never loved the original Shen Qingqiu, he always loved the Shen Yuan version of Shen Qingqiu. So...there is a minor consent issue here since Luo Binghe doesn’t know but it’s small.

3. Now, the third point also relates to the Shen Qingqiu/Shen Yuan divide. Shen Qingqiu BEFORE he becomes Shen Yuan is a nasty piece of work, and is highly abusive toward Luo Binghe. Early on, Shen Yuan is kinda...forced...to continue being abusive? Like, there’s this computer System that’s forcing Shen Yuan to “stay in character,” and he’ll literally die (again, for real and permanently this time) if he doesn’t do things at least somewhat like Shen Qingqiu would. But as soon as he “levels up” high enough that he is “allowed” to behave out of character compared to Shen Qingqiu, he stops being abusive and goes out of his way to help and support Luo Binghe. Now, despite that, I could see a case being made that the weird combination of “highly abusive toward” and then “nice” could be seen as manipulative and gaslighty, so that would open up another potential avenue for consent issues.

Now, on a specific “things that happen” event, all of the ACTUAL consent issues are in the other direction - Luo Binghe toward Shen Qingqiu. Cause Luo Binghe is...kinda a whiny bitch...and he is not very good at taking no for an answer. Like, at one point he literally kidnaps Shen Qingqiu and holds him prisoner. Actually wait, he does that at two separate points. And he always kinda...bullies...Shen Qingqiu in a way that pushes into Shen Qingqiu’s comfort zone.

Further, their first time is flat-out fuck or die (Luo Binghe is the top in the book and Shen Qingqiu is the bottom). That’s explicit, it’s not played as romantic, and Shen Qingqiu doesn’t enjoy it and doesn’t pretend to enjoy it. That’s not to say he’s unwilling - by that point it’s fairly clear he’d like to have sex with Luo Binghe in other circumstances, but it’s very rough and injures him pretty badly, there’s no prep, etc., so it’s not a good experience and it’s not treated as one, but Shen Qingqiu does volunteer because it’s important to him to prevent the “die” part. Luo Binghe feels bad afterwards. Reading it actually gave me more appreciation of MDZS because the scene made it clear that MXTX really does understand consent in ways that hadn’t been clear to me when I read the translation of MDZS.

In general...these two communicate for shit, and so things are never as clear cut as they should be. Also, at least for me personally, I never really fully “bought” that Shen Qingqiu was in love with Luo Binghe. Like, he’s affectionate and indulgent, but in romantic love? I dunno. So in that regard their being a thing always left me a little...unsure...maybe? But that’s a personal preference, and I’m sure there are others who felt differently, and it also might read differently in a different translation or in the original Chinese.

As an aside, there is a side ship which isn’t featured prominently in the novel but is significantly developed in the extras (like, a lot of the extras are literally about them, instead of the main ship). ngl...I wasn’t very interested in them so I didn’t read all their extras? So I couldn’t say for sure? But certainly, those two have some huge power level differences that I could see leading to consent issues, and also, one of them is also from “the real world” and transported in the “novel” (he’s the author) so that also adds a layer of complication.

Sorry if this is confusing...it’s not the easiest book to explain to someone unfamiliar with it. 

tl:dr, I personally didn’t think the consent issues were severe; the structural ones (ie, age difference and teacher/student) might LOOK severe on the surface but aren’t as the story is executed, and the “actual” consent issues (ie the fuck or die) are handled, at least in my opinion, better and more clearly than the ones in MDZS were.

Everyone else reading this...did I miss anything? I can’t think of anything else but my memory is so fucking shot that I can’t say I trust me as much as I’d like to.

Overall, I think it’s my least favorite of the three novels, not because it’s bad but because it just doesn’t quite feel...finished. Like, it’s such an interesting idea, and MXTX does a masterful job of twisting tropes throughout it, and more than either of the other books, it improved my opinion of her as a writer, but it feels a little incomplete, like maybe it was more story than she was actually ready to write? Like...she had this idea and she wasn’t quite a good enough writer to see it through to it’s logical conclusion yet, but all the pieces were there, so the potential is through the rough but the execution is a little lacking. Especially, the ending felt a bit rushed/abrupt to me. Then again, I feel that way constantly so some of that was probably me, I like a lot of denouement at the end of a story. (My favorite is TGCF, with MDZS in second and SVSSS in a close third...purely as a novel I didn’t like MDZS all that much but some of that was probably a translation issue.)

ANYWAY.

I’ll stop now.

If, after all that, you’re interested in reading it, I read two translations:

1. This translation, hosted on Tumblr, is really good but still a work in progress (they’ve released like four chapters since I read it in October.) I thought it was excellent and really enjoyed it.

2. Since that one wasn’t finished, I read the rest and the extras here. It was also good, but not quite as good in my opinion.

Hope this helps!

[honeydots]

200. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” ~~ This has some Vibes and I kinda like them so? I'd like 2 humbly request your take on this w/ shukita or akeshu if it's ok to ask for!! -- dorky-arsene (a sideblog)

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it”

Hello no I didn’t forget about these I am just slower than a little baby turtle!!!!! Anyway

Summary: Goro’s new job leads him to discover that dealing with both a crush and an idiot while flipping burgers is, unarguably, the worst turn his life could’ve taken.

cw: sexual themes (+p5r spoilers)

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(ao3 link)

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“Hello! Would you like to try our Big Bang Special Combo Shot-Straight-Through Promotional Meal for ‘Thy Father of Corruption 2: The Daughter of Rejection’ for ¥850?”

Goro wanted to quit. 

You need this job. You need this job. He’d repeat to himself each time a customer decided they were feeling peckish. You will have no money if you quit and then you will have no home and then you will drop out of college and then you will die. 

He’d left the police department after graduating. With his past plans of an 18-year life expectancy having slipped down the drain, he hardly had a reason to stay. High school had been an uphill battle with cases of murder and robbery breathing down his neck, and he’d hesitated to even make an attempt at trying to juggle his priorities in university. Dropping the detective gig meant dropping the media attention, too, which gave him breathing room he certainly knew he needed, but never really had. 

The problem was, after three years of fading out of fame and living off his savings, he realized this wouldn’t stretch as far as he’d predicted. He hadn’t accounted nearly enough for the expenses that came with the unwelcome enforcement of trying to live as a proper human being. His bank account was growing meager. If he wanted to keep living (which was arguable) in the way that he was (which he did) he’d need an income. Almost anything would do, as long as it would bend and break to his schedule. 

And, all things considered, he technically had connections here. And ever since… that, the pay had actually increased to a respectable amount. The management had rehired, retrained, and improved. It was fast food, but it was livable. Nothing shameful about being livable. 

And god fucking dammit he had already done three interviews with no hires and he needed food other than half-cooked ramen noodles and bread slices. 

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

That didn’t mean he didn’t loathe every minute.

It was bad enough that he had a job at Big Bang Burger. And, bad enough that he’d been desperate to get it. It was bad enough that he had to bring in his homework like some anguished used-to-be honors student now getting barely passing marks. And christ, it was bad enough each time a customer would walk in, a hamburger-shaped icepick would slam itself into his frontal lobe, forever ingraining the memory of his premeditated brain murder of the former CEO of this very restaurant. 

All of that, and he couldn’t stress this more, was bad enough. It was entirely shitty all around. Completely awful, and damming, and humbling, though he hated to admit it. He’d like to say it couldn’t get any worse. That this was the end of the line, get off the train before it turns around, don’t get stuck in the never ending cycle of beef patties and sesame seed buns. 

But, god, of all the coworkers. 

“Ya know,” said Sakamoto, leaning down on the front counter after their customer had left,  “I dunno if clenching your teeth like you’ve got peanut butter stuck in there counts as ‘service with a smile.’” 

Sakamoto Ryuji. The boy who had the opposite of a filter, and more like a megaphone spewing recordings of every profanity in the Japanese language. He, who had walked in on Goro’s second day and loudly declared, ‘I thought I smelled something, what’s this a-hole doing here?’ Really, who else could he tolerate spending eight-hour shifts with; greasy stoves, piss poor customers, and the ruthless scent of lysol on tile included?

Ah, right. Anyone else. 

Goro pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well you know, I was almost certain that elbows on the counter was a fireable offense.” 

Sakamoto snatched himself up in a second, elbows up high. He hung there and looked around the empty restaurant. 

He pouted. “Not cool, dude. That’s only when there’s customers.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. He was really just going to stand there? He looked like an idiot, or a chicken. A hybrid that, if anyone could pull off, would be him. He was making a great show of it, too. 

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re a snitch.” 

Goro spoke in his most syrupy sweet voice. “Are you implying then, that your job is in my hands? An entertaining thought, Sakamoto.” If it were only that simple to really get him fired. Unfortunately, their manager seemed to love his enthusiasm. Every moment he spent enthusiastically mopping floors and singing into the handle was a moment Goro could’ve been writing soliloquies of his growing and newfound hatred for Carly Rae Jepsen. 

Sakamoto folded his arms in a huff. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man! Look at that fake-ass smile.” He shook his head. “And I get customer service blows and stuff, but you use it for everything. Lighten up dude! Take a break.”

Sakamoto said things with such confidence, such surety. It made his teeth grind. 

“I’d prefer to keep my job,” Goro said, and gave him the sweet smile Sakamoto was arguing against. “Though, if you’d like to pay my rent for me, you’re more than welcome.” 

He acted like he hadn’t even heard him.“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so gloomy all the time, your face just doesn’t know how to work it. Look it, check me out.” Sakamoto pointed his thumb at himself and flashed a toothy smile. “Just like that! All natural, bro. It’s easy. Come on, you really try it this time.” 

Goro very clearly did not. He stared with his most obsolete and ‘stop-trying-to-have-a-conversation-with-me’ look he could muster. He’d communicate it telepathically, if given the chance. 

“That doesn’t look like trying to me,” Sakamoto said expectantly. 

Couldn’t they just sit in silence and wait for their fabrication of getting-along time when the next inevitable customer came in? “Perhaps, and please let me know if this is too complicated, I simply have no intention of trying, because I don’t believe there’s anything to fix.” 

“Nah, that’s not it,” replied Sakamoto, as if he was being thoughtful.

Another reason why he was completely obnoxious was because the longer they knew each other, the less that Goro’s flawless stone faced looks worked. Sakamoto kept spewing hot air. He’d gained some kind of tolerance, and it was tedious to work around. 

Sakamoto leaned back down, previous elbow warnings forgotten. “I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s super ticklish, so you act all boring so no one suspects it.”

“I’m not,” Goro snapped. 

“Quick reply there, buddy.” 

Goro didn’t answer to that. He didn’t owe it to him. This was pointless; why did Sakamoto find such pleasure in talking about pointless things? 

He slouched further down. “So it’s silent treatment now. You’re checking all the boxes over here.” He waved his finger through the air. “Check, n’ check, n’, check.” 

Goro was getting a headache. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Betcha you’re super ticklish. And like, one of those cry-laughers.” 

“Sakamoto, did you hear what I just said.” 

He stretched up from his position on the counter. “Like if I poke you in the side, I bet it would make ya jump.” 

“Do not.” He could just try it. Goro would bend his finger back so far it’d break. He wondered if that would be a viable option to get him to stop talking sometime. 

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” He rested his arms behind his neck. “You’re just proving my point more, though.” 

Sakamoto was annoyingly stubborn at times. Once he found a niche with Goro, he’d hack his way in and grab on like a tick. Bother him like it was his last chance he’d ever get, as if they didn’t work shifts together four times a week. He was bound to get lyme disease at this rate.  

Goro felt like a very frustrated pair of tweezers.“Can we talk about anything else, please?”

Sakamoto went quiet. He was just looking at him now. Goro tensed up. Was he really going to try and poke him? He meant it, he’d break his hand. 

“Ya know, there is something I wanna talk to you about,” he said.

Goro did not like the sound of that. “Oh really.” He tried to sound like he was just told he was about to be given a lecture on the intricacies and details of lentil soup. Which, perhaps could be more interesting than whatever topic Sakamoto was about to pull out of his ass. 

Sakamoto sniffed. “Yup. It’s about Akira.” 

Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. “Sakamoto, I—” 

“When’re ya gonna like, confess.” 

Goro visibly winced. Dammit. He knew he’d bring this up one day. He was absolutely infuriated Sakamoto knew about that, and he hadn’t even told him. He’d been making guesses and Goro had been just tired enough during his shift to let a hint of a sigh out, and Sakamoto had taken that to new heights. Another example of conversations being had that Goro would’ve just about died to get out of. 

Sakamoto was still staring at him. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Goro knew they didn’t at this good for nothing job, but what was so hard about just acting like you’re busy. You’re pretending then, at least, and that’s something. 

“Well, dude?” asked Sakamoto. 

Any conversation is better than that one.

Mother of fuck. 

“I…” Goro started, adjusting a piece of his hair, “I suppose I am a little ticklish.”

Sakamoto’s face lit up. “Dude, for real? Called it,” he said triumphantly. Had Goro not known him as well as he did, he’d think the divergence in conversation was a trick to get him to admit he was a bit… touchy. But he did know him, and he wasn’t one for games like that.

“Most people are, it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s skin sensitivity, nothing more.” 

Sakamoto shrugged. “Still funny you admitted to it.” 

Sure. Very hilarious. Yet another fact Sakamoto now knows about him that he’d really have rather not shared under any circumstance. 

“Satisfied, now?” Goro asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He didn’t plan on expanding, this was embarrassing enough as it was. 

“Nope,” he replied, “cause that’s great and all, but I really gotta know the game plan.” He leaned in close to Goro, and he in turn leaned farther away.

“There’s no ‘game plan,’ Sakamoto. Please don’t get so close to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He moved back, obviously not finished. “Come on, though, you gotta have something.” And back down on the counter he slouched. 

‘Something,’ he’d said. Yes, and that something was to keep his mouth shut and go about his life keeping each and every one of those mortifying feelings to himself. It was humiliating enough that Sakamoto knew. Telling Akira? He didn’t even want to imagine it. He’d rather face Okumura-san herself and ask her to buy one of their Shot-Straight-Through combo meals. 

“There’s nothing. And I don’t plan there to be anything. And, it’s not really much of your business, is it?” Goro could feel himself growing irritated. 

Sakamoto melted further into the counter. “I just don’t get why you’re not gonna ask him out if you like him. You might as well, man, it’ll be fine.” 

What simple ways of thinking. Do this, get that in return. Black and white, and right and wrong. Spill your fleeting moment of vulnerability and try not to think about the extensive hole of commitment you’re burying yourself in. One turn of phrase, one word, one misplaced breath to Akira would forever rupture the sorry excuse of acquaintanceship they’d been flip flopping through for the past three years. Akira was a blank slate and simultaneously the person he knew best. He knew him, but didn’t really, and he could never tell what he was thinking. Suddenly he was gambling again, and this time it came entirely unwelcome. Risks you face before death and risks that you’ll keep living through no matter the outcome tasted different. One was tangy and sweet and thrilling, the other was bitter  shit. Not to mention that Akira was too kind to him for his own good. He couldn’t even tell what was a lie. 

But, Sakamoto didn’t need to know all that. “You say that like there’s nothing to consider. As if I’ve never even given this thought. You do not belong in my head, Sakamoto. And I do not need to give you, an obvious outsider on the entire dilemma, any sort of justification for why I’m going to continue to abstain on something as trivial as a confession.” 

Sakamoto huffed at him. “What if I said that I gua-ran-tee he’s not gonna say no to you.”

Goro was already sick of this. What, had Sakamoto expected his heart to skip? His pulse to rise? That just the very thought of mutual feelings would send him into some flustered mess? Please. He told the tingling feeling going up through his legs and down his arms and up the back of his neck to shut the fuck up. 

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. Sakamoto could and would get ideas. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that himself? Why are you playing wingman for him?” 

“Cause he’s not gonna say anything cause he’s got to be worried that he’s gonna freak you and your crazy attachment issues out!” 

Of course, there it was. The blind bet. Sakamoto’s one-way thinking at it again, and Goro would not have it. “I’m not going to start playing some game with him about the complexities of whatever idea of consent he has in his head. I don’t need his sympathy, and I am certainly not looking for it. I don’t have time for something messy and half-assed. I don’t want that, and surely he doesn’t, either. If he feels any way about me, he’d ought to tell me, because then maybe we’d find some kind of leeway. But I will not let him sit there and wait for me to make the first move, like a key element in his plan. This is not some teenage romance, and I am not a caricature of his love life. He can wait patiently all he’d like, but I’m perfectly content as I am now.” 

Sakamoto seemed a little stunned. 

“Man, he’s just…” He trailed off. They sat in silence. 

So ways still existed to get Sakamoto to stop rambling on. He was sure he’d regret saying this later, for a multitude of reasons. He didn’t hate Sakamoto, even saying dislike felt strong, but he always talked about things that Goro had no interest nor inclination to discuss. Maybe silence was for the best between them, for now. 

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. That’s all it is, dude,” said Sakamoto. 

Goro inhaled. So he wasn’t done, then. “Love… is an entirely different conversation.” 

“Okay, fine, you want me to say he ‘like-likes’ you like some fifth grader? Cause he does.” 

Goro didn’t reply. He’d made his point. 

“He isn’t playing one of your weirdo mind games,” Sakamoto continued. “I think you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just a guy. He just wants to make sure you’re all comfortable and shit. Cause it’s not like we don’t all know the bullshit that was goin’ on for you.”

“I am not looking for his pity.” A fine thing to say while working at a Big Bang Burger in a bright yellow shirt and starred apron. It didn’t matter. He didn’t wear this with pride, per say, but he wouldn’t ask someone to feel sorry for him.

He didn’t exactly want to be seen, either. Especially not Akira, but of course he’d make habits of visiting. That was just like him, and it was just like his pity, too. 

Sakamoto looked frustrated. “He ain’t pitying you, man! He’s tryin’ to respect you! He knows you got things to go through on your own and he’s trying to give you space and everything.” 

Goro clicked his tongue. “If you know that’s his tactic, why are you trying to pressure me into this?” 

“Cause I don’t care, dude!” Sakamoto said, and then stopped himself, and promptly looked very guilty. “Well, okay. I do care. Like, I do. But sometimes…” He looked like he was trying to pick his words out carefully. He had an idea, just no way to form it.

He settled. “Sometimes, you just gotta get laid, man.” 

At this point, Goro found himself shocked that he wasn’t banging his own head against the counter. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re twenty one years old! Dude, I know you haven’t gotten any,” Sakamoto argued. “Your gay ass with emotional problems? Get outta here.” 

“This is not—”  

Sakamoto put his hands up nonshalontly. “And like, yeah, no judgey stuff, take your time if you gotta. But have you considered it? Tell me. I betcha you haven’t.”

Goro opened his mouth, expecting to reply with an incredibly well thought out ‘fuck off,’ but the automatic doors slid open, and suddenly Goro was all smiles and greetings, so what came out instead was, “Hello! Welcome to Big Bang Burger! Would you—ah.” 

Sakamoto snorted loudly, and Goro wanted to kick him so bad. 

And actually, what was stopping him? Sakamoto had earned this, and it’s not like this customer would care. 

Because, who else could’ve been just about summoned by the trouble than Kurusu Akira himself; strolling in so casually through the doors, like he hadn’t just become the most unpleasant topic of conversation Goro had ever had with Sakamoto. Speak of the devil was an understatement, or perhaps he was the devil himself. 

“What the eff, man!” 

“Hey you two,” said Akira, hands in his pockets and clearly bagless. He didn’t even register Goro’s kick, like that was just some normal occurrence. Somehow, that made him angrier. 

“Yo,” said Sakamoto, recovering annoyingly quickly. Goro wondered if he should’ve considered breaking his finger. 

Sakamoto reached out to Akira for a fist bump. “You don’t have the cat with ya?” 

Akira bumped him back. “Nope. Just me today.” 

“Sweet,”  Sakamoto replied, a smile growing wide. Goro hated the look. It was the hungriest and most dastardly shit-eating grin he’d ever seen him dare to make. So, knowing Sakamoto and his terrible poker face, he had thought up some idiotic ploy. 

“What’s up with you?” Akira asked, and thank god it wasn’t directed at Goro. Sakamoto’s obviousness did not go unnoticed. 

“Oh nothin’, nothin’,” said Sakamoto, entirely conspicuously, “I gotta go, though, grind never stops. Super secret stuff in the back.” 

Goro glared at him. So now he would pretend to be busy? 

