#I just need to get over it and stop agonizing over every misstep I’ve made since college

[anonymolly]

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[leechonspeeddial]

Midnight Shift: Carry On, Citizen Fang

Summary: Something wicked this way comes. If only Resentment could figure out if it was the same thing that stunk up the Burger King. Chapters: 2/? Read on ao3

Straight Kevin had been very understanding about my family emergency – He was super duper cool with manning the restaurant all by his lonesome. Sadly, he wasn't understanding enough to let me get away with not telling Gay Kevin about it – which wasn't very super duper cool of him, now was it?

He didn't even have the decency to offer to call for me, the fucking coward.

"Are you certain it's an emergency?"

I rolled my eyes and skipped over the muddy snow pile blocking the sidewalk. I felt a sense of kinship with the season. Besides the cold and death, Winter went all out when it came to inconveniencing the population.

"Trust me, Kev. If I wanted to blow off work, I'd do it on location. I'm not exactly in a rush to get home, ya know?"

The line went quiet for exactly five seconds and I could picture him doing that breathing exercise he did whenever he was fed up with my shit. I took the opportunity to loudly slurp my mello yello.

Delicious.

"I don't know, you could be ditching to hang out with friends or something. Teens do that. I did that." I almost laughed, as if.

"I spend all of my free time at work and everyone my age thinks I'm pregnant with an incest baby. Bold of you to assume I even have friends."

"You would get friends if you felt like it would inconvenience me. And it would really inconvenience me right now"

"Ugh. Don't be so dramatic. I don't do things just to be a general nuisance," I heard a snort that didn't come from Gay Kevin. "Wait, did you put me on speaker?!"

"What's the word, Res" Not Kevin chimed in before being shushed by Gay Kevin.

"Relax, we're loading the rental. I don't exactly have a free hand."

"So? This only needed to be like two seconds. Take a five or something."

"I'm going to level with you, our new napkin guy gives me real sketch vibes. Any second where we're not loading, it's an additional second we have to spend here. I simply refuse to die in a dilapidated warehouse, Resentment. I refuse."

I crossed the street to take the park shortcut home. A couple of high schoolers were vaping by the swings; they stared at me and I ignored them.

"I think you'd survive. You exude final girl energy"

"Have you ever watched a horror movie? I'd literally die first"

"I watched Practical Magic once" I smirked when Not Kevin groaned.

My satisfaction didn't last long, because no more than a second later, a snowball hit the back of my head. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I couldn't gloat to Edward about having the moral high ground if I murdered every minor annoyance that crossed my path.

It just sucked having to ignore my vampire senses because I had to play human. What was the point of knowing something was coming if you were unable to stop it because you had to keep up appearances? In my opinion, humans should just have to deal with the knowledge of the supernatural. They were big kids, we didn't need to coddle them anymore.

It was 2022, for God's sake.

I turned back scowling and flipped off the fuckers. I recognized High-Pony in the group and decided to give her the soggiest, saddest, AND smallest fries next time she dared enter my work.

Maybe even sprinkle some burnt ones for extra flavor.

"I know what you're doing and I'm begging you to stop. I'm the one who has to deal with him for the next two hours"

"Don't be rude. Not Kevin is a gift," I glared at the group and slowly walked away backwards. At least until they were out of my sight. The Cullens were insane for going back to high school as often as they did.

"Ha. It's nice to be appreciated"

"Truly. Short of a museum, where else are you going to find something so old?"

"Boo. Get new jokes, the material is stale," I rolled my eyes as I shook the snow from my hair. I was rapidly approaching home and I wasn't quite prepared to go in.

For one, how was I supposed to keep my new mystery to myself if that's what Alice saw? It wasn't fair. To think I had only been worried about Big Brother and his thought police...

Reflecting on it though, if Alice saw my mystery man, then wouldn't that mean he was either a vampire or a human? Ergo, something neither mysterious nor interesting.

Disappointing.

"Whatever, gramps"

"Ok, ok. Let's get back on topic –"

"You gotta start trying harder, Chucky. You're far from the only teen girl that calls me ancient on the regular."

"Why are you regularly taking to teenage girls, creep?"

"Guys –"

"That's not what–! I foster kids!"

"Yeah, sure, pervert"

"I'm NOT –"

"OK RESENTMENT, DEAL WITH YOUR FAMILY. HANGING UP NOW"

I stopped walking and stared at my phone. Despite the length of the call, there had been no new messages from my family. I was unsure if that was a good sign.

I took a sip from my drink and was disappointed to find I only had ice left. I wondered if that was thematically significant, or maybe even foreshadowing.

Sigh.

I picked up my pace and tried to empty my mind before arriving home. "No thoughts, head empty" was a good mantra when you lived with a mind reader.

The rest of the walk was fairly uneventful, save for some guy who got attacked by a flock of ducks for getting way too close without enough food. Beware, all amateur wildlife photographers, lest the same fate falls upon you, I guess.

Poor guy even lost his coat. I was happy to assume it was the first casualty under the duck assault.

I slowed down when I finally arrived across the street from my home.  The newest Cullen mansion stood foreboding before me. A concrete monument full of sharp lines and odd angles; despite all of Esme's soft touches, brutalism simply exuded hostility and soullessness. Try as she might, there was a limit to how much you could dress up a giant grey concrete block to make it look approachable – and if we were being honest, it wasn't working.

How's that for a metaphor?

Well. There was no use delaying the inevitable.

I entered the house.

[Scene Break]

Being a half-vampire meant that I always felt at a misstep with everyone around me. To me, humanity was more of a scientific field of study that I took interest in and less of a dearly held-on memento of a bygone era or something that I simply had.

From the vampire side of things, while I was clearly an abomination, my existence didn't require me to be a parasitic blood freak. That put me in a different head space from the rest of my family. For one, I didn't need to agonize over my monstrous nature; secondly, I wasn't a slave to my bloodlust if I kept myself full of human food; and thirdly, there just wasn't much precedent for me to measure up to.

For all we knew, everything I did was the best I could have done.

That was all to say, I always felt like there was something I was missing when interacting with anyone. My point of view was fundamentally a different one, and though some things I could make sense of theoretically, it wasn't the same as first-hand experience.

Standing in the living room, surrounded by my family as they continued to say nothing, I couldn't help but think that perhaps this time the context I was missing had nothing to do with my hybrid status.

Edward paced while looking constipated but everyone else stood motionless and rigidly like the statues they were. Not even Emmett tried to lighten the mood, and that's how you knew it was serious.

"So who's going to who's funeral? Please don't say any of my coworkers, I've grown quite attached to them"

"Renesmee," Edward warned. I ignore him like he ignored my preferred name.

"Is it you pops? Wanna crack open another high school girl and drink her up like grape soda?"

"For once in your life could you stop acting like a brat?" Edward snapped and I flinched.

"Takes one to know one. Maybe if you didn't raise one you wouldn't have to deal with one, dad"

"Enough!" We both turned to look at Carlisle and I could see how unsettled he was. My stomach churned.

"Maybe my vision was wrong. Maybe it wasn't him," Alice sounded desperate, almost like the time the truck transporting her latest Givenchy haul got into a freak accident and the customer service lady told her they couldn't replace her order until after whatever microtrend that had been happening at the time ended.

"No, Alice. I saw your vision. It was. No doubt about it, that face is burned in my memory"

"It just doesn't make any sense, Edward!"

"I know what I saw," he replied forcefully.

Carlisle rubbed at his eyes, and for the briefest of seconds, you could have mistaken him for human.

"What's going on? You guys are scaring me," nothing felt right and all I wanted to do was to get back to the Burger King. At least the Kevins kept me in the loop when potentially life-threatening stuff happened.

"James is back," Bella whispered and I looked at her. Out of all of the Cullens, she looked the least worried. While everyone else's expressions visibly darkened at hearing the name, Bella said the name like she would say any name that wasn't Edward's.

"Who the fuck is James?"

"He was a vampire," Jasper growled.

"So what's the big deal? I don't know if you have noticed, but all of you are vampires"

"Emphasis on the was, Nessie. We ripped apart the bastard a good 16 years ago," Emmet explained. I raised my eyebrow.

"You sure about that? Last I heard, once you killed the undead, they were dead for good. No such thing as an undead undead."

"Oh, damn sure. We tore into him like frenzied piranhas at lunchtime and then lit him like a firework on the Fourth of July," Rosalie lightly hit his arm.

"You don't have to be so graphic about it"

"So it's obviously not him," Edward made a noise filled with frustration.

"Renesmee, I know what I saw. It was him, I would bet my life on it"

"Would you bet Bella's?" was what I almost said but Edward's glare made me reconsider. Just this once.

"Dead people just don't walk around all over the place," I said instead.

"We do," Emmett chimed in.

"We're different!"

"So why not him?"

"Edward is right," Classic Carl Carlisle move. His Golden Child could never be wrong. "I might have heard of something like this happening before."

There was a brief moment of silence before everyone exploded.

"WHAT?!"

Carlisle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You have to understand, I couldn't verify it at the time."

When he said nothing, Esme made a "well, go on" motion.

"It happened about a decade ago. I only came upon this information because of Eleazar – he had approached me about it because he thought I was involved," Carlisle walked towards a window and stared into the distance like the dramatic bitch he was.

Edward slapped the back of my head.

"He told me heard of rumors of a vampire that had died 50 years ago and who walked the Earth again. You all know about my passion for Theology and my desire to find out what waits for us on the other side, so I promised to look into it. It took a while, but eventually, I heard back from someone"

"Your trip to Carencro," Esme gasped. "You said it was a conference!"

"When was this, I don't remember this?" Carl was holding back no punches in his dramatic reveal.

"It was our semester abroad," that's what Edward like to call the half a year experiment we spent in France. He wanted to see if Bella, him, and I could be a family unit all on our own.

It failed pretty miserably, would never happen again.

"I didn't want to burden you, love. Not unless I knew for sure."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "So what happened?"

Carlisle turned back to us and shrugged.

"I met my informant and they told me to go to this one cafe and ask for Roy. I went there and the manager told me no one with that name worked there"

"So you got pranked," Emmet said.

"I looked around town for a couple of days, and since nothing else came up after my trip to Lousiana, I felt comfortable labeling the whole thing a hoax."

Rosalie scoffed. "And you think that's what's happening here?"

"I think it could be a possibility. This is our only lead"

I thought over what Carlisle just said. Could there really be an afterlife vampires could come back from? And if that was the case, then what happened to Roy? Was Roy even the vampire Elezear heard about?

But most importantly, why now?

"Hey, Alice. Besides James, what else did you see?"

Everyone went quiet and I looked back at them confused.

"I saw us without you"

"I mean, you don't really see me in your visions," I chuckled nervously.

"When I don't see you, it's like I'm looking around something. What I saw...it felt like I would never have to deal with that interference again."

"...Oh"

That didn't sound good.

[thanks--for--listening]

collision moments

hello ppl im back with another FMAB fic this time featuring my best girls, Olivier and Izumi. there’s a chance i do another fic in this series but tbh i’ve struggled with it so who can say whether it’ll happen or not lol. (also on ao3)

~~

Olivier Armstrong prided herself on her refusal to give in to fear. 

It wasn’t that she was fearless. To never be afraid would take away the core of her humanity — even the Humunculi, it had been reported, seemed to hold some level of fear, if for nothing more than their own death. Unlike what she let so many men believe, she wasn’t void of the feeling: she simply knew how to handle it. She’d spent a lifetime refusing to allow it to transform into cowardice, to let it debilitate her. Survival depended on the ability to compartmentalize, to fight off paralysis long enough to eliminate the threat. In battle, she would never waver. She would never allow someone to see through her, to let her own feelings fan another’s spark of hesitation into a flame of weakness. She’d stand in front of them like the very wall they compared her to: unwavering and unbreakable. 

But compartmentalizing was only effective if there was some form of relief. So it was in the cover of night, when no one was there to follow her lead, that the cracks began to show.

Tonight, she saw the beast. In her dreams it stood in front of her exactly as it had that morning, it’s eyes lifeless and it’s skin impenetrable. She’d beaten it before, but the variables had changed. Central City was too warm, too populated, its men unaccustomed to the survival instincts those at Briggs relied on. And there was Alex, fighting alongside her, and for all her complaints and her irritation, she couldn’t stop her heart from skipping beats with every blow he took. Especially when he took them for her. 

She watched her brother defeat it time after time, only for sparks to sew its artificial limbs back together. She could feel the blood dripping down her face, blurring her vision and painting the room red. The pain in her arm screamed, and it took more energy than she’d care to admit to ignore it. Alex held his own scars, blood decorating his face as well, and as it began to charge, a part of her thought that, at the very least, their deaths would be honorable. 

A fist of stone punched through the wall, through her thoughts of honor and sacrifice, and for a moment the end didn’t feel imminent anymore. The woman fought with grit, cracked a smile at the sight of the beast before them. As she pieced together her identity, she thought perhaps she was looking at the reason those brothers had lasted as long as they did, the reason they’d managed to hold their own alongside her men. The survivor mentality surrounded her, shined like the glow of the colors they sometimes saw in the northern sky, just defined enough to know it wasn’t a trick of the light.

In an instant, they were on the stairs. Olivier silently begged her mind to wake up, to leave before it happened again, because there was one moment that scared her beyond belief, more so than the monsters and the soldiers without souls, more so than dying alongside her brother in the heat of the city. 

Her brain refused to give her the relief of avoidance. Perhaps this was the cost, the price she’d have to pay for holding herself together when it happened. The eye appeared out of nowhere, opened up as if it was emerging from inside the earth. Izumi screamed as the hands pulled her apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. In dreams she often saw reality in brutal slow motion, every misstep spotlighted so bright she couldn’t ignore it, but not tonight. Tonight, it blinked and took her as fast as it had in real time. 

The only way she could think to describe it was forbidden; no human should be able to witness what she saw and walk away with a sound mind. Olivier couldn’t tell if it swallowed her whole or simply snapped her out of existence. Worse than the sight of it was the feeling, Izumi’s hand in her own turning into nothing but air. Despite her strength and her unfailing grip, when it mattered most, she wasn’t strong enough to hold on. 

In the safety of her subconscious, she allowed herself to give in to the terror she’d buried. It pressed down on her chest like a weight she wasn’t strong enough to lift. Tears fell from her eyes and she let them, just this once, because she truly thought they’d all meet their ends, losing to something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she'd held her a little tighter, if she hadn’t needed help in the first place, it could have all been avoided. She wouldn’t have had to listen to the desperation in Sig’s voice, to watch as he searched for someone that may no longer exist. The blame sat heavy on her shoulders, and she let it suffocate her. 

Olivier woke with a gasp. The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was the lights. The brightness rivaled the sun’s reflection on the snow, a sight that could cost a man their life in the North. She shut her eyes again, a groan slipping out before she could stop it.

“It’s about time you woke up.” Olivier felt the lights dim around her. She hesitantly opened her eyes again, turned her head and found Izumi sitting in a chair, mindlessly turning the pages of the book in her hands. 

A hundred questions sat on her lips, but she settled for the important one: “How long was I out?”

Izumi shrugged. “About a day, give or take.”

That couldn’t be right. She glanced out the window, saw the afternoon sun hanging in the sky, and it was exactly as she remembered but...but she hadn’t been inside. She’d been brought up from under the ground, she’d seen the youngest Elric brother stand in his own skin, and then...and then…

She tried to sit up, but her body screeched at the first hint of movement. Every bone throbbed, every muscle ached. Injury and pain had never been a stranger, but this rivalved her worst moments. Holding her breath, she gingerly settled back down. 

“You’ll want to take it easy,” Izumi told her. “Doctor said you took quite a nasty blow to the head. He wasn’t sure how you’d survived it, let alone the damage to the rest of you.”

Olivier scoffed. “Then he’s an idiot. It’ll take more than some falling stones and a beast as idiotic as that one to kill me.”

“Yes,” she said with a grin. “From what I’ve seen, I don’t doubt it.”

She turned her attention back toward the window. Her brain tried its best to think back to the fight, to the aftermath, but even trying to think made the pain so agonizing she was forced to shut her eyes again. Damn Bradley, and damn his fucking monsters with their sorry excuse for a life and their outright refusal to die.

“How—“ she asked in between labored breaths, “how did I get here?”

Izumi hesitated. “How much do you remember?”

Normally, she’d refuse to give up anything that could be used against her, especially to someone outside of Briggs. She was vulnerable here, confined to her bed, body broken and bruised and memory ridden with holes. Logic said to keep her mouth shut, but there was something about her. She may not have been one of her soldiers, but her gut told her that Izumi Curtis was someone she could trust. And her gut was never wrong. 

“I know about Alphonse. You carried us up to the surface just in time to see him stand. After that, there’s nothing.”

Izumi nodded. “At first, everybody celebrated. It was calm, even after everything that had happened. Al getting his body back...well, it was about as clear a victory as any.”

Olivier watched the way she smiled at the thought, the way her eyes held unshed tears. Truthfully, the boy getting his body back hadn’t been at the forefront of her concerns, but she’d hoped for their sake they’d accomplish it. And hearing her talk about it, about both of the Elric brothers, it became increasingly clear that despite her intensity and her ruthlessness, Izumi cared deeply for the two of them. 

“What happened next?”

Izumi laughed. “You happened next. You walked up and demanded someone take Al to a hospital, before his weakened body gave out on him.”

Oh. Well, she wasn’t wrong. The boy had been nothing but skin and bones, the textbook image of malnourished. She would bet that Edward might not have appreciated her interruption, but he’d come to understand her later. 

“And did they? Take him to the hospital?”

“Your brother did. Lifted him up and carried him there himself.”

“I assume he cried the whole time?”

“Like an infant.”