“Burger secrets,” Akira said, and Ryuji gave him a finger gun in reply. He walked off without a word, but apparently felt the inclination to jerk his head back at Goro, as if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

He sighed. No amount of alone time would ever compel Goro to confess at a Big Bang Burger, of all places. At least Akira tended to be a little more bearable in conversation. He hoped he’d be an in and out customer. “Can I get you anything?” 

Akira looked at him for a moment. “You look flustered.” 

Goro felt himself twitch. He wasn’t flustered, like some preteen who can’t hear the word genital without bursting into laughter. If anything, Sakamoto had caught him off guard with his stupidity. He obviously was not one to be so affected by such a topic. He was an adult, and a professional. He would again not think about the fact he was wearing an orange visor right now. 

“I’m positive that isn’t a menu item,” he replied, keeping his pleasant smile plastered on, keeping any stray annoyance from showing. 

Akira examined him closer. “Do you have a fever or something? You look red.”

Goro drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, Akira, Sakamoto just decided to kindly push the image of you railing me as a form of twisted therapy into the forefront of my consciousness. Would you like any drinks?

“I’m fine. I’m not the type to go to work sick,” he decided on instead. 

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced. 

Goro folded his arms. “While living in a society where health is determined by the trust of the majority, I have no plans to spread my germs to an unsuspecting businessman, in that I expect the same from him.”

Akira considered that for a moment. “So you’re embarrassed, then.” 

Goro’s expression turned sour. He was not in the mood for a debate. “Everyone seems to be presuming things today, have I missed a memo?” 

Akira didn’t miss a beat. “Ryuji said something?” 

Goro dragged his fingernails into his palm. He was hardly being that obvious, he wasn’t a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep a straight face. Akira was just acutely good at reading people, (namely, reading him) and it drove Goro up the wall. It was unfair, for one thing, since Akira continued to maintain blank expressions in the face of clowns and hookers, keeping his inner thoughts kept behind lock and key. And, as of more recently, he was the one person Goro really desperately wanted to hide every wandering emotion from possible. Just his luck, fall for the bastard who analyzes people as a side job for his savior-complex living. 

This was making him more frustrated. “Would you just order?” 

Akira looked at the menu, but Goro knew it was bullshit. He ordered the same thing every time— a shake and a burger, no tomatoes. He certainly already knew what he wanted, but was just causing trouble in the meantime. What an annoyance. Goro punched it in, and made no moves to go and cook. If Sakamoto was going to have his “business” in the back, then he could stay there and do his job. 

“Sit over there, we’ll bring it to you when it’s done,” he said, and Akira silently obliged. He gave a small smile before he turned, leaving Goro completely alone with his thoughts as he sat at his table and scrolled through his phone. 

He couldn’t believe the timing of Sakamoto’s distasteful comment to Akira’s unseasonable entrance. Things always seemed to fall into place with Goro, just not the right places. The right place, but a little down, and to the left, the left, he said. He wished Sakamoto would mind his own business, let him quietly pine until his untimely death; which kept getting put off, might he add. 

Sakamoto emerged from the back end of the restaurant. He was holding the bag of presumably Akira’s food, and his shake. He waved them enthusiastically. 

“Go on, dude,” he smirked. 

Goro was blunt. “No.” He’d pissed him off enough today. He wasn’t going to walk over there and serve the food. Sakamoto’s little idea of love, romance and marriage in a burger joint would have to wait. Ideally, it would get itself stuck in wet concrete, and drown way down under where no one could see it and where the light of day would never reach. 

Sakamoto seemed to catch his drift. “Jeez, fine. Huffy, huffy.” 

He walked over to Akira with a spring in his step, and they started chatting idly. Goro couldn’t hear. In all honesty, he was trying to tune them out. His headache was growing worse. Pounding in his head, every light too bright and repetitive music blurring together his thoughts. And of course there was the elephant in the room, who was whispering to him Sakamoto’s crude suggestions, and the irritating notion that maybe he was right, just a little bit.

He needed to get himself together. He was acting like some horny teenager. Get fucked, you raunchy elephant. 

Sakamoto left to let him eat, and made a show of going back to the other end of the restaurant, all while wiggling his eyebrows at Goro. In turn, Goro made a show of rolling his eyes and planting himself facing away from Akira. It made Sakamoto laugh, for whatever reason, and Goro just ignored him. 

He watched the door idly and tried to relax. He’d been clenching his teeth, and his jaw ached. He tried to focus to get his headache to fade into obscurity. He couldn’t find much to concentrate on, was his issue. Other than the obvious, which he would ignore without remorse. He wanted to go home. No lights too bright there, no sloppily cleaned windows, and especially no crush (the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Boy who has left him emotionally compromised after giving him no reason to deny he had worth in the world and keeps him up at night thinking about the way he really tried to will him back into existence when he could, god, have anything else in the world, and he wanted him. Was that a better option?) sitting out of view, chewing quietly and doing absolutely nothing to draw so much attention to himself.  At home he could drown it all out in a cold bath, and let himself think of nothing but his numbing toes and pruning fingers. 

“Hey, catch,” Akira said, suddenly there and startling Goro out of his bathlike daydream. He tossed something onto the counter. Goro did not catch it. 

It was a napkin, all folded up in a careful way. It didn’t hold the shape well, but the intention was pretty clear. “Um. A crane?” 

“Yup. Present for you.” he started, rubbing his neck, and he had the nerve to look bashful. “I got bored.”

Goro hadn’t noticed him making it. Which, alright, did make sense, he was purposefully keeping his neck away from that entire half of the restaurant. “Sorry we aren’t quite the height of entertainment here.” Goro lightly touched its head. He didn’t know Akira knew how to make these. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

Akira pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’re welcome to name him.”

“I think that I won’t.”

“That can be pretty trendy, too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go. Class. Tell Ryuji I say bye.” 

“Bye, dude!” Sakamoto shouted from the back. There was that tiresome enthusiasm again. 

It made Akira smile.“Nevermind, then. See you.” 

Goro just barely lifted his hand by the wrist to wave. “Bye.” 

Akira turned, gave him a small trill of his fingers, and left. Sakamoto did not return to his exit, and Goro savored the moment. It was just him and the crane, now. 

It was pretty shoddy. Unfolding, and barely standing up on its own. Cheap paper napkins were not the ideal material for origami, it seemed. He watched it slowly fall apart, wings losing shape and the head relaxing into its neck. Akira had hardly stayed long, so that meant he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. He wouldn’t have guessed. 

…He thought about how it might look on proper paper. The creases sharp and crisp, the ends pointed and still. What would Akira’s hands look like while they worked? He could hear the sounds of the folding, and the wedging, clean paper being bent and rippled. Delicate fingers, working through, meticulously checking every last inch. Sometimes a pinch, just where it’s needed. And then finished, folded tight, wrapped together in itself. Very quick work, with the touch of a hand. 

“The heck is that?” Sakamoto said, getting an actual jump out of Goro. 

“What?” he gasped, and took a second to collect his thoughts. At work. Sakamoto came back. In a Big Bang Burger. Headache present. Good fucking god. “It’s just…” He pressed his fingers into the side of his temple “It’s a paper crane. Akira made it.” 

Sakamoto let that sink in.“You tellin me you were just sitting here staring at the thing Akira made you?” 

“I wasn’t,” Goro replied, trying desperately to catch his breath as casually as possible. 

“Uh, you literally were.” Sakamoto got uncomfortably close to him again. Goro physically moved away, because now was not the time. 

It didn’t deter Sakamoto whatsoever. He put his hands on his hips and gave an annoying grin. “Bro, you gotta tell him… You’ve obviously got it preeetty bad.” 

Goro was fed up with this. This conversation needed to end, or he thought he might explode. “I don’t ‘have it bad,’ Sakamoto, stop bringing this up.” 

Sakamoto smirked at him. “You so do though, is the thing.” 

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and kept his mouth shut. He was acting so haughty, like he’d won the argument. Which, he hadn’t, for the record. 

That stupid crane. All it’d done was make things worse. And what was it even doing? Sitting here crumbling away into uselessly folded paper. A cheap napkin made of other recycled cheap napkins. Clean and crisp paper was a long sought after dream, a fantasy and nothing more. 

You know, this was just it, really. This is what he meant. Akira would try and fold him up and he’d inevitably fall back down. He didn’t know just what fantastic method he’d try, but it wouldn’t matter— he was made of what he was made of, and nothing would hold him up. Trying was pointless, risking for naught, it would be better for everyone if he stayed just how he was and didn’t overstay his use. 

He would not fit into Akira’s plans or his pities. He couldn’t. 

“…Bruh. What does that even mean.” 

Ah? “What?“ No. He had not said that out loud. Sakamoto did not just hear all that nonsense. 

Sakamoto was giving him a funny look. “You’re not a napkin, man.” 

God, shit. Shit shit shit. “I— I know that, this is just—“ The unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his face was just as intolerable as it was unpreventable. 

“For real? Cause you sure sounded like you were calling yourself a napkin.” 

Absolutely unbelievable. How unruly was he that he’d just spouted all that like it was nothing? He couldn’t believe he had to explain himself now, but letting him get ideas was undeniably worse. “It’s supposed to be… symbolic, Sakamoto.” 

He could practically see the gears turning in his head. That wasn’t something difficult to understand, you dunce. Every second of this humiliating scene felt like a knife turning in his back. 

“Why does your brain work in such effed up ways. You gotta work on that,” Sakamoto said, not letting up his judgemental look.

He crossed his arms, trying to make his mortification appear like annoyance. “Don’t you start with me. As if you ever have something useful to say. At least I’m— I’m thinking, here.” 

That riled him up a bit. “I’m thinkin’! I almost flunked literature so maybe I’m not so good at this analysis stuff, but you know what? Hear me out.” Goro did not want to hear him out. He continued despite that. “I get it, you got your problems. But I really don’t think you callin’ yourself some shitty crane is fair, you know? Like, you’re a whole guy.”

He did not appreciate how genuine Sakamoto was acting. It was odd, and it felt awkward coming from him. He didn’t want to feel guilty for being rude to him earlier, either. Just another topic to bother him to sleep. 

Sakamoto went on. “Gahhh, it feels weird sayin’ this but like, you’re not a napkin, okay! And Akira doesn’t think so either. You’re more… complicated. Napkins don’t pay taxes or anything.” 

Ah, alright. So it was mostly bullshit. He could ease the guilt away in one fell swoop. 

Goro’s disinterest seemed to show itself well to Sakamoto. “Just, okay. Lemme get my thoughts here. You gotta like… be your own first step. I didn’t get my own shit sorted out until I actually tried to. And I’m not sayin it’s easy to do. But Imma tell you right now your first step is gonna be to stop thinking you’re a napkin or a bucket or a plate of green beans or whatever else you come up with. And I mean it, man.”

Goro knew he had things to say to that. He had thought out replies and phrases that Sakamoto would need more headspace to begin to understand. But none of them came to him. So he decided to stay threateningly quiet. 

It was well received. “Okay okay, you’re gettin’ mad, I can tell. I’m gonna take my break,” Sakamoto relented, and turned on his heel. “I ain’t really trying to tell ya what to do but give it a thinking about, alright? ‘Least for Akira’s sake,” he said over his shoulder, and left Goro almost more alone than before. 

It wasn’t even Akira’s sake Goro was worried about. Not in the way Sakamoto seemed to think. And he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t some inanimate object, he wasn’t that out of mind. 

Any sort of sensible argument would have to come to him after the fact, apparently. To tell him this wouldn’t be a “first step,” more like a hundredth. How many paces did crawling out of the hole he’d buried himself in count for? How many miles had he gone by now, barefoot and bleeding all the way. 

Such a stupid conversation. Needless, too, since for whatever reason his filter decided to leave him to fend for himself. Just another addition to this embarrassing excuse of a shift today. 

The paper crane sat still on the counter, though it hardly resembled one anymore. He almost felt bad. He had his typical pit in his stomach, but nothing exactly to pinpoint it on. Was he wallowing in that much self-loathing? 

Perhaps. 

Goro adamantly refused to have any more dramatic revelations at his part time job, so any introspections would have to come later. 

He put the crumpled crane in his pocket. It was certainly not going to be a crane once he took it out again, but he didn’t really know what else to do with it. Throwing it away felt wrong, to him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with it when he got home. 

Akira hadn’t given this to him in hopes of causing some mental anguish. Or at least, he assumed so. Sakamoto had said he didn’t play mind games, but if not those, what was he doing? It felt better to know it was a game, in that way there was something about Akira’s mystery of a consciousness he could pry through. 

Was he reading into things? For sure. Reading too deeply into anything had been a talent of his for as long as he could remember. It had saved his life before, many times and in the most difficult of times. 

This crane wasn’t life threatening, but it felt like it was. Not in the thrilling way, but in the shitty way. 

His shift was over soon. Which reminded him, Sakamoto had surely already taken his break. He was a dip, but Goro preferred his own thoughts to any conversation they’d had today. And that was saying something, since getting out of his own head was a much needed relief that he’d take almost any chance he got. 

He was overthinking, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would continue to overthink until someone stole his brain and dunked it in acid. Where was the enjoyment otherwise? It was all he knew how to do. 

And even he didn’t overthink this— if Akira had given this to him in earnest and in playfulness, and if Sakamoto hadn’t been overtly pulling his leg through their shifts today. There wasn’t even anything remarkable about it. If there was a chance that maybe things were just okay, and getting better, and he wasn’t a living metaphor for a tissue. Oh just, say he invited him out for coffee, and Akira surprised him with a new little creation, less spur of the moment and made something almost sweet. He’d never drop his pride so low as to ask for a lesson, but if he did, maybe he could learn to make something, too. And maybe he wouldn’t hate every moment of it, and maybe he’d like getting so close, and maybe he’d appreciate the mistakes as much as the praises. 

…Hm.

That was just a fantasy, of course. And surely, nothing was all that great about it. Anything could go wrong in any number of ways, his own interventions just one category. 

Maybe it was the headache, or the dragging on shift, or the terrible lights, or the distant humming of his coworker, but Goro must’ve been caught off guard today. Because otherwise, why else would he have thought, not long and not convincingly, but still a thought as present as can be, that maybe, despite everything. 

It could be nice. Just for a little bit. Maybe that didn’t sound quite so bad. 

Not so bad at all. 

[stardust-walker]

High Hopes: Chapter 10

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

word count: 4302

_________________________________

Dove sat still except for her fingers drumming on the table as Shane succeeded in bringing down the mood. Why did he have to still try to be the alpha? Why couldn't he just let people be fucking happy and blissfully ignorant for once. Rick had been right, after all. The military couldn't handle it according to the doctor. The tension in the room was stifling until Glenn spoke up from the corner. "Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man," Glenn grumbled as he sank into a chair next to Jacqui.

"Fuckin real Debbie Downer, Shane," Dove added as she ran a hand through her hair before chewing on her thumb nail. Finally, it seemed to be a little too much for the doctor too. He forced a smile as he stood up.

"Ready for the real tour," he said in an overly friendly way that made Dove's skin crawl but she had to admit she was curious and so was everyone else apparently. The dark haired woman took Sophia's hand and started after the doctor; she only stopped to put her backpack over her shoulder before they started down the hallway.

"Couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage if you like," the man explained as the lights turned on down the hallway.

"Anything's better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground in a sleeping bag, man," Dove said in response. This earned her an actual smile from the doctor.

"Make sure you don't plug in anything that uses power," the doctor turned and pointed at all of them. "Also goes for the shower. If you use it, go easy on the hot water." Dove had stopped paying attention when the word 'shower' was mentioned.

"Hot water," Glenn beamed as he turned to face everyone.

"That's what the man said," T-dog laughed. The tension was now replaced with excitement that everyone seemed to be feeling.

"I call first," Dove shouted suddenly before she took off in a sprint down the hallway. The feeling of hot water on her skin made her shriek with excitement as she was finally able to step into the shower. She wished she could stand there forever. Just alone with her thoughts and feeling normal. Still, she was careful to spare the hot water especially due to the doctor's warning. She wrapped a towel around herself before carefully reaching out to grab clean clothes from where she had thrown them in her rush to get in the shower. As she turned to step back into the stall, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. The young woman turned slightly and let out a quiet snort of laughter.

Daryl's head snapped around, his eyes wandered for a second before they snapped right back up to her face. Impressive eye contact. "What're you laughin at," he narrowed his eyes at her as he drummed his fingers on the bottle of whiskey.

Dove clutched her towel tightly and shrugged her shoulders. "Nothin, just didn't realize you were white under all that dirt," yep she had definitely had a little too much to drink. But so had Glenn, since she heard him laugh from about 2 stalls down. The only response she got was a 'hell with ya' followed by a quick exit before she turned to finally go change. She was grateful to be able to be in comfortable clothes, which for her meant an oversized t-shirt and some pajama shorts.

Once back in her room, Dove was able to lay down on a cot. She stretched her arms above her head as she closed her eyes. It was quiet. Not the scary kind of quiet that it had been out there, but it was a nice kind of quiet. A small shake of her shoulders made her open her eyes. It was Carol. "You look like you enjoyed yourself," Carol joked as she pulled her cardigan tight around herself.

"Oh you know it, mama bear. I don't think I've had that much wine since…jesus I don't even know," Dove laughed as Carol joined in.

"Sophia and I are going to go down to the rec room and check it out. Come with us," Carol smiled down at her sister.

Sophia chimed in from the doorway, "Yeah come on! Maybe they have some books and boards games and stuff like that!"

Dove sighed as she pulled herself into a sitting position, a smile on her face. "You had me at books, kiddo."

Dove sat down on the couch in the rec room as Carl and Sophia began to rummage through the board games. Dove sighed as she leaned back into the cushion. Carol spoke as she wandered over to the bookshelf, "You want anything to read?"

"Nah I'm good. I feel like if I tried, the words would swim off the pages," Dove chuckled as she shook her head slightly. Dove sighed and opened her eyes to see that Sophia had found a coloring book and Carl had found some markers. "A wise choice. You guys can't kill each other while you color." Carol laughed quietly as she walked over to sit next to her sister.

Carol opened her book before she turned to the younger woman. "How long do you think we'll be here?"

Dove shrugged her shoulders as she leaned to her right. She didn't necessarily want the kids to hear. "Dunno. Maybe a few months at most? Maybe weeks. Who know how much food and everything Jenner has left here anyway. But maybe by the time we leave everything will be better upstairs."

Carol sighed and nodded her head before she plastered a smile on her face for Sophia's sake. "I was thinking so too. I hope you're right."

Dove didn't know how long they were in the rec room or how long it was before she dozed off. Carol had been reading next to her and the next thing she knew, she was woken up by Carol's voice close to her ear. She groaned and rubbed her eyes as she sat up, only to see that Lori had walked into the room. "Hey Lori."

Lori chuckled as she greeted the other woman before she turned back to examine the room. Dove let out an exaggerated sigh right along with the kids as Carol announced that it was time for bed. "Aw come on, do we have to," Dove groaned. Sophia let out a quiet giggle as Dove rose to her feet. "C'mon Carl, we'll make sure you get to your room, buddy." Dove ruffled the little boy's hair as his mother wished him a good night.

Up ahead, Carol said, "Tonight might be the first night we get some real sleep. It's a miracle."

"Amen, hallelujah," Dove raised a hand in the air. Carl laughed as they exited into the hallway. Dove spotted movement down the other end of the hallway as they reached the door to the room they were sharing and stopped for a moment. "You guys run up ahead. I'll catch up before you even fall asleep, bug." Dove didn't wait for a response as she started down the hallway. She squinted and tried to see what was going on down the other end when she realized what it was. It was Daryl headed down the hallway, bottle of liquor in his hand as he stumbled back to his room. "Rough night," Dove leaned against the wall as she eyed the bottle in his hand.

Daryl nodded at her and stopped a few feet back, "Poor Glenn had to be carried back to his room. I don't think he's ever had that much to drink in his life," he laughed as he brought the bottle up to his mouth and took a drink.

"Yeah well I haven't had that much to drink in," Dove was cut off by a rough shove to her shoulder as someone rushed around the corner. "Hey!" She yelped as she stumbled forward a few steps and grabbed Daryl's arm to steady herself.

"What the fucks his problem," Daryl turned to look down the hallway as Shane slammed the door to his room shut.

"Shane's a fucking asshole is his problem. Alcohol just intensifies that in some people," she said quietly as she released the man's arm and stood up straight again. "You better get some rest before that hangover catches up with you."

Daryl nodded, "Same to you. I hear wine hangovers are a bitch," he patted her arm as he walked off down the hallway.

Dove backtracked and just before she opened the door to enter the room, she stopped. "What a bunch of fucking loonies."