Olivier groaned. “My brother’s soft heart and hysterics will be the end of him one of these days.”

“You should have seen him in here earlier, blubbering over you.” She scoffed. “Men and their emotions. They just don’t know how to control themselves.”

She hummed in agreement. “It’s a disease if you ask me.”

Izumi nodded, before adding, “Although, perhaps it was better that he left when he did.”

“And why is that?”

“Once he carried Alphonse off the battleground, you began commanding all the people who were left. You coordinated trucks to take the injured to the hospital, communicated with the soldiers still out in the streets. It was impressive, until you gave your last order and promptly collapsed.”

If her arm hadn’t been bound to her chest, she would have curled both fists in frustration. A leader never showed weakness like that, not even after the battle came to an end. Her reputation would need patching, of that she was certain. 

If she noticed her embarrassment, Izumi didn’t comment on it; instead, she shrugged and said, “It could have been worse. Most of the soldiers had already dispersed. Plus, you didn’t hit the ground. Not sure your body could have taken another blow like that.”

Maybe it was the head injury, but she couldn’t fully comprehend the words she was hearing. “How is that possible? That I fell but never reached the ground?”

“Simple. I caught you.”

As if her humiliation couldn’t get any worse. The thought of being caught like an overwhelmed maiden made her want to take her sword and plunge it through her body herself, but instead she sighed and said, “I suppose I owe you an extra bit of gratitude, then.”

“Nonsense. I’m a housewife — I’m meant to take care of others.”

“You’re much more than that. The way you fought that beast was as impressive as any warrior I’ve seen.”

Izumi smiled. “I must admit, it felt nice to fight something that presented a challenge. And I’d been itching to let my alchemy loose ever since Hoenheim healed my ailment.” She laughed to herself as she said, “Vomiting blood would not have been an impressive conclusion to a battle like that.”

Olivier raised her eyebrow. “Vomiting blood?”

“A consequence of my visit through the portal. Physical exertion like that used to leave me bedridden for days.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond. The image of Izumi confined to a bed was almost as unimaginable as the one of her desperate enough to attempt human transmutation in the first place. She’d chalked up the Elric brother’s mistake to childhood idiocracy and arrogance, but she couldn’t fathom what would lead a woman like Izumi to do the same. 

“You’re wondering who it was,” Izumi said, her tone attempting neutrality and almost succeeding. “You’re wondering who I tried to bring back.”

“I understand if you want to keep that information to yourself. You don’t owe me any kind of explanation.”

“No, but I think I’ll give you one anyway.”

The answer surprised her. “Why?” 

“Because I’ve spent years forced to pretend it never happened. The attempt alone is enough to get me arrested, or worse. But ever since Ed and Al came back, ever since they figured it out...I’m not sure why, but it felt nice. Talking about it. Not trying to hide from it. I’d like to continue to do that, if I can.”

Had she been in a different place, a different time, she may have left it at that. Instead, her thoughts slipped through her mind’s weakened blockade, materialized right in front of her. “I know this topic is...delicate. For all his flaws, my brother is the one who knows how to provide comfort. If you’re looking for sensitivity, you won’t find it here.”

The words felt like a confession. She’d always been this way, cold and callous and short-tempered when it came to matters of the heart. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sympathize with anyone (although, in all honesty, she found many of the so-called problems people claimed to have were weak excuses for pain, and didn’t deserve her sympathy in the first place), but she had never known how to express the feelings properly. Her and her brother could be pinpointed on opposite sides of a spectrum, and while she’d choose her position over his a thousand times over, she could still admit that, outside of the battlefield and the barracks, her lack of emotional expression could be perceived as a shortcoming. 

“I’m not looking for someone to cry for me,” Izumi told her. “I’ve spent enough years crying for myself.”

“I don’t mean to be rude. But I don’t know what it is I have to offer you.”

“How about a captive audience?” She said the words with a smile, and despite the fact that Olivier could hear the lie in her voice, she decided not to call her out on it. 

Izumi put her book down beside her, but she let her gaze drop, spoke to her lap instead of her face. “Ever since I was a girl, I’d longed for motherhood. Most people never expected it of me. Those who knew me wouldn’t have described me as the nurturing type, and they wouldn’t have been wrong to do so. I spent so many years wanting. It made me angry, how much I desired, how much I had to fight for every piece of it. The ability to make decisions for myself. Independence and strength. An education. I wanted it all, and I wanted a child of my own. A legacy.

“When I got pregnant,” she continued, “I thought I would finally get to stop fighting. Sig and I, we’d spent so much time trying. I’ve heard some describe motherhood as a gift or a miracle, but to me, it felt like a victory. A battle I’d finally won.” Her tone softened when she said, “I made the mistake so many do when their mind is clouded with arrogance. I celebrated too early.”

A part of her didn’t want to hear what came next. Listening to this story was like witnessing a car crash and knowing you didn’t have the time to avoid the collision. There were only two options: watch it happen, or close your eyes. Either way, the end was inevitable. The only difference would be whether to spare yourself the added pain, to become blind to the indisputable evidence laid out in front of you. 

Weaker men often chose to hide. In the collision moments, plenty of strong men did, too. But she’d never been the type to look away when faced with the incoming hurt; she wasn’t going to start now. So she said nothing, showed nothing. She simply waited for Izumi to find her way to the conclusion.

After a moment of hesitation, she did. “Our baby never cried. Never made so much as a sound.”

Every puzzle piece clicking into place only made her regret asking. When the Elric brothers told her about their mother, they’d done so mostly out of necessity. It was all connected — their action, their bodies, their shared enemy. It pained them, obviously, but she hadn’t realized how much of that pain had been clouded by the looming danger. They’d told her, but not like this. Nothing like this.

Izumi stared right through her, like she wasn’t even there. “Silence had never felt so sharp. So present. It was like it was making fun of me, drowning out all my claims of strength by reminding me just how little I could control. Even now, in the quiet, I still hear it. The mockery. It drove me to lengths I never thought I’d go, carried me past lines I never thought I’d cross.” She tried to laugh, but it never stood a chance. Nothing about this was funny. “You can fill in the blanks of what happened next.”

Olivier waited for more; when it became clear there was none, she began searching for words of her own. She wondered, for a moment, whether now would be the time to channel Alex, to speak the way he might. But his words would sound fake coming from her. Even if they were the right ones. 

In the end, she settled for sincerity. “Boy or girl?”

Izumi blinked, and Olivier watched as her eyes refocused. She could hear the joy hidden in her response. It was buried underneath the hurt, just barely poking through the rubble, but it was still there when she smiled and said, “Girl.”

She nodded. There wasn’t much else to do. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

Silence slipped back in. Olivier thought about her words, about the noiselessness. She’d never been one to relax in the quiet. Any good soldier knew that the most dangerous of enemies hardly made a sound, but right now it felt almost tangible. The weight of it grew with every passing second. Loss was heavier than any object she’d come across, and while she was no stranger to it herself, this pain Izumi described felt harsher than any she’d ever experienced. 

As the seconds passed, she felt a restlessness unrelated to her physical incapacitation. Uncertainty crept up on her, and in its presence she found her thoughts from yesterday’s battle, the observations that now felt increasingly relevant.

“Well,” she told her, “If it’s a legacy you want, I’d argue you’ve already got one.”

“What do you mean?”

“You taught the Elric brothers. Their success is your success. And right now, they have a significant share of it.”

Izumi shook her head. “It’s not the same.”

“I know. But it’s close, is it not?” Izumi hesitated, before nodding. Olivier shrugged and said, “Maybe one day close will be enough.”

She spoke with more confidence than she felt. An old habit from childhood, when she’d learned that faith in oneself could be manufactured, that pretending to have it could make it appear. She may not have her brother’s alchemic strength, but in her mind she’d discovered her own kind of magic, one that had yet to let her down.

“You know,” Izumi said after a moment. “I don’t think you were honest with me earlier.”

Olivier frowned at the accusation. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You told me I wouldn’t find comfort here, when in fact, I think you may have told me everything I needed to hear.”

She had to bite back the smile that threatened to make an appearance. “If you ever tire of the warmth, I could use someone like you up North.” Olivier knew the suggestion was nothing more than a courtesy, but she meant it. A spirit like Izumi’s was hard to teach — often, it had to be found. And she’d never found anyone quite like her. 

“I appreciate the offer, but my life is here. I’m not ready to give that up just yet. Although,” she said with a grin that could only be described as mischievous, “I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy fighting alongside you and your brother.”

She couldn’t help but match her expression. “You should see me fight up North.”

“A spectacular sight, I’m sure. Though I don’t think you’ll be fighting any battles in the near future.”

“I wouldn’t rule the possibility out just yet. Reconstruction is no simple task, and there’s a lot of idiots still hanging around in the military. And that’s not including the ones on our side.” 

She groaned at the prospect, at her own reminder of what frustrations lay ahead. Just the thought of having to work alongside Mustang during this incoming period of transition was enough to bring her headache back. 

Izumi laughed. “I don’t envy you and your companions for the job ahead of you. The complexities of bureaucracy were never of much interest to me.”

“A necessary evil, I suppose, albeit an annoying one. Governing would be so much simpler if we disregarded the absurd level of formality and politeness demanded by those in charge.”

“The perk of teaching the Elrics on my own — I never had to adhere to such ridiculous standards.”

Izumi looked so much calmer, so much happier, that Olivier almost didn’t ask. But curiosity and boredom formed a crossroad with opportunity, and holding her tongue proved to be much more difficult than she’d expected. “Will you continue teaching?” She asked. “Now that your ailment is healed, that is.”

She hesitated, and for a moment Olivier longed to take back the question. “Maybe,” she finally said. “The future isn’t as clear as it once was.”

“I suppose that’s the beauty of it.”

“Yes,” Izumi said. “I suppose it is.”

Unconsciousness tugged at her brain. Olivier tried her best to resist it. There was work to be done, after all. Their revolution didn’t have the luxury of idle time — there was a country to rebuild, and she would be crucial to its second life. Yet, lying there, conversation dwindling back into the comfort of silence, she found it hard to stay awake. The weight on her eyes wasn’t just from the pain, or the medication, or the head injury; she found herself at ease here. It was a feeling she often avoided in the North, and one she certainly hadn’t known in Central City for quite some time. 

Izumi noticed, which didn’t surprise her. “I should let you rest. When you wake again, I suspect responsibilities will be waiting for you.”

“Before you go,” she said, “I wanted to thank you. You saved my life, and my brother’s. That’s not an act I take lightly. I owe you a debt I may never be able to repay.”

She smiled, but this time it was softer, lacking the bite and mischief of the one she’d worn earlier. “Fix this country, and we’ll call it even.”

Olivier couldn’t hide a groan as she put her remaining energy into lifting her free arm, extending her hand out as best she could. 

Izumi looked at it, before laughing. “Guess even you aren’t immune to the military’s ridiculous formalities. Is a vow in words not enough? We need to shake on it?”

“It’s—“ she held her breath, gave herself two seconds to let the pain subside, before continuing, “—not about the military.”

Recognition came over the other woman quickly. Olivier wondered how she remembered the moment, her own disappearance. How it might have felt. Part of her longed to ask about it, but so much had been given to her today — it felt insensitive to want more. Not to mention it wasn’t answers she needed: it was confirmation. Indisputable proof of her own that, despite her own failure, she’d truly come back. 

Izumi didn’t take her hand; instead, she kept her eyes on it, like it might disappear if she looked away. “I hope you know there was nothing you could have done to prevent that.”

“Had we not needed your help, then—“

“Then I would have been taken somewhere else, and my husband would have been left stranded on the street instead of in your company. Trust me when I say that sticking with you was the best thing we could have done.”

Olivier closed her eyes. The pain still lingered, her outstretched hand dropping slightly with each passing second. She wasn’t one to dwell often, and the logical part of her understood that few people could stand up to alchemy as advanced as what she saw yesterday. But none of that changed what she knew to be true.

She opened her eyes, waited to speak until she caught Izumi’s gaze. “Regardless of the circumstance, you saved me. And I couldn’t save you. For that, you have my sincerest apologies.”

Izumi finally took her hand. Olivier forced her mind to pay attention, to commit this moment to memory, because she knew in the coming nights, when she saw her failures again and again, she’d need it. She’d need to remember. 

A handshake could tell her more about a person than any words they might say. It spoke not only to their character, but also to their perception of her. Yesterday, Izumi’s grip had been firm, communicating mutual respect and self confidence. It was looser this time around, more delicate, but Olivier could tell the change wasn’t an insult or an indication of weakness — it was a sign of care. Thoughtfulness, the type only found in nurturers, given to her in perhaps the only way she’d accept it.

“My husband said you refused to stop searching for me.” She spoke softly, kept their hands clasped together. “I appreciate that.”

“Of course. I’m not in the business of leaving my people behind.”

The grin spread quickly, until it took over Izumi’s entire face. “I’m your people, huh?”

Olivier tried to humor her, but sincerity won in the end. She wasn’t entirely sure when it happened. During the battle, maybe, or the conversation on the stairs afterward. Maybe it didn’t happen until today, until she’d woken up and found her sitting by her side. Either way, the truth couldn’t be denied: Izumi was one of hers now. Not a soldier under her command, but a companion she knew she could trust. And that meant there was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep her safe.

 “Yes,” she told her. “You are.”

“Do I get a say in this grouping?”

Olivier raised an eyebrow at her. “Would you object to it if you did?”

The standoff only lasted a few seconds before Izumi burst out into laughter, finally breaking their handshake to wrap her arms around her sides. She tried not to focus on how deeply she felt her absence, how cold her palm became without Izumi’s hand to keep it company.

“No,” she said lightly. “No objections here. Although if I’m really part of your group now, I wouldn’t mind a chance to test out that sword of yours.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she fought a grin of her own. “Don’t push it.”

Izumi just kept laughing. She wasn’t prepared to like the sound so much, to feel it echoing in her chest. To feel the desire to join her. A sound like that, after the battle they just had, wasn’t so easily conjured. It took strength to find joy after trauma, to stare death in the eye and laugh, not at it but in spite of it. And for someone like Izumi, with so much heartbreak and hurt in her history, to stand here and revel in it? It was impressive, as much as any display of alchemy or strength in battle. Olivier just stared and tried to resist a smile of her own. Each minute with her revealed a new layer, and she could hardly fight the urge to uncover her completely. 

“I’m just saying,” Izumi said, “how else am I supposed to fight off all the military assholes who’ll try to wake you up with their paperwork and other useless bullshit?”

“I think you’d manage just fine without it.” Five seconds passed between them before the rest of her sentence clicked. “What would you still be doing here, anyway?”

Izumi scoffed. “I’m not just gonna leave you by yourself.”

“But I’ll be asleep.”

“Yes. And I’ll be here. Doing exactly what I was doing before you woke up earlier today.”

She should have left it alone, but whatever shame she’d had disappeared the moment she’d heard about the fainting incident, so there really was no point in trying to resist curiosity anymore. “Why?” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never stayed in someone’s hospital room before. As a general, I imagine it’s something you’re quite familiar with.”

“No, it’s not that — why me?”

Izumi stared at her, wearing an expression that managed to combine amusement with confusion. “You really don’t get it, do you? If I’m your people, then you’re mine. And I don’t leave my people alone when they’re hurt. Conscious or otherwise.”

She didn’t know how to explain it. The way it made her feel. Like the sun was shining from inside her, spreading its light through her veins until warmth was the only thing her body knew. She wasn’t one for humility, but she genuinely wondered what she’d done to deserve it, this kindness that felt entirely unearned. Whatever the reason, she decided then and there that she’d fight to hold onto it, no matter the cost. 

“Very well.” The words came out softer than she intended. She forced herself to swallow the emotion back before she added, “But don’t avoid seeing the Elrics on my account. I imagine they’ll need you more than I will.”

Izumi waved her off. “Al will be in here for quite a while, I imagine. And Ed — well, I suspect he’ll be desperate for some time alone with his brother. The last thing they’ll want is my hovering.” 

“You don’t hover,” she said without meaning to. 

Izumi just smiled. She did that a lot, she’d noticed, and Olivier didn’t know how each one managed to convey something different. Amusement, joy, borderline impertinence, all finding their way into what should have been a simple expression. Maybe it was Izumi’s own kind of magic. Maybe they shared more than she thought. 

“You know,” she said, “it’s okay to put yourself first once and a while.”

“Maybe next time,” Olivier lied. 

Izumi shook her head as she looked back at the book in her lap. Part of her wanted to grab her attention again, to keep whatever this was going, but her eyes grew heavy again with sleep, and she could only hold it off for so long. She caved as she finally closed them. Silence slipped back in, broken only by the slight hum from the turning of pages. 

Sleep, the restful kind, had evaded her for the past few months. Even before this war and its revelations, it had always been a luxury she couldn’t afford, a risk she refused to take. But now, accompanied by the quiet presence of the woman sitting next to her, it knocked at her door. And for the first time in as long as she could remember, she let it in, without fear or hesitation.

[reformedkingsmanagent]

{Batter Up} Part 3/?

A/N: Thanks so much for reading this, I really appreciate it! 

[Part 1]      [Part 2]

He’s not coming.

“Yes he is,” you mumbled. Your optimism was starting to feel a bit foolish. You’d lost count of the number of times you had to explain that the seat beside you was taken. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it up.

At least he wouldn’t know how early you got there.

“Alright, why don’t we get started.” You glanced over at the empty seat beside you and sighed, trying to brush away the rising disappointment.

Told you not to get your hopes up.

The work on your canvas went a bit slower than usual. You were aimlessly adding things that you didn’t need just to try to keep yourself distracted. All the colors in the palette were blended together into a muddy mess which now covered a good portion of the blue you’d added the previous week.

Why do you care so much? You’re overreacting.