~

Wine hangovers are, in fact, a bitch. Dove remembered this as she tried to keep her focus on making the walls not move around her as she sat down for breakfast across from Lori and Carl. "Well good morning, sleeping beauty," Lori laughed as she took one look at Dove's miserable face.

Carl frowned at the woman and looked to his mom, "What's wrong with her?"

"This, little buddy," Dove groaned as she took the pills that Lori had just offered her, "is called a hangover. Imagine the worst headache of your life. Only worse."

Lori smiled a little, "Exactly. And your daddy will probably feel the same way," she pointed at Carl.

"So much for drinking on a professional level," Daryl snorted as he walked in and took a seat a few chairs down from the younger woman.

Dove wrinkled her nose as she swallowed a gulp of water, "Shut up, Daryl."

She jumped in her chair a little bit as T-Dog piped up from behind her as he reached around to set the plate in front of her. "Here's some breakfast for the little birdie," he joked as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Okay firstly, I thought that cannibalism would be a more sensitive topic given our circumstances," Dove rubbed her forehead. Lori tried her best to hide her laughter. "Secondly, thank you very much. You spoil me." Dove sighed happily as she picked up her fork and began to dig in right along with everyone else.

Dove snorted as she caught a look of Rick as he walked in. Shit he looked worse than she did. "Are you hung over? Dove is and mom said you would be," Carl said in an almost excited voice. Dove had to stop herself from laughing.

Rick just smiled at the little boy, "well your mother was right."

Dove could already feel the focus coming back into her life. Dove looked down the table and chuckled as she saw Jacqui had started to rub Glenn's shoulders. She leaned over and patted his arm from her seat a few spots down as T-Dog began to talk about the eggs. "Aw my poor baby. Do you need me to kiss it and make it better," she cooed at him, but it only earned her a glare from the younger man as he continued to rub his face.

Dove stopped her joking as she heard T-Dog ask Shane what happened to his neck. A glance down the table showed her that Daryl had the same thought she did as they locked eyes for a moment before her attention turned to Shane. Were those scratch marks?

"Must have done it in my sleep," Shane said.

Dove rolled her eyes and this earned her a subtle slap to the back by Carol. She didn't need it. She knew better than to start something with the other man. He seemed really unstable and that was coming from someone who had spent hours at a time over the past few days with Daryl Dixon.

~

The human brain was a fascinating thing. Dove didn't want to say anything, but she almost felt excited to be able to see what this virus did to people's heads that made them behave the way they were outside. Her hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee as she followed behind Sophia back to the main room. She heard Jenner begin to talk to the computerized voice, VI, again. She stopped on Carol's other side and only leaned closer to her as Daryl stopped next to her.

"What are all those lights," Shane questioned as the person's brain activity began to play on the screen. Dove felt her jaw drop as she watched the light show on the screen.

"That's someone's whole life. Somewhere in all that organic wiring is you," the doctor turned and pointed at Sophia. "The thing that makes you unique and human." Dove really had to appreciate the doctor's way with words. He made it sound pretty damn beautiful.

"You don't make sense ever," Daryl questioned the man. Dove rolled her eyes but turned her attention to the redneck.

When she spoke, she sounded confident. Like she knew what she was talking about, at least somewhat. "What he means is, inside the brain. All those lights? It your synapses. Automatic reflexes, ability to talk, memories. You know what I mean. Every time a different part of the brain is lighting up, that's something that person is thinking about or doing that makes them who they are." She stopped and turned her attention back to the man in front of the group. "I mean at least that's my understanding of it. I almost failed neuropsych so…"

The doctor chuckled and nodded his head. "Basically, you're right. The only thing you missed is that they are the electrical impulses that carry the messages through your brain." Dove couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of herself as Carol gave her a pat on the back. "Everything a person says or does from the moment of life to the moment of death.”

"Is that what this is? A vigil," Rick stepped forward and Dove felt her heart sink.

When Dove realized what they were about to watch, she tuned out the rest of the world and focused on the screen in front of them. Her fingers clutched at the stone on her necklace as she watched the person's brain go dark. "Is that what happened to Jim," she heard Sophia say. Sophia was always a smart kid. Maybe too smart for her own good.

She couldn't stop the sense of dread that crept in as the brain stem became active on screen.

"The you part doesn't come back. A shell, driven by mindless instinct." Dove jumped slightly as she watched a bullet go through the person's head on the screen. That was it. There was no explanation for what was going on. They really had come all this way for nothing.

"You have no idea what this is do you," Andrea eyed the man.

"It could be microbial, viral," he continued on as Dove ran a hand through her hair and rested her head in her hands.

"Or the wrath of God," Jacqui stated. It was just as likely an option in Dove's eyes.

Dove began to pace back and forth between the rows of computers.

"Man, I'm gonna get shitfaced drunk…again," Daryl shouted as he began to pace.

Dove stopped as she heard something that made her even more hopeless. "VI what happens when the power runs out?"

"When the power runs out," the computer began, "facility-wide decontamination will occur."

Dove just stared at Carol, both of them were seeking an answer the other didn't have. Both just wanted the other to say they weren't going to die down here under the ground without a chance. The two of them led Sophia back to their room as she began to panic. "Listen to me, Sophia. I promised I wasn't going to let anything happen to you and I meant it." Dove pulled her into a tight hug as they entered the room and Carol began to pace.

Suddenly, it went dark for a minute. There was a loud 'what the fuck' from the next room as Sophia shrieked before the lights came back on followed by an announcement about emergency lighting being on. Dove froze in her tracks as she raised up on her tiptoes and held a hand to the vent. "I'll be right back."

Before either of them could protest, Dove had left the room, rounded the corner, and banged on the door she was looking for. Daryl looked angry as he ripped the door open. "What? Can't a man fucking accept death coming by getting shit-faced in fucking peace, bird?"

"No," Dove stated simply as she marched past him into the room. The door got slammed behind her as he rounded on her. "Listen! Just listen! None of us want to die down here. There has to be a way out right?" She turned to look at him.

Daryl scowled as he raised the bottle to his lips, "The hell you askin me for."

Dove threw her arms in the air, "Because maybe you're not a total idiot and actually my usual sounding board is off trying to save our asses in the fucking basement of the CDC!" Her voice raised with every word until it finally cracked. There was another surge of power and the lights went out again. Dove jumped at the sound it made and shrieked.

Daryl finally looked nervous. "What the fuck is going on?"

Then she heard it. Doors opening in the hallway and loud voices. "Why is the air off," a voice spoke up.

"Carol," Dove said quietly as she made her way to the door but Daryl beat her to it.

"What the hell's going on? Why is everything turned off," he called out into the hallway as Dove peeked her head out right after him. She didn't miss the suspicious look that Dale gave her, though. Nosy bastard.

Dove's eyes widened as the doctor swiped the bottle of alcohol from Daryl as he started down the hallway. "Energy use is being prioritized."

"Air and lights aren't a priority," Dale spoke up from the other end of the hall. Dove ran out of the room behind Daryl as he started after the other man.

"Hey man, I'm talking to you," she heard Daryl shout just before she caught up to them on the other side. "What do you mean it's shutting itself down? How can a building do anything?"

Dove reached out a hand behind her as Sophia clutched her hand tightly in a panic. Dove just nodded her head as Rick instructed everyone to go and get their things. They weren't fast enough though, as the doors leading out of the room shut right in front of their eyes.

The doctor was scaring the kids, hell he was scaring everyone as he began to rant about the horrible diseases that they didn't want getting out. Her head was beginning to pound again and it felt like the room was spinning as Sophia clung to her arm. Dove narrowed her eyes at the man as he sat down in the chair. "In event of a power failure or terrorist attack, H.I.T.s are deployed to ensure public safety." He stated as he regained his calm composure.

"H.I.T.s?" Rick questioned.

The computerized voice spoke again, "H.I.T.s. High-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives consist of a two-stage aerosol ignition that produces a blast wave of significantly greater power and duration than any other known explosive except nuclear."

Dove felt Sophia's hand slip away from her as Carol wrapped her arms around her daughter. Dove sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands as the voice continued and Dr. Jenner finished. "It sets the air on fire. No pain. An end to sorrow, grief, and regret. Everything."

Dove shuddered as she tried to hold back tears. It was all turning chaotic. Even Rick. Calm, good cop Rick still tried to hold it together but he couldn't. Dove just watched from her spot on the floor next to Carol as Shane and Daryl tried their hardest to open the door. Carol and both of the kids hadn't stopped crying. Dove wrapped an arm around Carol's shoulders as she looked over at Lori. The older brunette still looked like she was just in shock.

"You should've left well enough alone. It would've been so much easier," Edwin spoke from his chair. Dove felt anger start to bubble in her stomach.

Lori snapped back at him, "Easier for who?"

"All of you, you know what's out there. A short, brutal life and an agonizing death," Jenner sounded like it actually made sense to him.

Dove leaned forward and almost growled at the man. "That still doesn't give you the right to make that choice for anyone you psychotic prick! Like burning us alive in your underground fucking dungeon is any better than what's out there." She had reached her limit with this guy. There was no way he was going to justify the fact that he was going to wipe out whole families right now.

Andrea, on the other hand, seemed just as eerily calm as the doctor did. It scared her. Shane finally ran back down the walkway, "We couldn't make a dent."

"Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher," Jenner explained.

"Well your head ain't," Daryl shouted as he ran full speed down the ramp, axe swung back over his shoulder.

Everyone yelled again as the men all moved to grab him and stop him from killing the doctor.

"What part of everything's gone don't you understand," Andrea spoke up from the ground.

Dove glared daggers at the blonde woman as Sophia started to cry again.

"This is our extinction event."

"Yeah well, last I checked they were still finding things as old as the damn dinosaurs in the ocean, doctor," Dove hissed as she leaned over to comfort Sophia.

"You can't just keep us here," Carol sobbed.

"One tiny millisecond, no pain," Jenner leaned forward. Dove started to see red.

"My daughter doesn't deserve to die like this," Dove watched as her sister buried her face in Sophia's hair and broke down.

"Wouldn't it be kinder? More compassionate to just hold your loved ones," Jenner continued as Dale helped Sophia and Carol to their feet. Dove stayed where she was, despite Carol's attempts to pull her arm. "And wait for the clock to run out?" That was it.

Dove screamed and launched herself at the man. Her fist connected to his face once before a few sets of arms pulled her back. "You fucking prick! Fucking bastard! You wanna die? I'll gladly fucking help you," she shrieked as the arms pulled her back as she kicked her feet and tried to reach his head again. Once she was across the room, she felt herself get set down in a chair. T-Dog and Glenn both stared down at her. She noticed the slight fear in Glenn's eyes, but she didn't care as she sat there. Her fingernails dug into the arms of the chair as she tried to steady her breathing.

"Now you stay there," T snapped at her as he walked off to help with the door. Nothing else sunk in as she watched Shane pull a gun on the doctor now. Her knuckles hurt. It had only been one hit, but she felt like it had been a hard one. Sophia's quiet voice brought her back to her senses.

"I don't wanna die down here," the little girl cried.

Dove sucked in a deep breath before she spoke. "I don't think Rick's gonna let that happen, sweetie." Dove jumped out of her seat and wrapped her arms around her family as Shane started to fire at the computers.

Rick finally spoke up again. "I think you're lying about no hope. If that was true, you would've bolted or taken the easy way out. You didn't leave. Why?"

Jenner stood up, finally really engaged in the pleas of everyone around him. "I had to. I made a promise to her. My wife." Dove squeezed Carol's arm.

"Oh my god," she heard her sister utter from next to her.

"Test subject 19 was your wife," Lori stated.

"She begged me to keep working as long as I could have. How could I say no? She was dying. She ran this place! Hell, I just worked here. She could have done something," Jenner explained as Dove heard the bangs on the door begin again. She pulled away from Carol with a quick nod and ran up the ramp. The young woman stood on her tiptoes and began to feel along the ridge of the door.

"What the hell are you doin," Daryl shouted as he swung the axe further down the door.

"Lookin to see if there's a gap! Even if there's a tiny one, maybe you can slide the axe under there? Get some leverage and pry the son of a bitch open," Dove called over the repeated hits of the axe.

"So what are you talkin for? Keep lookin," Daryl shouted as Dove rolled her eyes. A whoosh sound startled Dove enough to cause her to fall back. The door was open. They were free. A strong grip was on her arm as Daryl had dropped the axe and pulled her to her feet. "C'mon let's go!" He shouted back to everyone.

A sense of relief rushed through the woman as Sophia ran up the ramp and right into her arms. Without a moment of hesitation, Dove picked the girl up as best she could. Carol followed close behind and started down the hallway to wait for everyone. There would be time to hug each other later, but right now they just had to worry about getting out of here alive.

___

@crossbowking​ @momc95​ @chaotic-gary-king-stan​​

[tothemeadow]

I've been a proshipper for awhile now but I don't think I want to be anymore? I'm not an anti either though. Maybe I just need a fresh online start? I know it all comes down to not bullying others, which I would never do but there's so much casual racism in the community and whenever I bring it up I get told it's just fiction. As a poc seeing people with blm in their bio creating media that exists solely on race, whitewashing, or stereotypes feels bad. My friends also screenshot teenagers that say they don't like problematic content (not being violent, just complaining in their circle) and then make a whole thread mocking them and it makes me feel sick. Idc that "that's what antis do", two wrongs don't make a right. Idk, I just feel too old for discourse posting (I'm only 22) and I realized that I want to enjoy my problematic content on my own I guess. Barely any of these issues exist off the internet. I like all the characters I want without judgement AND I can also freely say "fictional 18+ content of a 5 year old is weird" and not get an essay about how I'm trying to commit mass censorship. I don't want to be harassed by people for what I like, but I don't want to be called a cop for saying "maybe writing the N word in this fic as a white person is bad." I ESPECIALLY don't want to be gaslit and told that the people doing it aren't "real" proshippers. Sorry for ranting, I just feel alone on this I guess.

I’m glad you feel comfortable getting this off your chest, and I appreciate your honesty. Perhaps I can provide some comfort ot advice?

First and foremost, ship whoever the fuck you want. As long as it’s legal, go for it. Frankly, I ship characters because there’s nice pieces of art/writings? Also, it’s a fictional character and there’s worse things in the world to worry about?

Anyway, the internet is a shit place. While there’s incredible things out here, people strive for negativity to the point where it isn’t even funny. Since things are “anonymous” or not face-to-face, people act like cowards and target others since they “can’t get in trouble.” In my opinion, people tend to lack maturity when it comes to the internet and it’s disgusting. This is a big reason why I don’t have many social media accounts, and by god it’s one of the best decisions of my life. I’d rather spend my time worrying about my frail grandmother who has Alzheimers rather than argue with some stranger over an issue that neither of us can control.

As for the race issue, I try to keep things neutral as possible in my works. Unless somebody specifically asks for something, that’s how I try to do it. I myself am white, and I know a lot of works cater to lighter skin people. It’s unfair, yes, but there’s nothing I can do personally about the issue. (This is where my POC writers come and serve justice, to kudos to you 👏👏👏)

What I’m trying to say is that the internet is not a good place. While there IS some safe spaces, overall it’s shit. People do get sensitive for the wrong reasons, and it completely blows my mind for their arguments. Maybe I sound like an asshole about this, but I truly do think people are wasting their time and energy on trying to bring others down. If someone randomly left a message in my inbox saying something along the lines of “you suck, fuck off,” like... Who cares? They’re probably gonna be on anon anyway? Whatever I write and post is not affecting your life whatsoever, besides the point of you “not liking it.”

And that’s what it boils down to. If people don’t agree with each other, they tear the other down. And it’s like hey, if you wanna act like a damn monkey, go to a zoo. I understand that people don’t share the same ideology as me, but come on. It’s not hard to not treat others like shit. Then again, common decency is too hard to understand nowadays, at least at a majority level.

I probably sound like I’m preaching or I’m saying I’m better than others. And you know what? That’s okay. Why? Because I respect others, especially online. If I don’t like what I see, I click away rather than target them and try to make them feel like shit. Like what RuPaul said, it is NOT your business what other people think of you. If they don’t like you, who cares? If they don’t like what you’re into, who cares? As far as I’m concerned, it’s your own life and you can do as you please.

I realized I’m rambling, wow. I may have gotten off topic >.> Either way, I’m trying to say is “do what you want.” Granted, I’m not saying you should do illegal shit, but just... enjoy what you want? I don’t think I can convey this through text, and I apologize. Being online means you have to walk on eggshells constantly, and that’s what sucks about it. I mean, aren’t most things out there for our enjoyment? Who decided it would be a good idea to knock that idea and turn communities into such toxic places?

If I could rewrite the world, I would. I personally apologize if my words seem “typical” in any sort of way. I know people tend to write with their familiar with, and maybe of caution? Like, they don’t want to screw something up? I dunno. This is a big rant, yada yada, and I don’t know if it makes sense or even helps. I’ve said numerous times that I want this blog to be an open place, so I thank you for being honest.

[purplesurveys]

811

What do you like to drink in the morning? I’m not really a drinks person and I’m fine having all my meals with just water. I like coffee, but I usually drink it in the afternoon or at night. What color is your favorite hoodie? Don’t have one. My favorite sweater is gray though. Do you have a string of lights in your room? No. I remember wanting those as a teenager but I figured it was such a waste of electricity just to make my room look a little cuter, so that turned me off from the idea lol. Do you know what you are going to do today? Yeah, well today I was going to finally register for a social security number online, but given that I’m from the Philippines and the government only gives their 15% in everything they do, the website is absolute garbage and I can’t get past the first step of the process. Not surprising anymore. Other than that, I don’t have anything else to do. Does your heart hurt? My heart is missing so many people at the moment, but it’s not really hurting.

Who is not in your life that you wish was? I wish that my late maternal grandfather was still alive, if he counts. Who hurt you last? Probably Gabie. She doesn’t have a good hold of her emotions when she’s mad and tends to spit out hurtful things without thinking if it would affect me. I plan to have a talk with her about it once we can see each other again because it’s beginning to suck. Can you see the moon out your window right now? Continuing this survey four hours later, except now I’m tipsy as fuck haaaaaa. I dunno, I probably won’t be able to. It’s been raining all day and evening so I might only see clouds if I look out.

What makes you feel inspired? Seeing other people with insanely good work ethic. Are you mad at a friend right now? Nope, no reason to be. Do you have a friend who hurt you and doesn't care? I mean I’m pretty sensitive, so yeah I’ve had some friends say stuff to me that they probably didn’t think anything of, but hurt me in actuality. Is your room clean? Sure, it’s not too cluttered at the moment or anything like that. Can you see the sunrise from your window? No, it doesn’t happen on my side of the house. If you were a writer, would you have a pen name or use your real name? I’d use my real name. Idk, I’ve always found pen names to be a tad bit confusing. Did you go to Goodwill yesterday? I didn’t, and I don’t, because we don’t have whatever that is here. What is your friend's cat's name? I don’t have friends who have cats.  Do you celebrate your pet's birthdays? Continuing this survey 15 hours later because I was too dizzy to continue typing, lmao. I typically buy him a dog-friendly cupcake from the pet supply store at the mall near my school, and I serve him more food than usual for lunch and dinner. March is a busy month for me with school and stuff, so I haven’t gotten the chance to throw him a party. :( As a kid, did you celebrate your dolls' birthdays? (if you're a girl) I never liked playing with dolls. But no, I didn’t celebrate the ‘birthdays’ of my other toys. None of them lasted that long with me anyway haha. Are you wearing a hoodie right now? Nope. It’s chilly right now, but it’s not wear-a-hoodie cold. Did you ignore the last facebook post that bothered you, or did you comment? I had to ignore it because it was from my grand-aunt, and old people like to throw fits when you call them out so it was going to be a waste of my time if I commented. Do you need to go to the pharmacy today? No, no need for meds anymore yaaaaaay. Are you realizing that one of your friends isn't a real friend? Not at the moment. I’m happy with the circle I currently have. What was the name of one of your stuffed animals as a kid? I didn’t like stuffed animals either. This is more of my sister’s turf. Do you have a car? If so, did you give it a name? I do have a car but I’ve never given it a name. With my dad having plans to sell it soon, I’d rather it stay nameless for the remaining time it has with me so that I don’t get any more attached to it. If you were a famous singer, what would you want your hit song to be about? I’d want it to have an important message so I’ll probably write something about the bullshit that the government keeps pulling on us.