You froze, brush a centimeter away from the canvas, as the gentle pressure of a very large hand met the small of your back. “Sorry I’m late.” He was doing his best to whisper.

As you turned to look at Steve, your eyes widened. He managed a quiet laugh at your obvious concern. “What happened?” Your hands itched to drop the brush and move over to the harsh pink mark at his cheek.

You didn’t dare.

He set his leather jacket down on the stool and leaned down to pick up his canvas, setting it on the easel.

“Classified.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course.”

“Sorry, doll, but that’s the job.”

You grew warm all over at the casual nickname. Doll.

“Seems dangerous.”

“It is.”

“What sort of problems are left that require your intervention?”

“The worst kind.”

Almost ten minutes passed where not a word was spoken. You were agonizing over your canvas, while Steve seemed to be deciding which color to start with.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing with this anymore,” you mumbled. Steve moved to stand behind you, taking a moment to observe the mess in front of you.

“Why don’t you just…”

“Wha—”

The palette was pulled out of your hand, as was the brush. Before you could attempt to get them back, he began painting over the rest of your picture with the dark color, not stopping until every bit of it was covered.

“Give yourself a fresh slate?”

You could read the conflict in his face, though he was good at hiding it.

“Why don’t you take your own advice?”

He turned and passed your brush and palette back to you, though he lingered. After a few more seconds of thoughtful silence, his blue eyes met yours.

“There’s no such thing for me.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.”

He reacted immediately, his eyes softening. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, reaching out but stopping short of laying your hand on his arm. He seemed like he had more to say, but he kept quiet, returning to his own painting a few seconds later.

Staring up at your ‘blank slate,’ you were stuck on where to start. What was left? Not all that much. Not for you, anyway. The city showed more obviously the human cost of Thanos’s attack. It was unavoidable. It was why you were here, this nagging sense of misplaced guilt you fully acknowledged but didn’t know how to get rid of. You suspected Steve felt the same, though he’d argue it wasn’t misplaced. You were just stumbling around in the dark, going through the motions despite being in a seriously altered reality.

***

He’d had the brush in hand for the last fifteen minutes, but his mind was elsewhere. These constant social missteps just reinforced the thought he carried always. He was still, even after all this, so out of place. Out of time. Out of step with everyone else.

“So, what are you working on?”

As he glanced over towards you he noticed you looked a bit more relaxed than after he unintentionally slighted you.

“It’s, uh, Wakanda. Have to admit, there’s no sunrise like a Wakandan sunrise. Have you ever been?”

You let out a laugh, raising your eyebrows at his question. “Until recently, no one even knew it existed in that capacity. I’d have no business being in Wakanda.”

He scoffed at himself, looking down towards his work. “Right.”

You can’t relate to anyone. You should go back to isolating yourself.

“It’s really pretty, Steve. I guess there are still some good things left.”

Looking over at you, he agreed.

***

“So are you really not going to tell me about that?” you asked, reaching up to touch your cheek.

He smiled, leaning back in the booth. “Just keeping the peace.”

“How many of you are left?”

He shrugged, but you saw the momentary flash of pain in his eyes. “Not many.”

“I’m sorry I keep asking these questions, you don’t have to answer them. I don’t know how to… not.” You took a sip from your cup, wishing you could just turn off your curiosity. If it’s painful enough for you, how do you think he feels?

“It’s okay.” His hands were on yours around your coffee cup, easily covering them. As you looked up at him, he started to smile. “It’s normal. You don’t need to apologize.”

“I just think about how much time has passed, and it still doesn’t feel real. Like the last two years of my life have been some sort of nightmare. Like I’ll wake up tomorrow and maybe they’ll all be back, like nothing happened. It’s just hard to accept.”

“It is. There’s a lot of pain in surviving, especially when the cost is so high.” His grip on your hands tightened. “But it’s up to us to move on, to make the most of what we have left.”

“Have you moved on?”

He frowned. “Not at all.”

It felt good to talk openly, and you felt you were learning more about Steve Rogers with each passing second. Instead of keeping up a warm, welcoming facade, he wasn’t afraid to admit what he was dealing with.

After a few minutes of silence and contemplation, he released your hands and picked up his coffee, taking a long sip.

“I want to help,” you announced. “There’s gotta be something I can do,” you insisted, sitting up in your seat.

That brought a curious smile to his face. “Help with what?”

“I mean, surely you guys are trying to do something.”

“Trying to keep what’s left of the world from falling apart.” He saw your face fall. “We just don’t know how to fix things. We’d need a time machine, and even then, he defeated us so easily, that I…”

It was like a bruise, something he seemed to want to keep talking about despite the soreness he felt. He couldn’t help himself. Maybe he needed to get it all off his chest? You’d listen if he let you.

“Maybe we can talk on the way…?”

He finished off his drink and stood.

***

“I had my hands on it, you could feel the energy flowing through it, it was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. And just like that, I was tossed away. It’s not often that I’m made to feel small, but he succeeded. Like it was effortless for him. We didn’t stand a chance.”

It all replayed in Steve’s mind as he recounted that day. The attempt to stop Thanos wasn’t the painful part, it was after, once he was gone, that the devastation made itself known. And even the best of them didn’t serve as anything more than a speed bump in his plans.

“What are these stones? How do they have so much power?”

“Honestly, that’s beyond me. If Tony were here he’d be able to…”

Steve hadn’t spoken to Tony in almost two years now. He immediately abandoned the thought. There was no way he could reach out to him now.

“So Captain America and Iron Man don’t talk?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I think with things the way they are, there isn’t time for grudges or resentment.”

Before Steve could reply that he wished it were that easy, he detected quick movement on your right. The cyclist speeding around the two of you didn’t leave enough space and decided to roughly shove you aside to make up for it. For a moment Steve saw everything in slow motion. You, balance upset, your bag halfway to the ground, you well on your way after it. The cyclist focused on the path ahead, not concerned with what was about to happen.

Steve moved to catch you. He managed to safely pull you into his chest, a move that felt like it took minutes but was truly only half a second. With you looking up at him, a bit stunned, he realized how close the two of you were, how well you fit in his arms, how good it felt to talk to you, to vent, all at once. Like he was making the right choice by leaning down to connect the two of you further.

***

You were falling, and then suddenly you weren’t. Dark plaid filled your vision. You felt his arms around you in a protective embrace. You didn’t have time to understand what just happened before his soft lips met yours.

His grip on you shifted to something a bit more comfortable now that you weren’t falling. Your hands were already on his chest to try to brace yourself so you allowed yourself to melt into him a bit. He wasn’t so bad at kissing, you thought.

When the two of you finally separated, you were reluctant to leave his arms. Your lips were buzzing, his cheeks were pink, and his blue eyes were absolutely focused on you.

“Do you want to come inside?”

You watched him break eye contact only to briefly glance up at your apartment building. He nodded.

“Yes.”

[anemoiarts]

Corrupted Hero, by anemoiarts

1: False Dawn

The stagnant haze of a century clouded the humid air of the Shrine. Painted a soft blue from the reverent glow of the resurrection pedestal at the heart of the room, the haze hung, silently, around the dormant form of a young Hylian laid across the pedestal. Sealed away from the world above, the Shrine hummed to itself in silence, as still as the Hylian it cradled. Forgotten by time and memory and ash, both the Hylian and the Shrine listened, awaiting the voice they had heard, every day, for one hundred years.

She was late today. Her calls had grown later and later, recently. But the Shrine knew she had a reason. Its patience could withstand the delay; time had always been its friend.

Though initially absent, she finally appeared from out of the darkness. She breathed her usual appeal just as intently and urgently as she had when the fields of Hyrule raged with flames.

Wake up, Link… she plead, faithful as always.

Her voice reached across a vast expanse, seeping through the Shrine’s walls and drifting toward the Hylian. Gently, it pushed through the thick, ancient mist enshrouding the pedestal and sunk through the murky, protective lake entombing him, whispering its way into his mind, straining to inspire some form of life within him.

She paused, half-expecting something to happen. Her ears strained to hear anything — any movement, any sound. Anything. Yet in spite of her efforts, he remained stiff as death. Her throat tightened.

Open your eyes, she mourned, a pang of sorrow wilting her voice. Please!

Only silence.

...I need you...

Nothing.

Crestfallen, she withdrew for a moment, choking back helpless tears. They stung at her eyes as if in punishment for her naught hopes.

She believed he would have woken up by now — now, more than ever — perhaps on this, the hundredth anniversary of his slumber. But why did he not wake? What was she doing wrong?

For an agonizing, almost eternal century in isolation, she had prayed and struggled and cried to awaken him, to bring him back to the world, to get his help that she so desperately needed. But as the years bled together without him, her hope had withered in the shadows, craving the light. Craving him. Buried in darkness and malice, she had grown weary, almost wishing to join him in his sleep. She had teased the thought many times, but found herself too afraid of what may happen to drift off unawares. She had fought too hard to let go now.

Each time she had called to him, the Shrine had replied with a crushing, mute, Not yet. Each denial was nothing less than a strike to the heart, thousands of times over.

She wasn’t ready to give up on him, but just how soon was yet? There had been no respite for her. Day in and day out, staunchly holding back a demon voracious for destruction, all while reaching out to a fallen hero. Her fallen hero.

But just as before, she had nothing to show for it.

She wasn’t sure how much more loneliness she could endure, and how much more silence she could bear.

To her fortune, this silence was soon broken.

With her latest prayers on deaf ears, she was about to retreat back into her mind when, without so much as a warning, the Shrine gave a sudden shudder. The movement stirred the mounds of dust clinging to the corners into clouds. A deep, resounding thud rumbled through the stone of the Shrine, sending a ripple through the water submerging the Hylian as dust motes danced through the startled air.

The girl felt the tremor even from her high, polluted pavilion — it thundered through her mind with a mighty quake that brought her attention immediately back to him and his dull brainwaves. She poised herself, acutely alert, but her guard drawn.

Is it time? she wondered, her hope rising from the dust.

Though unable to watch what was happening in the Shrine with her own eyes, she experienced the great row of the structure within herself in sync with it. Beginning modestly, it grew more and more intense by the second, almost as if the Shrine were ripping itself apart with a calamitous bellow from deep within the earth.

From seemingly nowhere, a bud of nausea blossomed inside her, her head swimming with a dizzying heat. Puzzled, she endeavored to comprehend it. The Shrine of Resurrection, it seemed to have become… sick. It was the only explanation she could fathom. But machines, medical facilities, couldn’t suffer infirmity.

What was happening? She hadn’t the faintest idea. None of her research had told of this reaction. Concerned, she continued to monitor the strange occurrence.

This supposed sickness began to spread. Around the slumbering Hylian, the decorative beads of light on the walls flickered from a serene blue to a panicked magenta color, flashing in-between wildly as the Shrine continued to shake. Such intense movements kicked up a blizzard of dust and rocked the surface, trees swaying above ground, boulders shifting and fauna scattering. The terrific reverberations found their way to her; the familiar trembling of the earth brought back scarring memories.

In spite of the chaos, the Hylian remained obliviously unconscious on the pedestal until the crystalline-blue water around him darkened to a vibrant scarlet, bubbling and writhing as if in a storm. The light glaring off of the water and the frantic wall embellishments cast the room in a violent, ethereal glow such that the Shrine had never seen. The flailing of the Shrine only worsened as an alarm began to blare from a device on the solitary plinth at the opposite corner of the Hylian, clamoring for attention, wailing in fear and shock.

Something’s wrong, she gasped.

The girl’s body ached in tune with the Shrine. Amidst her pain, she paused and gazed around her, finding her own surroundings alight with a vicious glare. Her warden shifted restlessly, pulsating with power, its influence dripping from the ceiling and snaking beneath the overgrown lands of Hyrule, where it ingrained its corrupt claws into the Shrine of Resurrection, and in turn, into Link.

She realized with a stab of horror that, in her grief, the creature had wormed through a careless opening she had made, greedily spreading its poison. It was doing something to him. Something twisted. Something awful. And yet he laid, like a corpse, in the grave that was consuming him.

She had to stop it. She had to wake him.

Calamity Ganon?! she gaped. No! You can’t do this! Don’t you touch him! No, NO!

Had she the capacity, she would have darted free from her bonds, rushing for him. But she could not abandon her post. There was nothing another barrier could fix, now — it was already inside the Shrine. All she could do was scream. She whirled her mind back to him.

Link! Link, you must wake up!

But he didn’t stir. The beast seemed to thrill with satisfaction at her skyrocketing panic.

Stop it, stop it, you MONSTER! LINK!

No matter her cries, he didn’t hear. Or perhaps Calamity Ganon had deafened him? Regardless, there was nothing she could do but listen as the Shrine nearly rent itself into rubble. The alarm from the plinth filled her mind to splitting, an evil light blinding her, crippling her efforts to stay the beast’s clutches. Pain lanced through her brain — she cupped her hands over her ears and pinched her eyes shut, but to no avail.

Petrified at the thought of losing her dear knight after all these years, and at her own misstep, she braced for the worst, her breath caught and her eyes welling with tears.

Link, Hyrule… forgive me… I’ve failed you. I knew I would… Father was right.

With its princess weak, the beast didn’t hesitate. It greedily dug its way further into the Shrine. The blood red water surrounding Link ceased seething for half a moment before it abruptly surged into his body, piercing his pores, pouring inside him through his nose and mouth. As the dark water saturated his lungs and bloodstream, his spine arched and his eyes snapped open, his heart giving a heavy thump as it jolted back into autonomy.

Beneath his revitalized body, the resurrection pedestal cracked into pieces with a tremendous boom, scattering shards of aged stone onto the floor.

Then all at once, the Shrine’s roars and rumbling stilled, as well as the beast’s.

The chamber fell ungodly quiet, apart from its sole occupant; he gulped in a centuries-starved gasp of air, only to immediately choke on both it and the water flooding down his throat.

Rolling onto his side, he coughed up the bright red liquid in his lungs — it ran in small rivers onto the floor. His hacking shredded the once-peaceful atmosphere as he clawed for breath, continuing to spit up excess water for several moments before he managed to claim some control over himself.

He finally fell limp, his body relaxing from the shock. Draped like a sacrifice atop the broken pedestal, he savored his breath, shivering in the warm, moist air clinging to his skin. When his lungs had soothed themselves, he opened his heavy eyes and drew his gaze across the room, groggily wondering where he was.

The small, dim chamber was as full of clouds as his head. Unfamiliar, strange. His empty mind spun with dazed confusion. As the fire in his body steadily cooled, he blinked against the throbbing magenta light igniting the dust and haze swirling around him. The light issuing from the walls seemed to follow the gradually-slowing rhythm of his heart.

Curious, he carefully eased himself upright.

He rotated his head, analyzing his somber surroundings. The only other objects nearby were the lonely plinth in the corner, a sealed doorway, the shattered pedestal beneath him, and an odd, chandelier-like structure looming over his head. It, too, radiated an unnatural, crimson light.

As he ran his eyes over the remains of the pedestal, he sucked in a sharp gasp, flinching where he sat.

His legs — they didn’t look right.

Upon waking up, he had no reason to believe they were anything abnormal, what with his nonexistent recollection of things. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was extremely wrong.

Frozen at the sight before him, he found that he could quite literally see his bones — his femur, the tibia, even the knee cap — glowing with that same surreal, magenta light. They glittered up at him beneath black, semi-transparent skin.

Eyes widening, he raised a knee and wiggled his leg back and forth, baffled. His bones floated innocently in his leg, moving at his command. Running a palm over his knee, he stared. It certainly didn’t look right, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt as normal as anything.

Beginning to stutter for breath, he repeated the action with his equally-transparent, bony hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers before his face. The movements of his claw-like fingertips disturbingly entranced him with such intensity that he almost didn’t hear the voice return to him.

...Link…? she asked, breathless.

Her voice has trickled into his mind softly,  yet he heard it clear as day. As if stricken by lightning, he jumped in his place, tossing his head around the room in search of the voice’s owner. But he found nothing but the wordless haze.

“H-hello?” he croaked, his voice ragged. “Who’s there?”

At last. At long, tiresome last. He was here. He was awake. Movement. Beating heart and running blood and breath in the lungs. A voice. Life.

Link. Wonderful, irreplaceable Link. And he seemed to be in one piece, though she was blissfully ignorant of his bizarre bones, as well as the rest of his appearance. She could only feel his strong, courageous presence, and it was like manna to her.

Her joy at just the sound of his voice was immeasurable — it swelled within her, a sunrise after a bitter winter’s night, thawing her icy hopes and setting her heart alight with a golden dawn. She had no control over the tears of sweet relief that streamed down her face then, but she didn’t even attempt it. All that mattered was that he had risen from the Shrine. He was here. All she had to do now was guide him to her.

But her delight was cruelly short-lived. She didn’t get the chance to welcome him any further, for her warden reared its ugly head once again, howling at her. Bleary from her tears, she turned just in time to throw another barrier up between the two of them, only to buckle at the knees beneath the beast’s power.

Like a ravenous wolf for a fresh kill, the beast pounced upon her barrier, baring its teeth with hate and clawing at its prison. Straining to keep it at bay, she took in its sudden energy spike with awe. It seemed to have taken a new fondness for Link as it mindlessly scratched and roared to bypass her and seize him. Perhaps it wanted to finish what it had attempted those hundred years ago, now that he was awake.

But she wouldn’t let it. No matter how much it yearned to. She had just gotten him back.

Calamity Ganon’s rampaging soon grew relentless — her strength withstood it, but it took every ounce of herself to hold it back. She realized with dismay that even if she had wanted to, it would have been impossible to divide her mind between containing the beast and guiding Link. The monster wouldn’t allow it.

It was one or the other.

Curse you!! she cried, closing a fist against the beast. You vile creature! How could you?!