Did you skip church last week? No, unfortunately my mom makes us watch YouTube recordings of masses from a certain church. I usually hold up one of our couch pillows so that I don’t have to see the TV screen, but nevertheless I’m part of the audience and 30-45 minutes of my time are always wasted every Sunday. Do you have any big regrets? Just one big one. If you had to re-design an alien, instead of making them green with slanty-eyes and an egg-shaped head, what would you make it look like? I’m not creative enough for this question, so pass Do you have anyone who loves you, besides God? Do you have anyone who cares about you, besides God? Do you have anyone who you can go to for support? Yes, there’s a number of people I can think of. Do you normally write in cursive or print? Print, I write faster that way. Does your heart ache for something? Right now I’m kinda wanting pizza actually lol. Do you fit the millennial stereotype? I’m not even a millennial, dude. Would you want your first child to be a boy or a girl? Girl. I don’t want sons. If you were to write an article for a magazine, what would it be about? I’m in the mood to write an opinion piece about, again, the government. Do you have a blog? I have this Tumblr but it’s really more of a journal than anything else, so no, I wouldn’t say that I have an active blog. I did have several classes where our projects required us to make blogs and I never deleted those, so those blogs are still up albeit untouched for years now. If you were to start a blog, what would your first post be about? I can see myself starting a food review blog where I journal all the restaurants I dine in. Do you think you are good at writing poetry? I absolutely suck at it and hate when I’m required to make poems. Have you ever tried a science experiment that didn't work? I don’t think so. Have you ever had a teacher who looked like an alien? I dunno what an alien is supposed to look like but I also haven’t had a teacher who I thought looked weird. Do you take gummy vitamins? Not since I was 14 or 15. Are your feet wide? No. At least I don’t think they are lol. If you could do research right now for an essay, what topic would you choose to right about? Welp today is our Independence Day, so keeping in line with the timing it’d be nice to do a paper on something about Philippine history. What are your strongest attribute? Personally, I like the fact that I’m detail-oriented. That trait has been responsible for presentable Powerpoints, has saved otherwise careless co-workers, and has made sure that all research, written articles, etc. are free from critical errors, be it in data or grammar. Have you ever been tempted to commit a crime? Of course. I think we’ve all been tempted to do something like that at least once. Have you ever started writing a suicide letter? I’ve written a couple ones throughout the years. ...and then realized you wanted to live? No. Do you know anyone who had to evacuate for the latest hurricane? Not the last typhoon, no. But my friends in Marikina have had to evacuate for past calamities many times because they live right beside a river, and one that easily overflows at that. Do you write letters to friends? Only for special occasions, like for Christmas, retreats, if they were graduating, etc. Do you like to write letters? I do but it can get so tiring, especially because I prefer handwriting my letters. I used to write 40+ handwritten letters, one for each of my classmates, every year when we would go on retreat. The practice was super tiring though so now I typically just write letters for Gab. As a kid, did you find diagramming sentences fun? The what sentences??? I’ve no clue what you’re talking about. Whatever those are, I’m positive we never did that in school. What is your dream? Money. Where would you travel if you could? I’d go absolutely everywhere, but I’d start by finishing off Asia first. When it comes to traveling, I’ve always imagined myself taking my sweet time going local first before venturing out to farther countries. That being said, I’d love to go to Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Brunei. Do you feel all alone in the world? No. Do you own a piece of jewelry with an owl on it? Haaaaaaaaa, no. That’s such a Tumblr-in-2010 trademark. I did have owl stuff before, though. If you have a class ring, what color is the stone? Not a thing here. Does looking at the starry sky make you feel peaceful? It does. But if I’m really hellbent on feeling peaceful, I’d rather look at either a skyline at night OR into the sea during the day. Do you have a pen pal? If not, would you ever want to have one? No and no. Like I said, I’m pretty much retired from handwritten letters after writing 40+ of them every single year for around a decade lol. Do you drink hot chocolate? Only La Creperie’s San Gines hot chocolate. Sometimes I’ll drink hot chocolate at hotels too. Do you like apple cider hot or cold? I don’t drink that. Are you hurt by something a friend did to you recently? No, none of them have done or said something hurtful to me lately. Are you under 30? Yeup. Have you made a "30 Things to Do Before I'm 30" list? No. I don’t like keeping myself under a deadline. Do you paint rocks and hide them in your town? I’ve never done that before. Do you have a secret crush? Nope, am very vocal about my crush heh. What was the name of your first crush? Andi. Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? Yes, groan. Do you like parodies? Not always. Some of them can be a little too cheesy for my liking. Are you a Taylor Swift fan? Not a chance. Have you ever kissed a picture? I probably have. Do you use window clings (stickers for your window)? No. Do you decorate for fall? We don’t have fall. What do you want to be for Halloween this year? Not really sure yet...I don’t even know if we’re getting Halloween this year. Has suicide crossed your mind a lot lately? [trigger warning] Not these days, and I’m really thankful for that. I’ve self-harmed twice during the course of the quarantine and while that’s disappointing at least I haven’t thought about being dead, and that’s what matters to me. Do you have supernatural abilities? ............No. Do you get enough hugs? Definitely not these days. I haven’t been hugged since March. I think I might cry when I get my first one. What labels do people try to put on you? I don’t know. You’d have to ask others because this isn’t the sort of thing people say to your face lol. Who do YOU (or rather, who does God) say you are? Are you happy? I’m not happy with the Jesus questions on here lmao but kidding aside, I wouldn’t say that I 100% am. I just feel like I’ve only been floating or existing recently, but not fully happy. Have you asked yourself recently, Why am I here? I hate questions like that, so no. What family member did you get your hair color from? Everyone of them. Filipinos have the same features. Have you ever found a secret compartment? No. If you designed a house, would you give it a secret room? I’ve seen some interesting ones on the internet that make me want a secret room of my own, but I think it’ll stay as a fantasy. Do you read horror stories? When I come across them, sure. I don’t actively look for them though. Do you ever comfort eat? Yeah, I did it a lot before quarantine. Yabu’s a great example of me comfort eating haha. Does stretching feel good? Yesssss. Do you have your wedding planned in your head already? I have scenarios that play in my head but I don’t have the specifics – color scheme, flowers, centerpieces, location, etc – mapped out yet. Would you ever adopt a child? Not my first choice. Are you ok today? I’d say so, yeah. It’s not hot today so that’s already good enough of a day for me lmao. Was the last book you read good? It was okay. It holds a great life story with okay writing. Wrestlers write autobiographies ALL THE TIME which means that not all of them will be a home run, and AJ’s was neither earth-shattering nor bad. I definitely didn’t appreciate the unintended-but-casual sexism/misogyny in it or the extreme hyperboles, but it’s AJ and I love her work nonetheless.

[lovixcore]

comfort (amedot fic)

One-Shot

Summary: Peridot and Amethyst talk about Rose and Pink Diamond being the same person.

Notes: This does take place between 'The Question' and 'Made of Honor' as Amethyst does tell Peridot that Ruby and Sapphire are getting married.

Word Count: 2849 words

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673845

Amethyst barged into the bathroom, something that Peridot was quite used to since she did it somewhat frequently. It didn’t really annoy her because for some reason, a reason Peridot did not know, it made Peridot smile every single time she did it. “Hey Pier!” Amethyst smiled at the smaller gem, slowly but gently shutting the bathroom door. She then walked over, and climbed into the bathtub, sitting down next to Peridot, who was holding Pumpkin in her arms.

In response to Amethyst’s new nickname for her, Peridot raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes. “Pier?” She questioned the quartz, the tone of her voice laced with confusion.

“Yup! It’s m’a new nickname for ya,” Amethyst chatted, as she looked at Peridot with a radiant smile across her face. She then wrapped one of her arms around the green gem, and brought her closer, “Like it?”

“Of course I do.”

Amethyst giggled and ruffled the green gem's hair, "Good." A silence befell the two of them, as an attempt to save the conversation, Amethyst awkwardly started again, "...So, I haven't seen ya in like a day or two.. or something like that," Amethyst pointed out, the tone of her voice starting to change from a bright and happy tone of voice to concern, as she released Peridot from her hold. She tilted her head, "...You okay?"

“Oh. Um, yes, I am doing okay. Though I did hear the ruckus out there, and I figured, that, it would be best for me to stay out of it,” She explained to the quartz, who was rather concerned about her. Amethyst always made sure she was okay, and comforted her when she wasn’t, and for that, she was forever grateful to have Amethyst as a friend.

“Oh, yeah..,” Amethyst said, looking away from Peridot. She now sounded unusually quiet and distant. “That.”

“If you, um, do not mind me asking.. May I ask what was it?” Peridot asked, as she was now curious about what had happened earlier, but hoping she hadn’t upset Amethyst by bringing it up.

“Yeah, you’re fine dude, don’t worry about it. So, basically, we all found out that Rose and Pink Diamond were the same person. Like, she faked her identity and lied to everyone about it. Right? So, that got Garnet to split up, then Sapphire freaked out, and hurt Ruby’s feelings by basically saying their whole relationship was, y’know, based on a lie, and then Sapphire ran off. Then Ruby ran off, Sapphire came back, and after Ruby thought about it, she still wanted to be with Sapphire, so they reunited, and Ruby proposed to Sapphire, so now they’re getting married, I guess. I hope that doesn’t confuse you or anything, I’m.. not really the best at explaining stuff. Y’know?”

“What..?” Peridot asked, now completely shocked and a little mind blown at the information Amethyst had just given her. She now stared at the quartz, wide-eyed, as she was trying to comprehend what Amethyst had just told her. Rose Quartz, THE Rose Quartz, is Pink Diamond? Garnet almost split up for good? Ruby and Sapphire are getting married? Whatever that meant. What?

“Yeah..,” Amethyst sighed, with an unreadable look on her face and the tone of her voice sounding rather upset. She then crossed her arms and tilted her head upwards, managing to avoid making eye contact with Peridot, again.

“...Married?” Peridot questioned her, tilting her head as she gave Amethyst a confused look. She did not really what the concept of marriage was. No one ever bothered to explain it to her and it never really mattered whether she knew or not because why would it?

“Oh, right, I forgot. You don’t really know what marriage is,” Amethyst remembered as it had just dawned on her. She then looked back at Peridot, “Soo, to put it into nerd terms, it basically like ‘the state of being united as spouses in a consensual relationship that is recognized by the law’ or whatever.”

“Oh uh okay. So, will there be an event held for this occasion?”

“It’s a called a wedding, ya dork,” Amethyst responded in a now playful tone of voice, half-smiling at the technician that sat next to her. “Gee Peri, I thought your soap opera show or your tablet woulda taught ya this stuff by now.”

“Well, clearly neither of them did. Why would they?” Peridot quipped, slightly irritated with Amethyst’s sarcastic comments. She then crossed her arms, and shot Amethyst a small glare in response. Frankly, it wasn’t Amethyst that was irritating her, it was just her bringing up Camp Pining Hearts to tease her that irritated her, as she was rather sensitive to the topic at the moment. It then went quiet for about a minute or two. Peridot finally broke the silence between them by saying, “I have heard about Pink Diamond before. Though no one really mentioned her other then the fact that she was shattered by the Rose Quartz.”

Amethyst then again went back to avoiding making eye contact with Peridot, and crossing her arms, “Yeah… turns out that wasn’t true..”

“So… Steven now has Pink Diamond’s gem?” Peridot asked her.

“Yep…,” Amethyst answered, the tone of her voice growing remote. Detached. “Heh. I mean, it sucks, but, she did it for a reason.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out, Amethyst. Her faking her shattering, and then to continue to lie to everyone about it resulted in thousands of gems being shattered, forced gem fusions, corruption, the earth becoming a huge target for Homeworld, era 2 being a total disaster so far, possibly the current resource crisis on Homeworld, and so much more I can’t list off the top of my gem right now,” Peridot explained to her, making hand gestures as she listed how Pink Diamond faking her shattering negatively impacted both Homeworld and the Earth.

“Oh yeah.. That too..”

“So, how are you feeling, Amethyst?” She asked the purple quartz, who had been acting rather off over the past few minutes, as she had now suddenly realized that Amethyst was deeply hurt by the revelation, and she probably needed someone to be there for her and comfort her right now.

“Fine… I guess.. Just.. At first, I was shocked because, y’know, Rose is actually Pink Diamond… but now it just really hit me..,” Amethyst mumbled under her breath, the tone of her voice changing from distant to pained. “That everything was.. Fake.”

“Well, technically, not everything was fake. Although she faked her personal identity, her intentions, relationships, and everything else was not,” Peridot tried to explain to her, hoping that what she was saying was at least somewhat comforting Amethyst.

“I guess…,” Amethyst sighed, the tone of her voice not changing whatsoever. She was now resting her head on the palm of her hand. “It’s just, I dunno, weird.. Y’know? Like, for the past 5000 years, I’ve known her as Rose Quartz, former leader and one of the founders of the Crystal Gems, someone I looked up to, but I guess this whole time.. We were fighting what she was apart of. What am I supposed to think of her now, Peridot?”

Peridot flinched at Amethyst calling her by her whole name. She was surprised because she wasn’t really used to it, and it was the way that Amethyst had said it. “Well, it is perfectly understandable to be conflicted about your thoughts and feelings on Rose Quartz now. So, why did she take on the identity of the Rose Quartz?” Peridot asked her, as she seemed genuinely curious about the whole thing. All of it was so interesting to her, and she just wondered why Pink Diamond would even think of such a thing.

“I dunno, I guess she just wanted to have fun at first, and then I guess she fell in love with the Earth, and then in order to preserve the planet, she became Rose Quartz permanently and faked her shattering,” Amethyst shrugged, trying her best to explain to the rather curious technician. “Sort of reminds me of you.”

“How so?”

“Y’know. Fell in love with the Earth. Tried to preserve it.”

“Well, I didn’t fake my personal identity in order to preserve it, thank you very much,” Peridot gave her a lighthearted smile, as she spoke in a playful tone of voice. “And while, yes, I am in fact entranced by Earth’s beauty, that really isn’t the only reason why I am a crystal gem now.”

“Okay smart stuff, tell me, what are your other reasons?” Amethyst questioned her, in an almost flirtatious tone of voice. She gave her a smirk that came off as playful, challenging, her eyes now half-lidded, wrapping one of her arms around Peridot's shoulder, again.

“Well, for one, the human activities being one reason, another being how prejudiced, bigoted, rigid, unfair, and rigorous the diamonds are. And, the final being so I could be here with you, Pumpkin, and the others,”She responded. Her voice went soft at the end of her list for reasons as to why she was a crystal gem.

Singling out Amethyst got her to blush, in response, saying, “I like hanging out with ya too, Peri.” And now Peridot was blushing, as she felt her cheeks burning. “Ugh.., I know all of the drama and all is over now.. But.. I guess… it just really hurts.” Peridot’s eyes widened at the surprise of Amethyst’s walls finally breaking down. “Even though I didn’t know her for as long as Garnet and Pearl did, and even though none of this is my problem or yours or Steven’s, and even though this really shouldn’t affect me, I guess, it just hurts, because, y’know, I was lied to. I thought she was so great and amazing, and that she knew everything, and that she was supposed to make everything better! Cause hey, I practically thought she was perfect! But, she didn’t. She didn't make everything better..because she ended up being the reason for so many shitty things happening… And I don’t really even blame Garnet for being upset, or even questioning why she’s together in the first place if Rose wasn’t even real.”

And at that moment, Peridot had noticed a few tears strolling down the emotionally distressed gem’s face. Her eyes widened, now unsure what to do. She had never seen Amethyst this upset, except for when she kept comparing herself to Jasper. And it hurt Peridot seeing Amethyst like that, it hurt her seeing Amethyst so upset, it hurt her seeing the gem who she cared about deeply and the gem she would do anything for crying. “...Amethyst?” She asked, the tone of her voice being filled with concerned.

Amethyst quickly buried her face into her hands, to make sure Peridot couldn’t see her crying, as it was rather embarrassing for her. “I’m fine.. Peridot,” Amethyst lied in a muffled tone of voice that wasn’t so convincing.”

Amethyst then quickly buried her face into the palm of her hands, to make sure that Peridot couldn’t see her crying, as it was rather embarrassing for her. She didn’t want Peridot to see her like this, she didn’t want to make Peridot feel bad over how she felt. “I’m fine.. Peridot,” Amethyst lied through her teeth, in a muffled tone of voice that wasn’t so convincing to Peridot.

“You’re clearly not..”

“I am.. Okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Amethyst then slowly lifted her face from her hands, turning around so she could directly face Peridot. There were tears running down the side of her face, as she gave Peridot a pained and saddened look. Peridot scooted closer to her, wiping the tears off of her face, and then absentmindedly cupping her cheeking. Amethyst jumped, her cheeks turning into a darker shade of purple, rather surprised Peridot being bold enough to cup her cheek, but then sighed into the touch. “I just.. I don’t want to make this about myself. Okay? I didn’t know her for as long as Garnet and Pearl did. I didn’t know her like they did. And I don’t have her gem like Steven does. I don’t have to deal with the mess she created like he does.”

Peridot then brushed Amethyst’s bangs aside, continuing to comfort the quartz by saying, “But, you’re not making this about yourself, Amethyst. It’s okay for you to feel hurt by this, it’s okay to feel sad about it. It’s perfectly understandable, you were very close to her too.”

Amethyst then gave her the most tender look, gently putting her hand on Peridot’s hand, the hand that was cupping her cheek. This Peridot to slightly smile and give her a lopsided smile in response. Amethyst’s smile then faded, and she was now avoiding making eye-contact again, “Sorry for dumping all of this on you P-dot.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it too much, because you’re not. And, even if you are, I-I like being there for you, and getting to make you feel better,” Peridot stammered, suddenly kind of nervous, as she didn’t want to make Amethyst feel like she was being a burden or like she was bothering her, because she wasn’t.

“Pft, okay. Thanks for letting me vent to ya, Per,” Amethyst snorted, a warm and radiant smile now returning to her face. “So, lemme ask you this, when’da ya get so good at this comforting stuff?”

“To be perfectly honest with you, I guess I got it from being around you and the others,” She shrugged in response, not really actually knowing. She wasn’t the best at comforting Amethyst the time when she was upset about Jasper. She tried her best, but it didn’t really help. Maybe she got better from dealing with Lapis for awhile and having to comfort her when she was upset. Maybe she got better from staying with the gems again, and seeing how they comfort others when they’re upset. She really didn’t know.

“Eh probably,” She said as she smiled lovingly at the technician, then wrapping one of her arms around her shoulder again. “So, was the ruckus and the drama the only reason you hid in here?”

“No, not really, actually. I’ve just been thinking as I have had a lot on my mind recently,” Peridot truthfully answered, the smile on her face turning into a frown, looking at Amethyst with a sad but almost shy look in her eyes. There was no point in lying to Amethyst. Why would she?

“Like what exactly?” Amethyst asked out of curiosity. The smile on her face then faded, as it was now her turn to let Peridot vent and make her feel better.

“I.. miss her. And a part of me wishes that she could be here so I could show her how far my metal powers have progressed, how much I’ve grown, and I wish that she could be here for the wedding,” Peridot as she vented to Amethyst. This got the look on Amethyst’s face to change from concern to dismay. She really didn’t mean to give Peridot this look. But she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t even upset or annoyed with Peridot for bringing Lapis up again or still missing her. She couldn’t be. Amethyst understood why she did, she understood that Peridot cared a lot about Lapis and wanted the best for her and wanted to help her. She was rather upset and annoyed with Lapis for hurting Peridot the way she did. “But, I can’t keep on missing her like that, she held me back, and missing her like this is holding me back now. I am now doing things that I would have never been able to do if she was still here, on Earth. And I had to bend over backwards for her just to make her happy, and frankly, that was not healthy for me, at all. Besides, I have you guys now, and truthfully, I love hanging out with you and getting to do things together like gardening and improv.”

Amethyst gave Peridot one of the softest smiles she had ever given her, “Well, I’m really proud of you for realizing that, Per. And I’m glad you’re talking to me about this stuff.” She then got up and took a step out of the tub. “Well, I’m gonna go see what’s going on out there. You wanna come with?” She held a hand out to Peridot as an offer to help her up.

In response, Peridot smiled back at her, lovingly and softly, taking her offer by grabbing her hand, “Yes. Thank you.” Amethyst then carefully and gently helped her up and out of the tub.

“Per?”

“Yeah?”

Peridot felt two bigger arms wrapped around her back. Amethyst then pulled her in and rested her head on Peridot’s shoulder, softly but quietly saying “Thank you..” into her ear.

The color of Peridot’s cheeks then turned into a light blue, as she said back “You’re welcome” in a soft and adoring tone of voice, embracing the hold by wrapping her arms around Amethyst.