It didn’t seem to care; it ceaselessly pounded against her barrier, wicked eyes set on Link, eager to devour him.

There was no alternative. The thought destroyed her, but she knew which she had to choose. It was her duty, after all.

A new set of bittersweet tears ran down her cheeks. Though it nearly tore her to pieces to withhold herself from him, she stepped back from the Shrine to ward off Ganon’s might. But she vowed, whenever she managed to calm Calamity Ganon, to catch up with her dear knight, guiding him and ensuring his safe return to her. She couldn’t be at his side at every moment. He was strong enough to journey back to her on his own. She knew that.

Beneath the crushing influence of the beast, all she could offer him was this:

Link, she began. His ears perked up. You may or may not know me, but know this: you must rise from that Shrine. Find the Sheikah Slate. It will guide you after your long slumber.

Link, listening to her with wonder, found his eyes drawn to the plinth in the corner, which had sprung to life. He stared at it, his thoughts radiant with her voice. A barrage of questions hung on his tongue, but her tone was so earnest, so captivating, that he remained silent.

She continued, Do not fear what you will face in Hyrule, though trials you will endure — I know you can triumph over whatever will come with the courage flowing through your veins. Link… you are the light — our light — that must shine upon Hyrule once again. We need you.

Her heart stuttered as she prepared to withdraw.

I need you. And I believe in you.

May the goddess smile upon you.

Just as quickly as she had appeared in his mind, she abruptly vanished, leaving Link stupefied, his bones rattling inside him.

When he regained his senses, he sprung up on the crooked pieces of the pedestal, crying, “Wait! Who are you?!”

But she had already gone.

He quaked in the new silence, the pounding of his head his only companion. She stayed with him, a mute ghost in the room. There was something warm and calming about her sweet, imploring voice — it sent a familiar shudder down his spine. But as much as he strained his mind, he couldn’t place where he knew her from.

The memory of her lingered in the back of his head, tickling his brain to remember — it was an itch he just couldn’t scratch.

Waking up in such a strange place, with no recollection of what had lead him there, only made his hunger for information grow. And her mysterious presence, not to mention her words, nearly drove him mad in the minutes he sat alone. What did it all mean? Her voice, her guidance, his bizarre bones. He didn’t have any answers that he craved...

But she would.

He had to find out who she was. It was time to move.

Hey, peeps! I’m very pleased to post this. I thought, after making my first Corrupted Hero sketch, I’d continue. If you didn’t catch it, here’s a link to it:https://anemoiarts.tumblr.com/post/176782294883/corrupted-hero-by-anemoiarts-what-if-during-the. I also updated the design a bit. Hope you like!

Anyway, I’m going try and highlight some of this AU’s more interesting story bits in Breath of the Wild. I was inspired by my favorite webcomic, Romantically Apocalyptic, do tell this story in this format: a picture, and then a story to go with it. I’ll try to keep the others a bit shorter. I actually had to cut down a bit of this first chapter. I was worried it would be too long!

But I’ll stop rambling. :) Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think, and I’ll see you in the next entry!

[soriseerakyra]

Honor Your Father, Love Your Mother

If you don’t read Be Kind To Your Daughters this will make no sense, so please read that first

It was January when you returned to the old apartment you and your mother shared. The moment you opened the door, the smell of her perfume wafted through your nose. The building itself had been abandoned not long after you had gone to live with your father. When you were old enough you had begun sending money to a service that was able to maintain your small home. It was sentimental and it wasn’t smart, you knew that. Being so close to Gotham put you in jeopardy, he would realize that you came here eventually, especially since you have his attention now. However, there is still a childish part of you that longs to be surrounded by your mother, the person who loved you the most, and it was a large enough part that you didn’t mind being exposed.

Sitting on the old, worn couch, you close your eyes and begin to finger a necklace resting on your neck. Your mother had left you a locket. It was one of the things that you discovered when you first came back. It was stashed under a locked safe, hidden preciously underneath your mother’s bed.  It was a picture of her holding you, the first time she brought you home from the hospital. Likely taken by a friend or a family member. From the delicate packaging you’d found it in, she was probably planning on giving it to you as a gift.

The wooden frame of the building creeks as wind passes through the decrepit building. It wasn’t safe to stay in this apartment for too long. Terminates had been eating at the wood, mold and rot had begun to set into the crooks and spaces of the building. You probably should have paid to have the entire building up kept, but planning for the future is something that you have only recently gotten used to.

You stand from the couch when you feel sleep beginning to wash over your limbs. The moment you stand there is a creek that sounds through the building, but it doesn’t come from you, and it instead comes from the entryway of the apartment.

You don’t jump when the footsteps make their way into the apartment and start walking down the short hallway.  Instead you wait until the footsteps come and stop at the doorway.

You turn a meet a familiar pair of blue eyes looking at you rather tiredly. You don’t say anything to the man, but you can’t help but be curious at his appearance. Clearly, he had no intention of trying to capture you, wouldn’t he need his bat suit for that?

“I came to return this,” he starts holding up a small leather bound black book. You could see the pale gold stitching of “diary” on the cover. He doesn’t move from his position and places the book on a small wooden end table that sits at the mouth of the doorway. “I didn’t think you should leave without having it.”

He rubs his black gloved hands together as if trying to make himself warm. You can tell it’s just to humanize the atmosphere in the room though. There is no reason for him to be cold, especially with that heavy black coat he’s wearing.

“Your hair is longer,” he offers as he slowly starts to walk into the room, approaching you the way one would a wild animal. “It’s pretty.”

Your hand absently comes up to curl around the ends of your hair, “My mother used to wear it this way.”

“I see.”

It’s awkward silence that follows, he didn’t know what to say. How could he, he doesn’t know anything about your mother?

“The boys they really miss you.”

“Do they?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s not guilt they’re feeling? You can’t miss someone you don’t know.”

A heavy sigh falls from his mouth, and you notice that he is still hesitant about moving around the room. “If I wanted to kill you I would have by now.”

His blue eyes flash to yours, “So, you’ve gotten stronger then?”

“I’ve had two years to improve, it would be foolish not to make use of that time.”

He moves into the room and takes a seat on the small couch where you had been sitting. While he is moving, you notice the hint of gray that has started to appear in his hair. He’s getting older, and you wonder if the reason that he didn’t come in his suit is because he’s in pain. Body hurting from all the years that he has been abusing it.

“What have you been doing for these past two years?” he questions rather cordially.

You don’t respond as you walk over to the living room window. You see the sleek blackness of one of his sports cars.

“You came here by yourself?” You question. “What if I wanted to kill you?”

“It was a chance I was willing to take. I figured you wouldn’t want to desecrate the place that means the most to you by killing me.”

“I see, so you took a calculated risk, and assumed that I hadn’t turned into a rabid murderer.”

“Not if you were the daughter your mother raised.”

Your eyes cut to him rather sharply and a bitter distaste floods your mouth. “Just because you read some book, don’t act like you know her, or me.” “Your right, I’m sorry.” He tries to appease but your shoulders are tense and there is an anger in your tone that makes him question his judgement in coming here unprotected.

The room is made colder by your anger as the fleeting comfortability of your conversation is sucked out of the room by his poor choice in words. You decide it would be best to remove yourself from the conversation. With practiced soft footsteps, you’re out of the apartment, diary in hand.

Bruce doesn’t try to stop you, he knows you’ll be back. He’d been watching your movements for the past year after all.

*** It’s the middle of February when you return to your mother’s apartment. The thirteenth to be precise. The day before your beloved mother’s birthday.

You had been excited to return to the apartment so close to such a happy occasion, you’d even taken the opportunity to bake your mothers favorite cupcakes. You’d have one today and the rest tomorrow, when you were back in your home.

But the joy you had been expecting to wash over you had been broken the moment that you had stepped into the apartment building. The first step told you that something was wrong. There was no familiar creek in the stair when you pressed your weight down on the wooden slat. No faint fall of saw dust, when you opened and closed the heavy doors. There was no faint draft giving the apartment a slight chill. It was not the building you grew up in anymore.

Your suspicions had been confirmed when you grabbed the familiar door knob of your mother’s apartment. It rusted red had been replaced with shiny golden new one, and although in the same style, there was nothing the said home about this door knob.

Your heart drops when you press open the door. The sweet smell of your mother’s perfume doesn’t great you, nor does the wet dampness of mold or rot. The smell makes you want to vomit as it hits the sensors of your nose. Wood polish. It was the same that Alfred used to make sure that the furniture was bright in the manor.

Looking around the apartment you noticed that almost nothing was out of place, that a less observant person would not have noticed the changes that have been made, but you do. The pale yellow of the walls had been updated, it was the same color, but clearly a fresh coat of paint had been slathered over the walls.

He’d had the floors torn up too. Likely in an effort to get rid of the termites. He had had new hardwood floors installed and that’s where the smell was coming from. The table that stood at the mouth of the hall way stood there seemingly unbothered, but it had been polished as well.