[darks-ink]

Disinterred CH.9

Chapter 9: But Now I Tell A Single Truth

“I really am sorry,” he reiterated, moving slightly closer to her, as if he wanted to console her. “For all it matters, I really do appreciate you coming to me to talk, instead of, I dunno. Trying to shoot the information out of me.”

(click here for author notes/previous chapters/fic summary/content warnings/mirror links to AO3 and FFnet)

It was a stupid idea. A profoundly, incredibly, unbelievably stupid idea.

But Valerie had always been a little too reckless. A little too quick to act. It was one of those traits that made her a good ghost hunter, to be able to act quickly and without hesitation.

Nevertheless, going out looking for Phantom was a stupid idea. Sure, the ghost always insisted that he was a good ghost, that he didn’t want to fight her. And the whole situation with the body that the police found in the woods was just too bizarre, had caught her attention even before the rumors that had captivated Casper High.

But, even if it likely involved ghosts, and even if Phantom knew anything about it… How likely was it that the ghost would talk to her about it?

Hell, the ghost only ever seemed to show up to fight other ghosts, and usually fled the moment he saw her. How was she even going to talk with him in the first place? Let alone bring up sketchy topics like this one? She could just imagine flying up to him while he was distracted, approaching him before going “hey, you know anything about that dead body in the woods?” Nah, he would probably just think that she was blaming him.

Which, to be fair, she probably would’ve. She still wasn’t sure about Phantom, about his goals and methods. But it seemed that the body predated Phantom’s stay in the city, and while he could have killed that person before anyone had ever seen him… It didn’t seem like his MO.

Besides, if Phantom was secretly a killer, well. He probably would’ve killed more people since then, no? Especially now, while the majority of Amity celebrated him as a hero who can do no wrong. Hell, he could probably blame it on another ghost and most people would believe him.

So no, Valerie didn’t think Phantom was responsible for this. But still, it likely involved ghosts, so Phantom might know more. At the very least, he might’ve gotten curious and spied on the police. He certainly could’ve done so more easily than Valerie, thanks to his innate ability to turn invisible.

Which had led to her current plan of finding Phantom and talking with him. Which was more easily said than done. Really, she should’ve realized so sooner, but, well. She wasn’t always the best at planning ahead.

Finally, however, a stroke of good luck happened upon her. Her ghostly scanner went off, alerting her to a fairly weak ghost nearby. And then, almost immediately, a second ghost appeared right next to the first. Valerie had already turned her hoverboard into the right direction before she checked the signatures of the ghosts. Her scanner told her what she had already expected: the Box Ghost and Phantom.

She sped over there, making it just in time to see Phantom cap his thermos and hook it on his belt. She forcibly relaxed her posture, to make herself look less threatening. And then she called over to him.

“Hey, Phantom!”

The ghost started, whirling around faster than humanly possible. When he saw her, he tensed up. Against her expectations, however, he made no move to leave. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Hey Red… No weapons today?”

“Nah,” she answered, leaning back a little in the hopes of looking casual. If he saw her nerves and struck… Well, her new suit might respond to her thoughts, but summoning a weapon still takes time. “Actually, I was hoping that we could… talk?”

“Huh?” was his eloquent response, as Phantom dropped his tense posture again. His eyes had gone big, mouth hanging open slightly. Really, a picture-perfect depiction of bafflement. “Really? After 2 years of non-stop hunting, you want to talk? About what, exactly?”

“About that corpse the police found in the woods. I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with ghosts, which means that you probably know more about it, no?”

Phantom tensed up again, slightly. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes guarded. Uh oh, looks like she messed up somehow. Did he think she was blaming him?

“And you’re what, blaming me?” Yep, he definitely thought she was blaming him.

“No,” she said, voice straining as she tried to keep herself from snapping at him. “But you do know a lot about ghosts. More than me, at least, and probably more than the Fentons.”

“Oh,” was all he offered in return. His glare had softened slightly, more calculative and thoughtful now. “I guess you have a good point there. And you’re right.”

“About?” She was right! Her hunch was correct! She wasn’t quite sure what about, yet, but she would find out. For now, she would take this win.

“Well, about both of those things, I guess.” Phantom shrugged at her. “I do know more about ghosts than anyone else in this town. But I meant that you were right about suspecting a ghostly element.”

Valerie grinned, not that Phantom could see it while she was wearing her helmet. This whole thing was going way better than planned! “So, was a ghost responsible?”

“Uh, well,” Phantom spluttered, before snapping his mouth shut. He shifted around a little, and Valerie tensed up, expecting him to suddenly shoot off.

But then Phantom settled down again, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I kinda… can’t tell you?”

“What?” Valerie snapped. Was this ghost for real? “Why not?”

“I, uh. I told the police everything I knew about the situation, helped them out a little, you know? So I’m not allowed to talk about the uh, the whole thing.” He was still rubbing the back of his neck, a green blush creeping up. Oh lord, he was serious about this? Must be, because you can’t fake embarrassment like that, not even as a ghost.

“So… there’s nothing you can tell me?” She fought to keep the longing out of her voice, but couldn’t stop the frustration from seeping through instead. She was so close!

“No. Sorry, Red.” And he looked genuinely sorry, damn him! He dropped the hand again, giving her a sheepish smile instead. Unbelievable! The bastard always found a way to make her life hell, without even trying!

But she couldn’t deny that he had a point, if he wasn’t lying about this. And he didn’t seem to be, despite ghosts being prone to doing so.

So she sighed. “That’s fine, I guess. Can’t be helped.”

“I really am sorry,” he reiterated, moving slightly closer to her, as if he wanted to console her. “For all it matters, I really do appreciate you coming to me to talk, instead of, I dunno. Trying to shoot the information out of me.”

“For all the good it did me,” she grumbled, but she had to admit, Phantom had a point. It had been pretty nice to just… talk with him. And he really was right, he likely knew more about ghosts than she did. Knowledge she could use to hunt other ghosts, more dangerous ghosts.

But he was still a random element, a potential danger just lurking around. She couldn’t trust him.

“I’ll see you around, Phantom. Don’t cause any trouble.” She pointed at her eyes and then him, a movement clearly recognizable as the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, despite the fact that she was wearing a helmet. And then she turned around and flew off.

So, she hadn’t learned everything that she had hoped to. But now she did know that ghosts were involved. And that, in turn, gave the rumors of Casper High just that bit of proof that they needed.

She didn’t want the rumors to be true, of course. Danny Fenton was a sweet boy. Hell, she had even dated him for a while!

But the rumors weren’t based on nothing. There was already a surprising amount of proof gathered, and, well. Valerie had the means of confirming the rumor. No matter how little she wanted it to be true.

And sure, there were things that didn’t make sense about it. After all, Danny’s parents were ghost hunters! Surely they couldn’t have a ghost for a son?

But, well. The Fentons aren’t great ghost hunters, at all. So she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they had a ghost living under their roof without ever knowing.

So, no, there was nothing concrete to strike the rumor down. Nothing to prove it wrong. So Valerie had to figure it out herself. Find the evidence she needed.

Now she just had to wait until the right moment to strike.

And, that Monday, Valerie saw the opportunity she was waiting for. It was lunch, the hallways were deserted, and she had just returned from a ghost fight. She wasn’t expecting to run into anybody, let alone the guy that she was hoping to talk to.

But there he was, alone in the hallways. Danny Fenton, for once without Sam or Tucker by his side.

It was not only the perfect opportunity, but one that she wouldn’t get again. Sure, she wasn’t sure why Danny was alone in the corridors of the school, without his friends by his side, but it didn’t matter. She had more important questions to answer.

She pulled out a ghost scanner, an old one from her first suit. It might not be quite as good as her current one, but it wasn’t recognizable as belonging to the Red Huntress. And, while it might not be able to read ecto-signatures, she just needed to tell if Danny was a ghost or not.

Twisting the dial to the highest sensitivity, she saw a dot light up on the display. Located right where Danny was standing.

She straightened out her posture, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to make her look more confident than she felt. And then she stepped forward, approaching the boy she liked. The one person she still considered a close friend.

The boy that had probably been a ghost the whole time.

“Hey, Danny!”

The boy in question jerked, visibly startled by the sudden call. With a loud thump the backpack in his hands dropped to the floor, a metallic clang emitting from it.

When he turned around and saw Valerie, he relaxed again, a relieved grin on his face. “Oh, hey Val. Wasn’t, uh, expecting to see anyone here.”

“Yeah, same,” she admitted. The ghost scanner was pressed against her leg, its display hidden from the boy in front of her. “Kinda convenient, though. I kinda… needed to talk to you.”

“Oh?” God, he looked so innocent, with those big blue eyes. Even if he was a ghost, and he probably was, she couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. “What about?”

Uh oh, she hadn’t thought of a good way to bring up this topic… Dammit, Valerie, she cursed herself, should’ve thought ahead for once. When will you learn?

“It’s… about those rumors going around.”

“Oh, those,” he grumbled, as he crouched to pick up his backpack. “Surely you don’t believe stupid rumors like that? I mean, can you imagine that? Me, a ghost?” He barked out a laugh, sharp and cutting.

Valerie hummed in response. “Kinda do, actually.”

Danny stiffened, still crouched. Then he turned to look at her, a frown on his face. “Really? Why?”

“Well,” she started, as she turned the ghost scanner in her hand so that Danny could see its display. “This is kinda convincing.”

The boy grabbed it out of her hand, and she let him. Danny looked it over for a moment. Then he sighed, shoulders drooping. “Guess I should’ve known that you would figure it out.”

“So… You are?” She paused, before speaking again. “A ghost, I mean?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, finally standing up again, backpack in his hands. “Since the start of freshman year.”

She knew already, of course. But to hear him admitting it… It made it more real, somehow. And it didn’t help that this was someone she knew.

Because, sure, ghosts are dead people. Everyone knows that. But you don’t really think about it, not as a ghost hunter. Then they’re just enemies, powerful beings from a different dimension.

Not this kid that you’ve known for years. Who still lives with his parents. Who went out of his way to befriend you, after you lost your old ‘friends’.

“So, now what?” Danny asked, and Valerie snapped back to reality.

“What do you mean?” she asked, eloquently. Smooth, Valerie, she chided herself.

Danny rolled his eyes, swinging his backpack around so it hung off of his shoulder. “What comes now? What are you going to do next?” He offered her the ghost scanner.

Valerie frowned at him, taking the gadget back. “You mean… because of our friendship? You’re worried that I won’t be friends anymore?”

He snorted. “Honestly, Val, you ending our friendship is one of the least scary things you could do to me.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, before her thoughts ground to a halt. Wait a minute, what did he mean by that? Because, sure, he was right. As a ghost hunter, she was always carrying around ghost hunting equipment, including weapons.

But he didn’t know that, did he?

He must’ve correctly read her expression, because he shrugged and offered her a sheepish grin. “Yes, I know about your ghost hunting. Have known pretty much from the start.”

“What- How?” she bit out. Her suit started buzzing in the back of her head, ready to form to protect her.

Danny, however, simply raised his hand and started rubbing the back of his neck. God, how could he still look so innocent? “You kinda ran into me and Sam in the park, when you first started. We recognized your voice.”

He was right. She remembered that. She had encountered Phantom in the park, playing with that stupid dog of his. She had chased him, but he had thrown her off, and instead she came across Danny and Sam kissing in the bushes. She couldn’t remember what, exactly, she had said to them. But she knew for a fact that she had spoken to them.

God dammit, how was she this much of an idiot? Spoiling her secret identity so easily, and not even knowing about it? Because if Danny and Sam both knew, then surely Tucker did as well.

She grunted, angrily, resisting the urge to punch the wall she was standing next to.

A cold hand landed on her shoulder, and instinct drove her to swing a punch into its direction.

Danny flinched back, but her fist swung clean through him. The feeling was bizarre, but one she recognized.

He had turned intangible. Like a ghost.

Because he was a ghost. God dammit, more proof she didn’t need. Didn’t want.

“Hey, calm down. Please?” Danny had his hands raised, as if trying to calm down a wild animal. The thought was kinda ironic to Valerie, that the ‘dangerous’ ghost was trying to calm down the ghost hunter.

She chuckled at the thought, and Danny offered her a hesitant grin in return.

“Sorry,” she finally managed, loosely folding her arms over each other. “I kinda… freaked out on you, didn’t I?”

“Eh,” he simply answered, shrugging. “That’s okay. Totally to be expected, considered the circumstances.” Then he looked her over, a somewhat guilty glint in his eyes. “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I think so. I just… I tried so hard to keep it secret, y’know? And now I find out that you’ve know this whole time. You, and Sam and Tucker… And who knows who else too?”

“Ah.” He grimaced. “I know how much that sucks, yeah. But, if it makes you feel any better, we haven’t told anybody. Sam, Tucker, and I, that is. And I don’t think anybody else knows.” He winked at her. “They’re not too great at discovering really obvious secrets around here.”

She snorted, allowing herself to calm down. He was right. If the people of Amity Park couldn’t figure out that Danny was a ghost, then surely they didn’t know that she was the Red Huntress.

And as for Danny… Well, he might be a ghost, but he didn’t seem to be an evil one. Despite everyone always saying that every ghost was evil… She just couldn’t imagine it from Danny.

And yes, sure, he lied. To her, and to everybody else. But he kept her secret too, without her even knowing about it. Hell, he had even dated her, despite knowing that she was a ghost hunter.

No, Danny hadn’t done anything wrong. As overwhelming as this all was, as much as she needed time to process everything… She knew that much, at least.

“Danny...” she started, before trailing off. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Danny, thanks for telling me. I- It must’ve been hard to tell me.”

He made a face, but nodded. “Yeah, kinda. Which is why I put it off until I couldn’t deny it anymore.”

She hummed her agreement. “I’m… gonna need time to- to process this. To work through it.” He flinched, and she quickly added, “But I’m not upset! It’s just… a little much, you know?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I get it. I’ll leave you alone so you can think.” He turned around to walk away, but then stopped. He looked at her again. “But, Valerie. If you ever need to talk, or something… You know where to find me, yeah?”

And then he trotted off, and Valerie was left in the hallway alone with her thoughts.

[janiedean]

www(.)slate(.)com/articles/arts/culturebox/2017/02/how_sensitivity_readers_from_minority_groups_are_changing_the_book_publishing(.)html This seriously worries me. Tumblr mentality spilling over real life

... yey.

okay, no rewind. first thing, I’m sad to say but tumblr mentality has spilled over irl a long time ago and at this point the only thing we can do is hoping this historical moment passes a long time ago (it had already spilled over the moment I had to read actual articles about people actually asking to remove Ovid from a ***classic literature*** curricula because there are rape scenes in the metamorphoses). whatever.

now about this, the problem is: I do think that if someone writes about X character that belongs to a minority they should do their research before touching the topic if they care to write a good book (if they don’t then it’s another problem entirely but let’s just assume they do), but it has to be a thing you do before you actually write that shit. I absolutely don’t agree with write what you know only because otherwise we wouldn’t be publishing a damned thing and honestly some people also write so that they don’t have to always rehash what they know, but if you’re doing a socially sensitive theme you have to try and do it right - if I decide I write a book with a trans character I can’t do it before I talk to a sizable amount of trans people and I don’t read more than a bit on the subject, same as if I decide to write a book set during idk the vietnam war where the protagonist is a ptsd vietnam veteran I can’t do it if I haven’t read a ton of lit/history books about the vietnam war and talked with a few psychologists or psych students or read something about ptsd. but that’s a thing that’s your duty as the author, if you want to do a serious book about a serious thing. if you just want to dick around it’s another problem entirely but let’s just say that I want to do that, it’s on me to do it, not on my **sensitivity readers**, and anyway a sensitivity reader (which once upon a time should have been called editor but never mind) shouldn’t have that much power, ie: once I read a tumblr post which basically said ‘white writers couldn’t ever write poc characters because they possibly can’t understand [now what POC meant in that sense is an entire other question that was left unanswered of course, bc poc doesn’t mean just black but nvm] but they have a moral obligation to because poc writers aren’t as popular/are hired less than white writers, and even at their best they will never get it right and they’ll fuck the poc characters up but who cares, they have to do it and take the criticism so they realize how it feels to be discriminated’.

now, I personally would never hear any advice from THAT above person if they were my sensitivity reader, because the concept that if I’m white then I can’t possibly get it right means that they already decided my work is going to suck ass even if it’s a masterpiece, and then... fuck that? I mean, I have no moral obligation to write anything I don’t want and with that attitude you basically make sure that someone is never gonna try to branch out. and where were the sensitivity readers when fifty shades came out, and all the subsequent YA porn books where it looks like your ideal man should be a stalker? we just don’t know, but no one cares to have sensitivity readers on ***that*** shit because guess what, it sells.

like, the problem shouldn’t be that you as a writer might offend someone with your writing because that can be because you’re actually offensive or because you’re nabokov and you wrote lolita and people who don’t get the point of it think it’s offensive and that it should be burned. you can’t start writing shit thinking of whether you’re going to offend someone or not with it because otherwise you’ll never get anywhere and you couldn’t touch one single sensitive topic (and on this, I’d appreciate sensitivity readers when it comes to atheist characters but NEVER MIND THAT XDDD /joking). what people should do is encourage potential writers who want to write socially sensitive stuff to talk to other people first and research their topic if it requires it.

What I mean is, let’s do a practical example: let’s take the basic lady chatterley plot (woman has a husband that neglects her both sexually and as a person and finds happiness with another guy who lives just under the husband’s nose). the original lady chatterly is already socially sensible because it has class issues and whatnot, but if you just want to write your torrid romance novel about the white suburban mom falling in love with the new white hot neighbor while her white husband doesn’t notice her existence and they have all the a+ sex in the world you’re perfectly entitled to and like, just get yourself an editor that will tell you if your porn sucks or not. there, this one’s easy.

but, let’s say that you want to have the white suburban mom being a victim of domestic violence instead of having the husband being just neglectful then you should research something about domestic violence and the effect it has on people. it has already become way more socially sensible, because you can’t just shrug it away and the sex she’ll have with her new guy won’t be the same as the sex she used to have with her husband, or alternatively, if the husband’s neglectful only you can have a difference between quick missionary and hot steamy long fucks with the new guy, if he’s abusive and he abuses her sexually you have to have nonconsensual vs consensual which is already a whole new heap of problems.

or, let’s flip it around: the domestic violence victim is a man, the wife is the one abusing him, he falls in love with the new female neighbor next door. this implies that you have to look into female on male domestic violence and research how frequently men aren’t taken seriously especially if the perpetrator is a woman, so you have the above plus this.

or, the victim is a man, the perpetrator is a woman, he falls in love with the male neighbor next door. in this case you have to make sure you know how to write a guy who has to get out of an abusive relationship and have a sexuality crisis if he didn’t know he was also into dudes.

or, all three are male, or all three are women: you have to look into statistics to see how male on male or female on female abuse works, on top of all of the above, on top of you have to know how to write an abuse victim. and, if there’s children involved? you have to deal with that too and you have to make sure the abuser isn’t a complete stereotype or some kind of boogeyman because that kind of story is effective if the perpetrator is someone who doesn’t look out of a twilight fanfic *cough*. if you make any of those characters trans then you have to look into it, too, if you make any of them not white or not your ethnicity you might wanna look into that too, and so on. and if you wanna throw in the lady chatterley class thing then you have to also think about what it means if some of the characters are rich, if others are poor, if they’re all middle class, if they’re all poor, all rich and so on.

what I mean is that the same plot, with some changes, can require zero research beyond what metaphors to not use while writing porn (example one) to a whole fucking lot of research and it’s on you to find people to discuss it with before and then to possibly proofread it before you send it to any publisher so you at least are sure you have a thing in your hands that doesn’t suck or has glaring inaccuracies. at that point your sensitivity reader should be able to give it a look and maybe give you advice which you should be able to reject if you don’t think it sound - for example, let’s say I write the above book in its most socially sensitive approach. like, dunno, let’s say the abuser is a cishet white man, the protagonist is a white ftm trans person who also can’t/won’t transition because of their abusive husband and the neighbor is, dunno, a black cishet woman. this would require a shitload of research should I try to write it. but then let’s say I do it and then I decide to write it from the pov of the abusive husband. which is a legitimate literary choice and I’m taking it with the entire intent of making him an abusive asshole without trying to justify his actions and to pull a less skilled humbert humbert in the world (because I’m not nabokov and no one is, but one could and should be able to write villains as a POV if they want to) and that I made sure to depict him as The Worst. if my sensitivity reader says that it’s offensive that I would write it from that guy’s POV in the first place and nothing else matters, it wouldn’t matter if I wrote the best book of the last ten years, it would still be deemed offensive. and that is a thing that shouldn’t fly - meaning, that if this is just a background check to make sure you don’t do bad representation (which you should have already done yourself anyway) it could have its usefulness, if it becomes a way to say that you can’t write what you want or problematic characters/villains shouldn’t be a POV choice even if you show them to be terrible then we’re straight into censorship land and that... shouldn’t be a thing.

tldr, you didn’t even ask for this entire rant but tbh I’m worried about that possible outcome (especially since that article mentioned roth which on this website is already hated as the champion of the white old man protagonist who wants to bang his students by people who don’t understand shit about either roth or writing in general) more than about checks on whether a thing is offensive or not, which anyway seems to me like is thoroughly ignored if the book sells (see: every other stalker seen as an ideal dude in YAs post-50 shades *sigh*).

[finalproblem]

Willing Suspension

So, six months later... *cough*

Fans have had a lot of issues with alleged inconsistencies in Sherlock Series 4--especially The Final Problem. Some I agree with, many I don’t, and others I’m undecided on or just don’t care about.

But there is one issue that, to my mind, carries more weight than any of the others.

It starts with the “missing glass” scene.

But note that I said my issue starts with this scene. It’s not the scene itself.

Sure, I know lots of people didn’t like that Sherlock Holmes, the most observant man in the world, didn’t notice there was no glass. It was even the first thing someone who’s had zero contact with fandom and had never discussed the show with me before brought up as a complaint when the episode unexpectedly came up as a conversation topic soon after it aired.

And I get why people have issues with the scene, I do.

But for me personally... meh. 🤷 I don’t mind it. The question of how Eurus had the glass taken away before her brother arrived is easily covered by the fact that she controlled the entire prison staff. And Sherlock’s writers have long since set up the idea that Sherlock gets worse at thinking when he becomes emotional, a trait that can be reasonably supported with ACD canon:

He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his.

Meeting your long-forgotten sister in a secret island prison counts as a situation likely to generate strong emotion, I think.

So, sure. Why not. I’ll go with it and let them off the hook regarding whether Sherlock should’ve felt Eurus’ breath, noticed the violin sound wasn’t just coming through the speakers, etc. I honestly found the no glass reveal entertaining, and it’s not as if the whole thing was impossible.

Well...

Maybe not the whole thing.

Even if I stand ready and willing to cut them all the slack in the world in terms of Sherlock having an observational breakdown, there’s still one problem.

Eurus: Do you see how it was done? I know you like explanations. Sherlock: Signs, you suspended the signs.

There are six signs in Eurus’ cell. Each of the three big “panes of glass” has a a sign in the lower center that reads “MAINTAIN DISTANCE OF THREE FEET” and a sign in the upper right that reads “ELEPHANT GLASS / SHOCK PROOF.”

The sign layout may be slightly easier to see in this screenshot from Jim’s visit, though of course the real glass wall was still in place then:

Once the glass wall is gone, the Elephant Glass signs (and no, that’s not a real brand, and I’m still not sure why I saw people insisting it was after the episode aired) are easy to explain.

The Elephant Glass signs are suspended by attaching one end to the window frame. Easy peasy. (And probably why it’s the thing we see at the end of Sherlock’s sign deduction--that’s what sticks in your head.)

But the Maintain Distance sign?

Here’s more of what we see when Sherlock “figures it out”:

You may not have noticed because they showed it very quickly before cutting to the clearly-attached Elephant Glass sign, but this sucker isn’t “suspended” at all.

It’s just floating in mid-air.

Defying the laws of physics.

That, my friends, is impossible.

And that’s the part I have an issue with.

“Who cares? It’s just a TV show. It’s not real anyway.”

Here’s the thing.

I gladly will--and have--let all kinds of things go on this show because it is just a TV show. People who think Series 4 was the first time Sherlock has included elements that don’t make a ton of sense frankly haven’t been paying much attention.

BUT.

There’s “TV impossible,” and then there’s impossible-impossible.

To illustrate with another example from Series 4:

In The Six Thatchers, Mary jumped into the path of a bullet to save Sherlock.

That is not a thing. You cannot do that. It defies the laws of physics to have time to get in the way of a bullet you’ve seen fired at close range.

That said, while I have very strong opinions on what the Actual Deal With Mary’s Death was, her miracle leap has never been a thing that bothered me.

Because even though you can’t do that in real life, people do it all the damn time on TV.

So I don’t care why the writers deployed that trope. I’m willing to accept it as the trope it is and move on.

Compare that to the magical, anti-gravity sign.

There is no magical, anti-gravity sign trope that gets pulled out in detective stories (or stories about detectives, if you prefer) on a regular basis. And there’s a reason for that.

I’d like to call my next witness:

Collider: Are you surprised that people seem to always want to know about the possibility of a cross-over between Doctor Who and Sherlock?

STEVEN MOFFAT: That’s a question that I get asked so often, and I can’t keep answering it. It’s all right for Doctor Who. That’s fine. But it would change Sherlock’s life, if he met the Doctor and knew that time travel was possible. He’d have to factor that into every crime he solved.

Good answer, Steven. That is the Right Answer. Sherlock Holmes can’t meet the Doctor and go on an adventure in space and time because it would permanently alter Sherlock’s ability to do logic-based detective work.

Think about what happens to the show if we accept that Shit Can Randomly Float Now.

“But how did the robbers get twelve tons of gold out of the bank while it was surrounded by police?”

“Obvious. They levitated it through the hole they cut in the ceiling.”

“Oh, right, I keep forgetting that Shit Can Randomly Float Now.”

“You murdered your husband by cutting his parachute cords.”

“Look, I admit I cut the chute. But if he didn’t want to die he should’ve just deactivated the power of gravity before hitting the ground. I didn’t murder him--it was clearly suicide.”

“Fair enough. You’re free to go.”

“So how did someone manage to kill her in this room that was locked from the inside?”

“I dunno. Wizards, probably? Who cares. We don’t have rules anymore.”

Even if the audience is willing to handwave all kinds of cheesy tropes and plot holes because it’s TV, there is a point in a show like this where a line is crossed and logic fundamentally breaks down.

You cannae change the laws of physics. Or at least not that much.

“Okay, but is the sign really not suspended by anything?”

It’s really not.

First of all, remember that completely invisible support structures are simply a different type of impossible. So that’s out or we’d just be getting to the same problem in a different way.

...turned out to be a visible man with a visible knife. Because things can’t be invisible according to the rules of this particular fictional universe.

Second, when Eurus leapt from her cell to attack Sherlock, we can very briefly see she knocked the sign down (bottom right):

And there’s no hint of any kind of support system going down with it.

About 30 seconds into Series 4 bonus content Behind 221B: The Final Problem, you can see them filming this moment.

And if you watch them filming the moment Eurus made her jump, it looks like Sian was basically given a loose sign to toss aside.

“Wait, I saw a YouTube video--”

The one where they said the floating sign was only an Indiana Jones style optical illusion? I saw that, too. But they got it wrong.

The “leap of faith” illusion in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (video here) relied completely on making sure the observer--Indy--stood in only one spot with only one angle of view.

If Indy had been able to move right or left from his starting position before taking the leap, the optical illusion would’ve been ruined.

But Eurus didn’t make Sherlock stand in one place the whole time. In fact, she asked him to go all the way to the far left side of her cell to retrieve the violin. (Note the floating sign on the right edge of the image below.)

If it’d been a perspective illusion, that would’ve ruined it.

Also, all the behind the scenes & rehearsal images make it even clearer this wasn’t set up as an optical illusion / perspective trick:

The signs were all exactly where we thought they were.

Speaking of behind the scenes...

So how did they do it? If it’s impossible for signs to float in midair, how did Sherlock’s crew make it look like they were hovering?

As you can see from the images above as well as Production Designer Arwel Wyn Jones’ current Twitter header...

...the Maintain Distance signs were all on stands that were erased by an effects team in post-production.

(If you look closely at some of Arwel’s photos, there was also fishing line or wire being used to support the top corners of signs part of the time. Seems like that may’ve been more of a “please don’t knock our important set pieces out of place during rehearsals but we’ll take this down while we’re actually filming” measure, but if not they obviously erased it from the final footage as well.)

“Look, the writers are just lazy. They probably came up with an idea that sounded cool and didn’t realize it made no sense.”

Ehhhh... Even if I’m willing to entertain that notion to a certain degree, it only goes so far because of the multiple layers of people involved in planning and executing the special effect. Even simplifying quite a bit, we have to account for this making it through at least three layers.

Layer 1: The writers--both Moffat and Gatiss on this episode. Personally I think it’s unlikely they wrote this into the script with zero concept of how they wanted it to work, but sure. For the sake of argument we’ll say they just thought it would be good TV and didn’t care how it would work. But they still had to hand the script over to...

Layer 2: The production design team. Arwel and company needed to go through the script with a fine-toothed comb to work out what they needed to build and what it should look like. Did they see the part about suspended signs and decide, “Well, if the writers didn’t spell out how this works we’re going to have to assume it’s magic gravity powers”? No, of course they didn’t. For a number of reasons, not least of which being because you need to have extra budget discussions with the producers before you decide to call in...

Layer 3: The post-production effects team. They would’ve worked with the people making the set to decide how best to set things up so the support stands for the signs could be erased later. Do we really think there was no point in these discussions when one of them asked, “Okay, if we’re taking the support stands out digitally, are we adding in something to replace them? Because you know signs can’t really float, right?”

And like I said, that’s a very simplified version. In reality, there were actually way more layers of people involved. Not limited to but certainly including the dozen or so people who we know were standing by watching as these scenes were rehearsed and filmed.

You don’t need to be an expert in anything but real life to notice the problem. An intern who’s primarily in charge of coffee runs knows enough to work out the issue here and ask the question: “But how are they suspended?”

I know it’s popular to accuse Sherlock’s writers of being clueless. But even if that were true, how many other perfectly reasonable adults are you willing to say forgot that gravity exists?

The team as a whole didn’t get through making this scene without realizing what they were doing. No way.

“Maybe they just did it because they wanted the glass to be missing and there was no other way they could’ve had it happen.”

But there were other ways to handle this. Here, I’ll give you three relatively simple and low-budget alternatives right now.

Alternative 1--The Fix:

There’s something simple they could’ve done that would make the whole anti-gravity problem not exist, while still getting to do the “gasp! missing glass!” moment.

Arwel clearly thought through the design of this sign before they manufactured it. He styled it so all of the letters touch the border. If he hadn’t, we’d also need to wonder how Eurus got each individual letter to float.

And like I said earlier, the Elephant Glass sign is a-okay. It’s attached to the window frame, so there’s nothing impossible there.

All they needed to do was combine these two approaches and they would’ve been fine.

UK safety rules require markings (“manifestations”) to be placed on glass walls so that people know there’s glass there and don’t walk right into it and hurt themselves. This usually takes the form of frosted glass dots, squares, or stripes, though more elaborate designs are also an option.

If you’ve never noticed before, now that I’ve mentioned it you’ll probably start seeing these frosted glass markings all over Sherlock. Often because they’re shooting in real-world locations that have to follow the safety rules:

But the production designers add them to sets they style or build, too, presumably for a sense of realism. For example, here’s the prison governor's office from The Final Problem:

And they custom-designed the large frosted stripe we saw at St. Caedwalla’s in His Last Vow to include the hospital logo they’d invented:

So Arwel is completely aware of the option of designing a custom glass stripe that goes from edge to edge in a window frame...

And hopefully by now you see where I’m going with this.

If they’d just treated the Maintain Distance sign more like a custom glass safety marking, they’d have no physics problem. Add some stripey extensions to the sides. Or do something more elaborate and work the prison logo into the design. It doesn’t matter, as long as all parts of the design are connected to each other and the ends of the sign connect to the sides of the window frame.

This change would have virtually no impact on the story. The only difference would be Eurus potentially knocking down a larger sign when she leapt out of the cell to attack Sherlock, but that’s only on screen for a fraction of a second as-is.

And to be totally clear before someone tries to argue the point, no, I’m not saying secret government prisons would be required to follow typical health and safety rules for their glass cell walls. I’m just saying that people are subconsciously used to those rules, and the production designers could’ve used that expectation to their advantage to design a trick that would be possible in the real world.

(Also, if anyone should appreciate the value of safety markings on glass walls, it should be Sherlock’s crew.)

Alternative 2--The Cheat:

At this point in the post, I’m sure someone is already screaming at me through the internet: “Invisible thread! Eurus used invisible thread like in a magic trick!”

If you’re not that screaming person, here’s a little background info. Invisible thread is a tool used by magicians to make small objects appear to levitate.

Invisible thread isn’t actually invisible, it’s just very thin and therefore hard to see when the lighting and background are right.

If you were trying to pull off Eurus’ trick for real, I think there would be a lot of problems with using invisible thread to suspend the signs. You’d have to not reveal the thread via the scene’s lighting changes, it would have to be equally invisible whether seen against the dark walls of the cell or Eurus’ pure white outfit, you’d probably have to construct a whole web of the stuff to support the weight of the signs, even if you got the signs to stay up it would still be hard to keep them perfectly still, etc.

So I don’t consider invisible thread an actual fix for the problem the same way as I do Alternative 1 above.

But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t accept it as a cheat.

And it would’ve been so simple for them to do. Just show some fishing line or whatever holding the Maintain Distance sign up when you do the zoom in for the “you suspended the signs” reveal. Or even easier, show some snapped clear thread hanging off of the sign after Eurus knocks it down. Either of those could’ve been done as practical effects for pennies.

Invisible thread still wouldn’t be a great solution to the “how,” but for me it would at least be better than anti-gravity and enough to get to a point where I could say, “screw it, they tried.”

Alternative 3--The "Pay No Attention to That Man Behind the Curtain”:

Look, I’m not kidding when I say there’s a lot I can handwave and ignore.

This is the least-good alternative, but if they’d simply not gone out of their way to draw attention to this problem it would still be better than nothing.

They didn’t have to have Eurus ask if Sherlock knew how she’d done it and point out how nice explanations are. They didn’t have to include closeup shots of a very clearly un-suspended sign that blatantly contradicted Sherlock’s explanation.

Just... don’t.

Don’t do that.

Yes, it might mean not giving a firm answer to the question of “how,” but since that answer was a lie anyway who cares?

It would at least look less like they were trying to get caught. Because as it stands...

“But WHY?! Why would they do this to us?”

I feel ya.

I feel ya like whoa.

And obviously I can’t give you a definitive answer to this one, because I’m not in the showrunners’ heads.

But the thing that keeps coming back to me is a Sherlock Holmes quote. The one that may be his most famous piece of advice.

It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

If an anti-gravity sign is impossible and can’t happen, then what remains is... it didn’t.

If the writers, FOR WHATEVER REASON, decided they wanted to end Series 4 with a wild fantasy sequence but, FOR WHATEVER REASON, didn’t want to come right out and say this is all imaginary / a dream / whatever... They’d have a problem when it was time for Series 5.

If they came back for the next episode and said “that last ending was all a dream, but we totally planned it the whole time” who would believe them? Since they had to keep most of what happened in the ending at least in the range of TV-plausible to disguise the imaginariness, it would come off as them having written a weird ending that wasn’t very well-received and trying to retcon it after the fact.

But if they slipped in one thing that’s not just improbable, not just an over-the-top version of a common unrealistic trope, something that’s straight up impossible-impossible... They could at least say, “Look at this right here. It was an anti-gravity sign. That’s clearly impossible. And we even drew attention to it with the dialogue. We did plan for this to be an imaginary sequence the whole time, and we told you but you didn’t listen.”

I mean, they’d still get yelled at.

And tons of people still wouldn’t believe them.

But it would at least be a stronger starting position when it was time to begin unraveling the fantasy.

“It doesn’t make sense, Sherlock, because it’s not real.”

“So you think all of Series 4 is fake?”

Nope.

I don’t even think the whole episode is fake.

I’m aware “everything’s fake” has emerged as the single most popular Sherlock theory post-Series 4. And, as always, I feel everyone has a right to their own fan theories. But considering it took me six months to start writing this post and over a week of barely fitting in a few moments here and there to finish it, I hope you’ll accept that lack of time is just one of several reasons I’m not really interested in debating the “everything’s fake” theory with anyone. I’ll just be over here trying to squeeze in time to write about the things I believe or think are interesting, and you do you. Cool? Cool.

Here’s where I think the borders of fakeness lie.

The events of the “missing glass” scene affect everything that comes after it, until the end of the episode. So I think Sherlock and John running out of Rathbone Place is the end border of fake. (I count the girl on the plane sequence from the start of the episode as part of this chunk, too, since it chronologically “happened” after the missing glass scene. But we know that’s fake no matter what, so hopefully I don’t have to make an argument as to why.)

To figure out where the fakeness started, I look back for the most obvious break point. Directly before the missing glass scene, we had the boys hijacking a boat and sneaking into Sherrinford. If everything that followed at Sherrinford was fake, I think those parts are probably fake as well.

Step back once more and you get... Hey, the part where John and Sherlock make it through an explosion and a leap from an upstairs floor without so much as a twisted ankle. That seems like a good break point. We’ll label that the beginning border of fake. (Which means the patience grenade detonation is where the true wait for the rest of the story began.)

Yes, weird stuff happened at Mycroft’s house before that, but nothing impossible. If Sherlock’s effects team can make paintings bleed, so can Sherlock the character.

And yes, it probably means Mycroft was at least partially lying about Sherrinford and Eurus’ backstory in 221B, but they already gave us a hint about that one.

Meanwhile, if everything from this:

To this:

was fake, that conveniently does a lot of cleanup on some of the sketchiest parts of this episode.

No more questions about how John and Sherlock were fine after the explosion even though they totally overshot the awning Mark Gatiss later claimed they landed on. (And if they did get hurt before switching to fantasyland, that could explain the weird running hospital theme, too.) No more wondering about Eurus’ mind control, which was pushing the limits of even TV-plausible. It doesn’t matter that the method Sherlock used to solve Eurus’ song puzzle was totally borked, because it didn’t happen anyway. It’s no longer contradictory for Eurus to have sent a bomb that could’ve killed Sherlock when she was so desperate for him to survive to finish her plan later, because the second part didn’t happen. And so on.

Sure, saying this portion of Series 4 and this portion alone was fake doesn’t fix all the remaining weirdness from the previous two episodes. But in my opinion, it doesn’t need to. “Fake” isn’t the only way to fix things. I think the writers have left themselves room to clear the rest up with a combination of the audience having been presented with true-but-incomplete information along with characters lying, being tricked, or having other forms of mental lapses. (There’s a freaking memory drug in play, for goodness sake.)

[And I guess here it might be worth reminding everyone for the gazillionth time (never works) that I’m not a shipper (though I don’t care if / what others ship) so there are certain things I’m not trying to “fix” and will not be discussing in future posts. And if everyone could please hold off on asking me what I think of shippy “evidence” and/or yelling at me for making everything about my nonexistent ship, that’d be really super. Thanks.]

“But I don’t want there to have been a big fake sequence. I’d rather have the ending we got.”

Fair enough. Whether you don’t like this whole idea because it feels like a waste of time to give most of an episode over to unreality, or because you were happy with the ending (or even just some of the Sherrinford moments) we got and you don’t want that wiped away... I hear you. That’s fine with me.

And if they never make more episodes, it won’t even matter.

In the meantime, you can just think of my posts as being like someone writing an alternate universe fanfic you don’t care for and ignore it.

Bonus track!

There’s something else Moffat and Gatiss might--MIGHT--have snuck in to support their “of course this is fake, Shit Can’t Randomly Float Now” escape hatch.

Remember when Mycroft said this?

Eurus was “beyond Newton.”

Isaac Newton is known for doing and discovering many, many things. (Including sticking a bodkin in his eye to learn how it works, which could’ve inspired the story of young Eurus using a knife to see how her muscles worked.)

But if you had to name the thing Newton is most famous for, the thing the average person would be most likely to name if you asked what Isaac Newton discovered, it’s gotta be gravity.

The BBC iWonder page on him is even titled “Isaac Newton: The man who discovered gravity.”

He did way more than that, but it’s the shorthand most people know.

Newton = gravity.

We’re told Eurus is beyond Newton... and then when she designs her missing glass trick, she’s all

And as a possible bonus-bonus, the story about Newton discovering gravity is probably so famous because it’s been mythologized in the form of a story about Newton’s revelations being sparked when he saw an apple fall from a tree.

The fallen apple has become a go-to symbol for Newton’s gravity theories. 

When the Royal Mail celebrated Newton on stamps, one of them was an apple.

Buy an Isaac Newton bobblehead, and he’s got an apple at his feet.

You get the idea.

At the start of the episode, one of the first things that catches plane!Eurus’ attention is...

...that the flight attendant has collapsed in the aisle, and dropped several apples.

Maybe UK airlines are super into healthy snacks and give out whole apples all the time, choking hazards and leaving passengers with sticky cores to shove into seatback pockets be damned.

But I’m just saying.

[Before anyone asks: I do have many more thoughts and notes about Series 4 I’d like to write up eventually. Some of those will probably (hopefully?) clarify some topics I didn’t get into very deeply in this post. But like I posted after Series 4 aired, my new rule for myself is that I’m going to take my sweet time doing it. So it’ll happen when it happens. It is what it is.]

[centaurrential]

The first.

The nice thing about blogging is that one doesn’t need to follow a strict academic essay structure: the issues and concepts I want to write about are always architectures built upon some underlying causal, foundational plot. It would be nice if we could hyperlink the written representations of our thought processes, but alas, that is one domain in which modern technology has fallen short. You might see that I jump around between topics, but I promise there are connections everywhere. So, here we go!

I’ve been hesitant to write about what ignites my passion the most.  

There are a couple of reasons for this.

For one, save for some semblance of a university degree I attempted to put together years ago, I have little in the way of ‘respectable’ credentials. I rely on my own observations of what is happening around me. A high school friend once revealed to me a technique in visual arts that has stuck with me since. “Draw what you see, not what you know to be there.” I have applied this not only to achieve realism in the scant visual artworks I have produced and which have gone unseen by most others, but also to compose a coherent understanding of my world--or in other words, everything I feel. This “motto” of sorts shows that we often ignore details about our experience that are in plain sight. Despite holding this key, I am well aware that I have not necessarily earned any institutional authority to write on the matters that compel me so--yet, as a person who has simply lived and observed, I still feel that I should express myself, for what ever it may be worth.

Second, though my risk of legal and political persecution in some form or another is not as dire as was obviously the case in the past with established thinkers, I’ve felt compelled to dress my thoughts in verse, marching what I think are critical ideas down the runway, letting the audience gently scrutinize the layers of different conceptual fabrics in motion rather than to place what is thought to be controversial on a podium, open to the personalized savagery of modern “progressive” critique. Misunderstanding is a very real fear of mine as I believe it is one of the greatest tragedies of the human condition. I suppose, as a sensitive person who is deeply emotional and deeply invested in my own thought as a means to a better world, my intent up to now has been to create a buffer of some sort between what I theorize and the ideology-driven hate that tends to characterize Internet culture (which, incidentally now, always carries a ‘social media’ component with it). But I don’t wanna hide anymore.

Something I’ve noticed about that very vehicle for thought is how utterly unforgiving it is. Someone uncovers a person’s past involving a stupid, ignorant mistake along the lines of political incorrectness and suddenly all the good they may have recently put into the world evaporates because there is some sort of twisted expectation of social perfection we’ve adopted--even though there is some overlap between this absolutist, impossible approach to other, equally fallible human beings and the tendency to wax poetic about one’s own cathartic emotional experience, along with a new awareness emerging from the remnants of self-destruction, and forcing ‘compassion’ toward oneself in light of one’s mistakes.

The message is that “I” can learn, but “you” cannot. It seems that people are so volatile these days, they’re ready to pounce without really thinking about what a person is trying to say in earnest. And while I believe that we should work hard at our collective and individual duties to skepticism, I cannot condone, to the furthest reaches of any influence I may have, the deadlock of pseudo-critical thinking when it involves scapegoating and self-righteousness.

I sense (and feel) a lot of (justified) anger, and many well-meaning individuals are looking for a place to which they can direct such intensity. The unfortunate thing is that the fire mutates into hostility toward people who don’t deserve it. Shuffle formless anger into boxes designed to look nicely and glamorously radical, and chuck it at those who--excluding the really terrible people in the world--are honest and serious about answering the questions of “how to achieve the maximum possible distance from pain”, and, “what is, essentially”, and you’ve got a problem on your hands. Nothing is ever as simple as we’d like it to be.

And by the way, I find the dismissive “ok, boomer” attitude reprehensible. Like, OBVIOUSLY there are going to be differences among generations in “opinion” and lifestyles and so on. And obviously past generations have made what we now deem to be ‘mistakes’. But just like any individual who may regret past actions, whether personal or professional, one makes decisions supported by the most convincing reasons they can muster, and so they do the best they can with the knowledge they have at hand, at some particular moment. Maybe some visionaries in the past were able to extrapolate from the contemporary and predict what would happen in the future. Even if their equivalents exist in society today, we will not know for certain the downright traumatizing effects current societal mechanisms could force to manifestation in the years beyond, until they actually become fact. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” And, there is wisdom that only comes through living life. That, I’m afraid, is not up for debate.

I must say this here, now. I realize I’m walking on eggshells with what I’m about to say.  But, while it is clear that there is a significant degree of ‘white privilege’ in North American society, I’d be careful to declare ‘privilege’ an inherently white experience.  It is an historical reality (and is therefore biased). Not all ‘white people’ are the same; and it is CERTAINLY not the case that it has only been ‘white people’ that enforced slavery, for example. And it is definitely true that different members of different religions and different races and different ethnicities and different cultures and different dialects have, historically, perpetuated evil across many axes. Furthermore, I believe that the explicit and intentional denigration of ‘white people’ MADE BY WHITE PEOPLE THEMSELVES is probably one of the greatest expressions of white privilege. How secure must one feel if they can freely diss their ‘own kind’ and know that nothing diabolical will happen to them? We owe justice through opportunity to people we have marginalized, but that is not the way. I just think that people are either willfully ignorant, accidentally ignorant, or have forgotten that all kinds of people can be villains, and further that a truly corrupt person will even torture people with whom they may have a great deal in common.

I tend to think that ‘intersectionality’ is a seriously important concept and is most empirically aligned with individualism. People move around more, cross-cultural contact happens more; global connection ushers cuisine, rituals and traditions, spiritual beliefs, and languages into landscapes that were previously barren of particular social technologies. The result is a person who may have many characteristics sort of in common with others who share those qualities in a scattered manner, but unless one of those forces was exceptionally prominent in the person’s life, the commonality is negligible.

Emergent from this phenomenon is the serious tension between individual self-actualization and the requirements for so-called proper functioning of the broader ‘community’ to which one feels they belong. The needs of each can often be at odds with one another, and it doesn’t appear to be an easy task to resolve this conflict. I do know that sacrifices will have to be made, as there is always a price to pay; I almost think of that as a universal law.

When I was 19 and took a philosophy of feminism class, I started noticing what problems arise when a mode of thinking is assumed to apply to a particular “community” (loosely speaking), just because its members all share some intrinsic quality. In the particular case I’m talking about, it was “being female”. When someone speaks the word ‘feminism’, it is loaded. You have liberal feminism, eco-feminism, radical feminism, third-wave feminism, black feminism, post-colonial feminism, and so on. The relevance of these various types is stretched so thinly throughout the human landscape that one could legitimately wonder why those theories should even be considered to have anything in common. In other words, how can you possibly come up with an ethic of revolution that applies universally to, I dunno, how many billion people in the world? Here’s a situation: women in the West, particularly in the Deep South, are fighting for their choice to have an abortion. Meanwhile, in some parts of India and China, female infanticide is more common than a decent person should like to admit, and that’s not because Indian and Chinese women want it! Asking someone who is thoughtful in ANY respect if they are a feminist is like asking someone if they believe in God, and that is not, nor should it be, an easy question to answer.

To be clear: what I am talking about is definition, and if you break down the etymological components of that word, you see that it is about deciding what sorts of conceptual boundaries must be drawn (the finiteness)--to determine what is included, and also what is excluded. My belief is that it is actually the interplay between those qualities intrinsic to a person and external forces placed upon us that dictate the degrees of self-satisfaction and happiness we experience.

That pain is to be avoided is generally unquestionable, though the finer details of rational action (because I do see the treatment of pain as an issue of rationality, and as something more fundamental to the exercising of rational action than market economics is) are still up for debate. And, I suppose, that is the case for many injustices that an active, voluntarily thinking society wishes to eradicate. I’d like to return to that topic some time in the future, but what concerns me today is the issue of essentialism.

Essentialism has been a problem for philosophers for a really long time. Often it is conceptualized as “what makes something that thing”, but in my view, Essence seems to lie in the realm of the experiential. In one minor paper I wrote for a metaphysics class, I argued (incompletely) that an object’s ‘essence’ could be partly defined by the function one identifies when they come into contact with said object. For example, because even though chairs can be made up of different numbers of legs, or be of different colours, or be upholstered or not, we place them into a category of ‘something to be seated upon’. But then again, there are many things that can be sat upon, and, on the other hand, one does not look at a real life dog and think of it as an object that innately serves a purpose, let alone is built for one.

So why am I talking about what seems to be an obscure and useless topic?

It is the utility of Essence that gives form to our experience. And for those who believe that we erroneously categorize and judge every single damn thing we come across in our lives, go ahead and try to reverse neurological evolution through time of geologic scale. I mean, this mode of existence came to be before we even defined what ‘values’ were.

Tangentially, my introduction to the study of philosophy started with the great divide between ‘rationalism’ (ie. some inherent structure which creates the capacity to ‘know’ already exists in a person at the time of birth) and ‘empiricism’ (the school of thought where a person only collected knowledge through experience after they were born with a ‘blank slate’ of a mind). I never understood why the distinction between rationalism and empiricism was so important, because it seemed so obvious that our system of moving through the world was a combination of the two. We see now that the belief in one to the exclusion of the other is just plain stupid: genetics, epigenetics, logarithmic counting in BABIES, education, debate, and research, all contribute to an individual’s understanding of the world. (It is this idea, too, that contributes to my belief that free will is an illusion [though a helpful one at that] and that ‘luck’ is an epistemological concept. I will also use this idea to, eventually, communicate my argument that astrology is theoretically plausible, but that involves discussing archetypes and the cyclical nature of our known world...) Note: “Epistemology” is the study of knowledge and how we come to accumulate it. I went on this tangent because I think we need to demonstrate a great deal of respect for both pre-existing neurological realities and the staggering potential of science to teach us about our environments and ourselves. There are some core things about us that we would be wrong to ignore, and unforgivably so if the sound science is right there.

We do not typically go through life coming into contact with objects or people and checking off items on a list that comprise criteria for something being what it is (unless, of course, you’re prone to collect little hints as to whether a potential lover loves you back or not.....). To do so would reduce the fluidity with which we interact with externalities. That being said, I can conceive of a time when one goes outside for a cigarette in the night and watches a creature (as I just did) that may be a cat, or that may be a raccoon, cross the road. You peer at this creature for several seconds, up until the point that you conclude, and are certain, that it is, indeed, a cat. It is then that you can move on with your life. Perhaps what helped you to come to this conclusion was a short list of criteria that separate catness from raccoonness. Obviously that would be more efficient than consulting an exhaustive mental list of “cat properties” and comparing it to a similar list, but of “raccoon properties”. But even so, by the time you’ve witnessed the cat/raccoon, you’ve already filtered out any possibility that the creature might be something else, like a stray dog, or a lizard, or a floating chair. In conclusion, I propose here that context is essential to Essence. And Essence is a fully whole sensory experience, insofar as your sensory faculties work. This is why it is so hard to define.

The social relevance of the concept of Essence is becoming more important with the emergence of identity politics, the crises in feminism, “queerness”, the feminine/masculine dichotomy, and even paradigms in psychological health. Inherent to Essence is continuity, and no one can argue against the notion that we rely on general continuity to go about our daily lives.

But out of continuity develops expectation. Expectation is immensely helpful for the reason I laid out above. Additionally, in public, we rely on a common yet tacit understanding that individual members of the public will behave in a way that is safe and appropriate for everyone. The problem is, if you have experienced a good chunk of your life, well into adulthood, having never seen an unfamiliar and idiosyncratic expression of certain properties, why WOULD you do anything else other than fumble in your acceptance that that is the way something is? Your mind scrambles to organize what you are interacting with in the way that makes the most sense.

I was once accused of being an essentialist because of some remark I made referencing biological differences between men and women. I wondered if the dude was joking because I really cannot grasp why someone would think that the differences are trivial. Lately I’ve toyed with the conclusion that there must be something essential, something bounded, about the way we express ourselves, which matches what we are that isn’t seen by absolutely everyone, including exuding femininity or masculinity. If there wasn’t something essential about these “descriptions”, why would anyone make an effort to look a certain way in the first place? Or, why would anyone have a subconscious tendency to adopt certain characteristics? The point I’m trying to make is that communication in the form of appearance is just as important as a verbal explanation of something, and can in fact be more truthful than what is verbally expressed. Whether one wants to admit it or not, you are offering information that allows others to draw conclusions about you. And it’s not that you merely fulfill a checklist of the sort that I mentioned earlier. It is that, often, though not always, each separate quality supports all the others, forming a sort of “mesh-like” coherence. If there wasn’t something essentially feminine that you identified with, or something essentially masculine that you identified with--if these things didn’t matter--there would be no point in going to great lengths to change your appearance to communicate something. (And I think this holds even in the case of the non-binary person.)

Of course, judgments are made all the time about people, which have nothing to do with being transgendered or cisgendered. A person asks you your age. Why? Because they’re collecting information about you and the particulars in the category of “age” should reveal something about you that you’re not stating explicitly. And this information is only grounded in other information the inquirer has about you. And the only reason this information might be reliable is because a consolidation of an individual’s past experiences tells them that a certain age represents an axis of consistency of mentality and/or behaviour. The deductions we make are not always accurate, but if we didn’t instinctively think of this information as important, we wouldn’t seek it!

I will now apply the above problem to sort out why we are in such a mess, socially. First of all, the person is born into expectation of behaviour. That expectation depends on their sex at birth (assuming the person is not intersex), their social, economic, political class, the levels of education their immediate family members have achieved, their spiritual practices, et cetera. It seems to me that feminism arose in the first place because of the particular kind of anticipation of behaviour that swirls around whether you have a testicle-penis or a uterus-vagina combination. The traditionally ‘male’ realm was the unexplored frontier to many women; it was one of excitement, possibility, and opportunity, and arguably more freedom than the domain to which women were typically assigned: the home. Women can produce babies, and if you could produce babies then you SHOULD produce babies, and you should care for them too. And not only that, but by virtue of the fact that you are a mother you can’t even fathom leaving your babies behind. I haven’t yet come across a proper articulation of why this point is so crucial to understand. The women who have the term “TERF” (trans-exclusionary radical feminist) slung at them are attacked by people who don’t understand that this fundamental difference in expectation between female-born individuals and male-born individuals is looming in the background, and how damn well important it really is, because it inevitably shapes a person’s perception of the world and quite possibly the expectations they have of other people! And the perception that falls upon you isn’t just something you can shed on a whim. And also, why are people surprised that this is still an issue? Even as advanced creatures we still succumb to evolutionary forces. I don’t think any reasonable person could say that “you aren’t female even if you feel female”, but it’s not about how you “feel”. It’s about what happens between you and people once they figure out a vital fact about you. It’s about the context in which you, a whole being, operate. You want to talk about oppression? I think your self-identity being misaligned with how other people think you should be is pretty high up there in the ranks.

So, to digress a little: the notion of changing yourself and making an impression on strangers, making a difference in the world, is intoxicating. But we enter dangerous territory when visions of child-rearing and home care become afterthoughts. Child psychologists have identified the age range between 2 and 4 to be particularly crucial in socializing children; it is at that age that they are the most impressionable with regard to how they learn to interact with others. That’s not really a huge window to make sure you ‘get it right’. I think the family unit, whatever its configuration may be, is pretty foundational to the rest of society. While many people presently carry harmful opinions about things we don’t understand, and changing those opinions tends to be rather difficult, the most radical, most powerful thing we can do to initiate reform is to make sure the children we are responsible for grow up valuing honour, kindness, and a sense of duty and justice, not just in relation to themselves and their immediate families, but to society as a whole.

People are throwing tantrums because society hasn’t given itself an overnight makeover. I think that anyone involved in politics understands, either consciously or unconsciously, that even though political institutions and bureaucracies were created by real people, they’ve sort of become fragmented away from human life and are entities of their own, floating above our heads like clouds in the higher atmosphere, and which do not have any readily identifiable boundaries. It appears that the various bodies of legislation and bureaucracies have become so bloody complex in correlation with the complexity of human interaction that they seem almost impossible to disentangle. Furthermore, ideas take a long time to die...if they ever even do.

Rather than viewing child-rearing as a burden, I choose to view it as the greatest responsibility and the greatest tool we have for genuine change. I feel, honestly, that sometimes we waste energy trying to convince people of something where there is no convincing possible. We often preach to the choir because they’re the only people who make us feel heard--but our own little choirs already know and believe what we know and believe.

So. I think, once I reviewed what I said above, that I’ve attempted to illuminate a conundrum about simultaneous utility and danger found in the act of expecting. This “study” of sorts is a microcosm of a world where darkness and light are aspects of all things. I’m convinced that the formulation of potential is expressed in binaries, but unlike computers, we are able to interpret ambiguities, and in many pockets of society people are tolerant of self-expression. With so many belief systems up for grabs, and with the world as it is in its ebbs and flows, it is up to the individual to craft their own transcendent values as a way to “orient themselves”, as Dr. Jordan B. Peterson put it. Be mature and do not dismiss nuance. Challenge yourself. And for God’s sake, the next time you’re thinking of buying that innocuous avocado that’s become the symbol for the Millennial generation, ask yourself what is more important: dismantling violent and antisocial Mexican drug cartels, or supporting Mexican farmers who are trying to make their ways through life, just like every. last. one of us.

[searching-for-mercury]

Voltron -- Klance -- Fake BF

All I Want for Christmas is a (Fake) Boyfriend

Summary: A while ago, in a fit of anger, Keith told his mom he had a boyfriend. Did he actually have a boyfriend? No. Did he care? Also no. At least, not until his mom, months later, tells him to bring his supposed boyfriend over for the holidays. Not wanting to admit he didn’t have one, Keith asks around for someone to play the role and who agrees to play the part? The annoying guy from his Lit class.

(ao3)

Chapter 5

Hanging out on his sofa doing nothing of any great importance wasn't Keith's idea of time well spent. Whenever someone asked, he'd take their shift at the Call Center. It wasn't a job he loved, but it was a job and work meant money. It also meant time he wasn't thinking about stupid things he didn't want to think about anymore.

              He didn't consider himself a coward when it came to confrontation in heated situations, like calling someone out on their bullshit. He spoke up when he had to or when it felt necessary. Heck, he even spoke up when his anger took the wheel.

What he didn't want to do, however, was pursue something he didn't know the outcome of.

              Did he really even like Lance? Or was it something casual, void of any deeper feelings? Had he just been pulled along during the holidays? Gone with the natural romantic flow of things. And did he really want to put any effort in something he was so unsure of?

              All those feelings followed him when school started and then the first Wednesday of the semester arrived, along with the source of all those thoughts creating a slushie of confusion in Keith's mind.

              He slid into the booth at Taco Bell with a couple burritos and a head full of worry.

              Lance slid in on the other side with a bunch of tacos, burritos, a drink, and his energetic personality. If Keith was any other person, he'd have said the cheer emitting from him was contagious.

              "This is amazing," Lance said and fished out his phone from his large, brown jacket. Snow was still piled up outside from a full weekend of just that, but the roads and sidewalks had been cleared.

              "You're taking a picture," Keith said. "Of Taco Bell."

              "It's okay, you don't need to understand," Lance said, angling his phone a little different. It made a little shutter noise every time he took a picture. "Just let me enjoy this."

              He definitely had an Instagram. There was no way he didn't. And Keith would bet real money on Lance uploading his weird Taco Bell pictures with filters slapped on, like he'd just gone to a fancy restaurant and was marveling at what had been delivered to the table.

              When Lance looked up at him, Keith felt himself almost jump at the sudden eye contact; he'd been staring.

              "Aren't you going to eat?" Lance asked.

              "Could say the same to you," Keith replied, but he started to unwrap one of his burritos. He focused on the window as he bit into it. Winter meant shorter periods of daylight, so even though it was only five in the afternoon, the sun had already disappeared and everything outside was settled in a monochromatic sort of glow.

              "How's the semester been for you?" Lance asked after swallowing the biggest mouthful Keith had ever seen anyone take in his entire existence on planet Earth. "Taking anymore literature classes?"

              "No, it's just some biology and math," Keith replied. "Been pretty normal. You?"

              Lance rolled his eyes. Keith hadn't noticed how dark of a blue they were until right that moment and he wished he still hadn't. "What do you mean, normal? Normal could mean anything," he said.

              Keith shrugged. "Going over the syllabus, being gradually introduced to the various topics, getting homework due later this week. Normal."

              Lance nodded and took a long drink from his cup. "Same here. But oh man, wait until I tell you what kind of teacher I have for my oceanography class. Total nut. Came to class wearing full on scuba gear and showed us pictures of his adventures during break. He seems like an okay guy, but not the kind you'd know on a personal level. Just like, oh yeah I know him. We talk. He comes to parties sometimes but do we hang? Nah."

              Keith just nodded like he knew exactly what Lance meant.

              "He seems kind of unpredictable, but I'm hoping his grading is consistent," Lance continued. "Or maybe he knows he's totally bonkers so he lets his TA grade stuff."

              "If only more teachers did that," Keith said and grabbed his soda, wishing it were maybe something a little stronger than Pepsi. Just maybe.

              When he returned to his quiet apartment, the first thing he did was find his calendar. Had they agreed to every Wednesday? They had. They most definitely had. And there were so many of them. Wow. He was seriously kicking his past self in the ass.

              The next Wednesday came with a flurry of new snow and new conversation topics.

              "We are going to talk after I finish this," Lance said, mouth full of what was probably fake beef and suspicious lettuce. The lighting overhead threw shadows on his face whenever he dipped down to take another bite. It also made his hair and skin look almost the same shade of brown.

              "Did you not eat lunch?" Keith asked.

              Lance only shook his head -- his cheeks were too full.

              As the weeks tumbled on by, their conversations got steadily less awkward, for which Keith was thankful. Thrilling discussions about weather, traffic, and class faded away with more personal things taking their place. Keith learned Lance's family came from Cuba, for instance, a couple generations ago. He didn't talk much about them and when he did, it was always about the past.

              And then one day, Keith must have asked the right questions and Lance must have been in the right kind of mood, because he told him something that felt entirely unlike him.

              "I don't actually know my parents," Lance said with a shrug. He picked at the paper wrapper from his meal. "They, uh, died. When I was small."

              Keith stopped eating.

              "My grandma took care of me for a short while, I guess, but it wasn't enough," Lance said. His voice was soft and low and Keith couldn't see his eyes for they were turned down, towards his food.

              It was such a quiet sort of shift, but Keith wasn't sure he was supposed to be hearing what Lance was telling him. More importantly, it didn't feel right to have it there in a Taco Bell, under cheap florescent lighting with pop music playing quietly in the background. There weren't many people in the booths around them, but there never were.

              It took Keith a moment longer than he felt was right and he wasn't sure if what he was about to ask was right either, but he said, "Enough for what?" His tone was careful, gentle maybe. He hoped.

              Lance cleared his throat and pushed himself up; Keith hadn't even noticed how he'd sort of curled up into himself, sunk down into the plastic seat. "Wasn't enough to take care of me," he said. "Services came, picked me up." Lance was looking straight at him, then, and Keith felt like his breath had been taken away, too.

              Foster care. Lance had been through the foster care system. Keith didn't know much about it, but he'd heard horror stories, about abuse and the shuffling from one home to another. Maybe he flinched or maybe his eyes conveyed an understanding, somewhat, but Lance smiled at him. It wasn't a very bright smile, not all full of warm feelings that would seep out and into others, but it also wasn't bitter.

              "Don't feel sorry, or whatever, I didn't tell you to get sympathy," Lance said with a firm voice. There was a lot more strength in it than before, when it was full of faraway recollections. "I just felt like you should probably know. I mean, I know so much about you now."

              Keith shrugged before he thought things over too much. "I don't really know what to say," Keith said. He had a habit of plowing into sensitive topics like a dog running through piles of snow for the first time. "I mean, are you okay with talking about it? Can I ask questions? Because if not, that's cool. Just say the word and I won't ask a thing. But if you -- why are you laughing?"

              It had started with his shoulders shaking and his mouth twisting up and then back down in an effort to not laugh, but then it bubbled up and out and Keith was left feeling more confused than he wanted, truth be told.

              "Sorry, it's just. You're taking this very seriously," Lance said between near-silent bouts of laughter. "And it's serious! It is. But. I don't know, it's really funny right now." He leaned forward until his forehead touched the table. His shoulder still shook.

              Keith frowned at first. "I don't understand you," he said. "I really don't."

              It only made Lance laugh harder.

              And then Keith felt his own mouth start to turn and even though he had absolutely no reason as to why, he started to laugh as well. Maybe the why didn't really matter.

              In the midst of all that laughter came a sudden realization: Keith's wavering crush became a very solid 'like,' and it hit him in the chest much harder than he thought possible. Whereas before his feelings of attachment had been drifting around, like a loose balloon low on helium, somewhere it had become tethered to the ground and in need of some serious re-evaluation.

              "Okay," Lance said, breathing a little heavier. "I don't, just so you know, I don't usually laugh when I tell people unhappy things."

              This only made Keith look at him more confused, which made Lance laugh a little more.

              "I'm serious! It just felt too heavy, man. And I dunno, I feel pretty comfortable around you," Lance said, giving a one-shoulder shrug.

              Keith felt way more happy than he felt he should have, in that moment. A spark of glee. Warmth filling his chest. A small pang of uncertainty. He didn't know what to say or how to react to those feelings. If he spoke, would he blurt out something he'd regret?

              He walked away from that exchange with a heavy feeling in his stomach that wasn't due to three burritos and a medium-sized Mountain Dew. What was he supposed to do? Tell him that he liked him? How does one even do that? And wouldn't it be weird, after everything that happened at his mom's house?

              Keith didn't have an answer to any of those questions. He flopped down on his couch and stared at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. He kind of wished it did, that it were that easy.

              And then something occurred to him: did he really have to say anything? He was kind of a pro at pining in secret. He'd had a crush on Shiro for years and never said anything ever and he'd gotten over him! For the most part. Where there once had been a strong sort of longing there was now just an ache. And he could deal with the ache.

              Yes, he was going to do what he did best: not saying a goddamn thing.

 ~*~

                School picked up real fast, as did work, and Keith was left wondering where all those weeks had gone. It was getting dangerously close to midterms and he felt like the semester had just begun. How dare the midterms sneak up on him like that.

              There was still snow everywhere -- in fact, it usually stayed up until April, which probably had to do with them being so close to the mountains. Once in a while, they'd get a freak blizzard in May and it was all anyone would talk about. May was also the end of the semester and, ultimately, his dates with Lance.

              They weren't dates. They were just casual meet-ups in Taco Bell where Keith paid. Yes. Right.

              Keith shook his head. Not exactly where he wanted his mind to be. Instead, he focused on the squat, brown buildings around him. Campus usually looked much nicer in the summer. Everything would burst out blooming and there'd be so much more color in everything, not only the plants. Even the people would glow, wearing their brightly colored shorts and tank-tops, big plastic sunglasses. He bet Lance would outshine everyone, his face radiating warmth, exposing more of that smooth brown skin to soak up all that sun and --

              Goddammit.

              He tried focusing on the buildings again. He just needed to focus on the horizon, on the building he needed to get to. Then he would sit in class, where his mind couldn't wander as much, and he'd be fine. Really.

              But then Keith saw him a little ways away and his heart stuttered.

              Lance hadn't noticed him -- he wasn't turned his way. He was smiling or laughing at something someone had said, maybe one of the girls, and they were all walking like they had nowhere else to be at that moment. Keith often got mad at groups like that because they created a jam -- like when those commercials on the TV showed cholesterol build-up in the body. Just because they didn't have to be in class didn't mean others didn't.  

             Keith took an immediate right turn, even so he was nowhere near the building he had to get to. The action didn't even require any kind of thought process, it was like his body knew exactly what to do. He felt stupid immediately after -- why did he need to take a longer route to his class just because he saw Lance?

              It didn't make any sense.

              It also made him feel weird the next time they ate Taco Bell together. Had Lance noticed him running away? Was that was he was calling it now?

              "Hey, just a heads up," Lance said. They were close to finishing their meal and Lance was pretty much just picking at the remains. "I won't be able to come next week."

              Keith stopped chewing.

              "I promised one of my friends I would go to an art exhibit. One of her pieces is in there," Lance continued. "I don't know if she's got an award or anything, but she asked me a while ago and wasn't sure of the date when she did."

              Keith nodded. Yeah, of course. He cleared his throat, realizing he hadn't actually said it out loud. "Sure," he said. "I mean, it's you who will be missing out."

              "I know," Lance said and Keith could almost see hearts in his eyes with the way he looked at the menu above the counter.

              Lance's friend -- who he kept calling Plax, though Keith wasn't sure if it was her real name or just an affectionate nickname -- had always invited him to her art exhibits ever since they became friends. In return, he would bring her to movies in Spanish hosted by the school every month.

              "They've got subtitles," Lance assured him, as if that's what Keith was really worried about.

              ~*~

                Keith didn't know what to do. He usually did, or it came to him along the way and he didn't often need to think so damn much. The not knowing was what was really getting to him, the not knowing how to proceed, to make his brain just turn off maybe, for a moment, so he could just relax into a feeling of who cares.

              He'd gotten over a crush before, he could do it again. Except Lance was everywhere, even when he wasn't. His name popped up in conversations, stupid things reminded Keith of him (seriously? The color blue?) -- he even surprised him once on campus.

              Despite what movies portrayed, libraries were not actually quiet. No stern older woman glared at people through her cat-eye glasses or shushed them when things became a little rowdy. People collaborated on projects in the library, they studied together at tables and tested each other on terms. It was exactly for this reason why Keith was wearing headphones. How else was he supposed to concentrate?

              He'd managed to work out the chapter he needed to read in order to complete his homework and had just started said homework when someone grabbed him by the shoulders and he shot up in the air.

              Lance was laughing as Keith yanked his headphones out.

              "What the hell?!" Keith snapped.

              He was still laughing. The nerve.

              "Seriously!"

              And then Lance, who was still struggling with a case of the giggles, plopped down in the seat next to him. "You should have seen yourself," he said. "You jumped like, a foot."

              Keith would have sworn that the urge to smile wasn't because whenever Lance did, it was always kind of like the feeling one got after watching a fantastic movie where a rag-tag group of people came together to form a sort of makeshift family in the end. But no, it wasn't because of that. It was because it was a funny thing, right? Him springing in the air. And irritating. He hated when people snuck up on him.

              "What're you doing?" Lance asked, nodding to the book. An amused smile still tugged at his lips.

              "Homework," Keith replied. "For a biology class."

              "Interesting," Lance said, but he said it in a funny voice and then pulled the book closer to him.

              "Kind of," Keith replied. "Mostly boring, though. Dry writing."

              Lance lit up like he'd seen a puppy. "Yeah!" he said. "The actual content is pretty cool, usually, but the way they describe it! So boring! I wish they could make it sound more, I dunno--" He gestured with his hands.

              "Like a book," Keith said and then realized just what he'd said. "I mean, like a novel. Something you read for fun."

              "Yeah! If it were written in a style that was a little more casual, I think everyone would understand this stuff better," he said. "Maybe then the scientific community would boom and we'd finally get our flying cars."

              "Flying cars."

              "Haven't you ever seen The Jetsons? Flying cars. I want to live in space, like they do," Lance said and grinned. "Don't you?"

              Keith shrugged. He could have made an argument about how that might clutter the sky or maybe corporations would want to stake claims to space, divvying it up like they did land, but he didn't have the heart. There was an ache in his chest, sort of like when he caught a cold sometimes and every time he coughed, it hurt.

              Lance nudged him a little, as if to say "Hey, what's up?" with an expression so soft, it just made everything worse.

              Keith didn't remember what he'd said or how the conversation flowed after that, but eventually Lance left him to do his homework in relative peace. Had to go meet up with some friends. He was always doing that, meeting with friends and having plans. Lance was the most social person Keith knew, after Hunk. It was admirable, really, even so Keith knew he would have hated to have so many acquaintances to keep track of.

              It was when he was with Hunk that he did something incredibly stupid.

              After class, he spotted Hunk strolling towards the parking lot so he jogged a little to catch up.

              "You finished for today?" Keith asked.

              "Yeah, you?" Hunk replied.

              Keith nodded. "But I've got work in a couple hours."

              "Ha! I've got off," Hunk teased, hitting him gently in the shoulder. "But I'm gonna meet up with Shay later tonight."

              They'd reached the parking lot. Hunk owned a mustard-colored Jeep Renegade. It used to be a Wrangler, because he liked going camping a lot with friends, but he'd traded it in after finding out it was prone to roll in accidents.

              Keith immediately started looking for it. "Got a big date?" he asked, trying to push the teasing attitude back at him.

              "Yeah," Hunk said and he stopped walking. "I mean no, I don't know."

              An idea floated around in Keith's head, taking root as suspicion. "Hey, are you going to..." It wasn't even him and the words felt embarrassing.

              "Maybe?" Hunk said, looking up with panic and worry painted all over his face. "Should I? I thought about it for a while and my parents have already been teasing me about it."

              Keith shrugged. He was literally the last person anyone should ever ask about relationship advice.

              "I've got a ring."

              "What."

              Hunk looked a little sheepish and glanced around. "Not here, I haven't picked it up yet. It's still at the store. But I was planning on heading over there before picking her up," he said.

              Keith's heart was pounding and he had no idea how to respond. Did he offer congratulations? But he hadn't yet popped the question and neither had Shay given her answer yet. She would, though. She would most definitely say yes. There was no way she wouldn't, they were both so very much in love and had been for years.

              "Do you want to come with me?" Hunk asked. "To pick it up."

              The nod Keith gave was all that he felt he could really give at the moment. Marriage. And there'd be a great big wedding because that was Hunk's family -- they did everything big and heartfelt. A glowy, fuzzy, warm happiness.

              The trip didn't take very long and they each took their own cars, on account of Keith having work and Hunk having his obvious plans, but Keith was still jittery with nerves. He was too young to have married friends. Sure, it had been several years since high school, but it didn't feel like it.

              And the ring was, well, a ring. It looked expensive, but he didn't ask how much it had been. Hunk hadn't picked the traditional diamond. Instead, there was a yellow sapphire in the middle, with green jasper chips dotted along the sides. It matched a necklace Shay wore, Hunk had told him. She'd gotten it from her grandmother and, well, there was a whole story behind it that Hunk didn't really want to get into.

              "And it's black silver because," Hunk shrugged, "it's cool looking, I guess. And if she says yes, then I'll get a wedding band in the same silver."

              It took a moment for Keith to respond. "She'll say yes," he said. He was sure of it.

              Hunk looked giddy for one moment, worried the next. He stared down at the ring for a moment, thumb swiping over the sapphire. "I sure hope so," he murmured.

              With the ring secured in a little bag Hunk had asked the sales woman to staple shut -- he didn't want it falling out on accident and had listed off several circumstances where it could all go terribly, terribly wrong -- they walked out of the store in silence. It felt heavy, significant. Something life-changing was going to take place.

              Their cars weren't very far away, but it felt like an eternity before they reached them. Keith's eyes wandered up out of habit, to scan the area, and then back down to his car door. Then up again. Even when he was in the most unlikely of places, Lance was there. Sure, he was across the street, walking out of a candy store, but he was there.

              Keith immediately grabbed onto Hunk's jacket and tugged him down with him. There was no thinking, just grab, pull, and drop.

              As he sat there, heart pounding, his reasoning caught up with him. Had Lance seen that? He sure hoped not. What could he give as an answer? That he wanted to avoid talking to him because whenever he did, his chest felt tight and he was overcome with a crushing wave of hopelessness? No, because that was dramatic and he swore he wasn't.

              "Uh," said Hunk, who was still crouched next to him on the pavement. "I feel like I should comment on this. So I'm commenting. What are we doing, Keith?"

[grabmytuna]

Happily depressed? Idk what to call myself today. I've been learning a lot about myself. The constant feeling of doom is going away. I think that being in another country has really helped me find myself. I have some new goals to implement when I get home and ways to improve my life and health. Whatever fog I've been in i think I'm coming out. I've realized that most of the judgement I feel from others is either actually from myself, or just specific events which i can't put into everyone. After a music festival in Amsterdam I took an hour to myself to think. I tried to examine where my pain and depression started. Where my anxiety began? Had I always felt like this? The drugs make it hard to remember. But I think I found it. There are 3 main events that I have discovered from my past that have significantly damaged me and that I must over on from. One was being dumped by someone that I was unhealthy attached and in love with. Losing that person made me doubt myself and expect everyone else to do the same, and I changed a lot. Prior to this I had been exiled from my friend group, and was very depressed at school because I had no one to hang out with. I brought a tech deck to school every day to keep me busy at lunch, and unintentionally started a huge fad which led to them being banned from school. Through this i made a friend who semi bullied me but hey it was a friend. Fast forward I had to move to a new city where I didn't fit in(7 years later, love the city, still don't fit in) I was made fun of a lot but made some new and solid friends(one of which I'm still best friends with he's a brother to me thank you) but my best friend at the time shut me out randomly. I had no idea how to deal with this. Life started turning into a cycle of people leaving me for no apparent reason, and it made me feel like I was insane. All of these amazing friendships were just dropping like flies, and the bullying made me feel like I was causing it all, when now I've realized we just live in a temporary world and people are allowed to come and go even it it hurts you just keep pushing. This cycle continued and I started to cling to people and not let go. It led to a lot of drugs and codependent relationships. After years of working on myself I found someone who I had been friends with and had feeling for many years. We had been hanging out occassionaly at parties and concerts and after a year of seeing each other every few months I felt strongly for her. Guess what! For the first time it worked out. I felt like my world was finally right. We didn't see each other all the time which was good bc I would always over see someone and push them away. We had similar interests, were both weird and got along, and it was the first time j had ever felt appreciated and loved by another human being in a long time. I was falling in love again. Something I swore to never do again but this girl felt like my other half, a female version of myself, made for me. Now I know this is all MY perception but when nothing feels real for so long how do I deny these feelings? I started becoming worried that things would end and some of the drugs I was doing probably added to this anxiety. But deep down I was just scared to lose her. Well I had broken my arm a few months prior and was severely depressed and in pain, I was limited in abilities and activities and she really cared for me and didn't make me feel like I was worthless or disabled. So I'm at work on day, and I get a txt saying she wants to talk. Now normally this is a red flag for me but I hadn't trusted anyone like her in forever and I knew she was going through a family death so I figured it was related to that. I went on break and called her being very sensitive as I anticipated the topic of conversation. I hung up crying and gasping for air. 6 months of the worst depression I have ever experienced and I hope nobody ever goes thru that mental prison. She ended things with me and I couldn't handle it. She was my anchor to reality and I couldn't be happy anymore. I was so fucking depressed. Christmas sucked. My mom was out of town and it was just me and my dad. Literally cried half of every day. I didn't know what to do. My friends could tell how out of it I was, as this was on top of my right arm being completely fucked(10 months after I'm at in a cast and taking Norcos everyday bc of pain fuck me right) so I'm going through life pretty poorly and just trying to stay afloat. I go into work which was at a skateshop and was basically my only escape from reality. I loved working there even though it was stressful. I walked in one day and my manager asks to speak to me(Jesus Christ there's no way I haven't done anything don't treat this like a girlfriend you just got promoted to management you aren't about to get dumped this is the one thing you're good at don't worry) those were my thoughts but I was then told I could take a demotion or quit. I was humiliated. I broke. And my manager knew I would too. I broke my arm skating in the store and I had told him about my heart break, and he threw this on me. I went in the bathroom and had a psychotic break. Everything was gone. I had no idea why all of these things were happening. I had no control. I was reaching to grab reality but it wasn't there. Logic had left my brain. I took the demotion and went home and cried all day and night and probably did a ton of drugs. Went to work the next day and got fired. Good things have happened since but after that I spent about 5 months detached from reality. None of my friends or family knew how to cope. My therapist gave up. It was just me and the drugs. I dunno. I'm alive typing this right now so I made it. I have to constantly remind myself that bad things just happen and that I didn't cause a lot of those things to happen, girls leave, jobs end, accident happen. They sucked but I learned a lot. I'm trying to be more optimistic about life again but it is hard in a full arm cast and my arm isn't healing at all and hurts a ton. I guess this is just me letting off steam and coming to realizations. If you read this long thanks. Life goes on. I'll live until I die. That's basically it. Happiness is a virtue. Love yourself cause everyone else is a variable Be happy.