The torn fabric of your mother’s couch cushions was mended or brand new, you couldn’t tell. Your eyes were starting to darken. Becoming blinded by tears and rage.

Why does he do this? Why does he try to fix things that aren’t broken? Throwing money at you wouldn’t make you the person he wanted you to be so why would he come here and try to ruin the only good part about you?

The room starts to feel suffocating the more that the scent of wood fills your nose. He’d replaced the curtains, that kitchen counter, the television, everything. Everything here was fake. Your mother wasn’t here anymore, he killed her. He took everything away that made this apartment hers, yours and replaced it with a fake.

You can feel the control that you had so diligently practiced for the last two years begin to slip from your grasp. The first thing that starts to float are the new cushions, next it’s the table, then the television, and then the floor boards.

*** He’d rushed over the minute the camera watching that apartment had been tripped. He’d expected her to return on her mother’s birthday. Her arriving early would mean that he wouldn’t get the chance to place the flowers he had ordered on the kitchen top. He’d hoped she liked his gesture; restoring her old apartment. Perhaps they could have a conversation about what made the place so special to her.

The car stops in front of the apartment building and as soon as his foot steps onto the snowy side walk he knows that something is wrong. The air feels heavier here than it does in all of the other places around. There is a nervous energy that wracks at his spine as he begins his ascent up the chairs to her top floor apartment.

He stops in front of the newly furnished door and begins to turn the doorknob, only stopping when he hears an agonized scream from inside of the room. He pushes through the fear when he hears sobbing from inside.

When he pushes open the door his eyes widen with amazement at the things he sees. Furniture floating and bobbing up in down in a rather rhythmic like dance, moving up or down every time she took in a breath.  As he walked in he realized that he would have to watch his footing. The newly installed floor was missing key pieces and a misstep could cause him to break his neck.

When he is safely out of the entrance hallway he takes the time to observe the sobbing girl, curled in the middle of the living room floor. She looked as little as she did when she was first brought to him when she had just turned ten.  Her large unbuttoned pea coat looks like a blanket that a child would cling onto. She turns to him, with wide teary eyes and flushed cheeks. Her hair is ticking to her forehead and eyebrows are furrowed like she is in pain. A sob wracks her form when she sees him and his heartbreaks when he realizes that he is the cause of her pain. “Why did you do it?!” She questions

“I was trying to help,” he offers.

“Everything is gone, you got rid of everything, you got rid of her!” She screech’s. In her agony, she sends knife flying past his head. A cut opening on the high point of his cheek, an indication of how close she had just come to ending him.

“I wanted to help this place was falling apart.”

There is a pained shake of her head and her hands come up to cover her ears as if she is trying to block out the sound of his voice.

“Shut UP!” She screams, her voice comes across as an echo and then her eyes begin to turn white with rage. “Just Leave!”

The objects that’d been whirling around the room begin to spin violently and he is afraid. The foundations of the building begin to shake and wind begins to spew through the room as the windows are blown out.

He watches as tears as she moans and buries her face into her knees. His throat is tight at the sight of her. He had done this to her. No matter what he seemed to do when it came to her, he always seemed to make things worse than they should have been. He knew he should respect her wishes, to leave her alone like she asked, but would that be what a good father would do?

Instead of quietly leaving the room and waiting for her to calm down, he carefully maneuvered through the flying furniture, head almost coming into contact with a loose floorboard.

Carefully he kneeled next to her, placing a large warm hand on her back.  Her head snaps up to look at him, eyes a ghostly white. Her lips pull back in a snarl, probably getting ready to shout at him to leave again, but he doesn’t allow her to speak. Quickly he uses the hand that is resting on her back to pull her into him, brining her into a tight hug. Her body stiffens and for a few tense minutes they stay that way in silence, object circling around them menacingly.

He almost lets out a sigh of relief when her arms wrap themselves around his frame. Her quiet sobbing feels strange as she jerks and coughs against his form, tears sinking through his shirt, but he continues to hold her.

Finally, the room begins to turn back to normal. The largest objects fall limply to the ground first. The room is ruined, but he imagined the well put together apartment that she’d walked into had looked like a disaster zone in her mind, so this would be no different.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles into her hair.

She doesn’t say anything but her hands clench around the fabric of his coat and she continues to cry.

*** It’s March and the flowers are beginning to bloom again.  You are on your hands and knees, scrubbing the tile of your mother’s apartment. After the incident, you had begun to put the apartment together by hand. Bruce had given you the information about where the original items from the apartment had been sent and he had even helped you bring some of them back by hand. The things that weren’t completely destroyed you had returned to their rightful places, but things like the ripped-up couch stayed in the dump where they belonged.

There is a knock on the door, and you know by the pattern that it is Bruce. You don’t bother to get up from your position to open the door, a slight incline of your head is more than enough.

The slight creek from the hallway followed by the familiar heavy steps lets you know that he came in.

“It’s always a little surprising when you do that,” He comments.  You stand from your position in the kitchen. You look over the counter to see him standing in the middle of the living room.

“It looks nice,” he comments with a weak smile. You stare blankly at him.

“What’s that?” You question looking at the man’s hands.

He is carrying a small bag in his hands. He doesn’t say anything and instead walks over to the counter and places it in front of you. Curiously, your hand finds itself digging through the bag. Pulling out a square box, your eyes get wide as you begin to read what it said.

“This is-“

“When I read her journal, I saw this was the fragrance she wore. I noticed that whenever I came in here it would always have that smell. I figured I could at least get you this, to make this place feel like home again.”

You stare up at him up with grateful eyes. It was the one thing you hadn’t had the time to go out and replace yet.

You take it and walk into the bedroom, placing it down on the small vanity to use later. When you return to the living room you seem him looking at the pictures on the one of the small shelves.

“Your mother was beautiful,” he comments, looking at the various pictures of you and your mother together smiling. “I wish I knew her better.”

A hollow chuckle leaves your lips at the absurdity of his statement, “Yes, I imagine an hour isn’t long enough to get to know someone.”

It sounds harsh leaving your lips, and you know it shouldn’t. Your mother was who she was, and even when she was alive, you were never ashamed of her nor did you think ill of her clients. However, when it came to Bruce, there was a bitterness that was hard for you to overcome.

There is an awkward silence that falls over the room. Blue eyes watch you warily from his position in the living room, and you feel guilt and anger begin to eat at your belly.

“Did you not like me because of what my mother was?” It’s a hard question that forces itself past your lips and even just asking it makes tears come out of your eyes.

His blue eyes look at you wide in shock and his lips part as if he was going to say something but the words weren’t able to leave his lips.

“At first, I thought you knew about my powers and that’s why you didn’t want me. And then I found out who you were and I thought that can’t be the reason. Then you went and you got Tim and I thought that you really didn’t like me, that there was something wrong with me.”

You stop to wipe a tear that began to fall down your cheek, “and then Damian came, and he was horrible, and you still didn’t want anything to do with me. Even though we were the same. And the only thing that I could think of was that you were ashamed of me, because of how I got here. And that felt horrible especially considering who Damian’s mother is. Is being a hooker really worse than being a murder?”

He looked at you with strange eyes, a look you couldn’t actually understand. You realized you didn’t know him well enough to decipher the looks he had on his face.

He walks closer to you, finally joining you in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. But when you came to me, you were so different than the way I had found Dick or Jason. You were just you. I didn’t know about your powers until you left. To me you were just a little girl who had lost her mother and were forced to come live with a stranger. I think a part of me thought that you would be better off without me forcing myself onto you. The only way I knew how to help them was to make you into someone like me, but I couldn’t do that with you. You can’t get revenge on cancer, there was no boogey for me to teach you not be afraid of. Those boys, the way that I found them, they were already drenched in this life. They were already two steps away from becoming like me. You weren’t, so I couldn’t help you, not an any healthy way at least.”

You aren’t sure how to reply, realizing that his attitude and his dismissive treatment of you had nothing to do with being ashamed of you, but being incompetent.

“I even thought that perhaps that life with me wouldn’t be for the best for you. I had made such a mess of the others; how could I raise you? But a selfish part of me wanted to keep you with me, even if I couldn’t give you what you needed or wanted. As a result, I made the mistakes that I wanted to avoid. I failed again.”

His large warm hands find themselves resting on your shoulders and he squeezes your shoulders tight with affection, “But please know that I have never been and never will be ashamed of you or your mother.”

Your throat is tight with emotion and just like a month ago, you find your face buried in his chest arms wrapped around his back, crying.

*** Its April and you sit in your mother’s apartment watching people walking down the busy street enjoying the new warmth of the late spring sun. The new warmth was welcome change to the rather dour winter that you had experienced.

Sitting in the repaired apartment you felt strange. You realized that this was no longer your mother’s apartment, it was just yours. As much as you had tried to preserve what was left of her, every time that you set foot in the room, scrubbed some dirty away from a surface, or replaced some run-down furniture, you were making the apartment yours. The gradual changes allowed you to grieve for your mother properly, in a way that you hadn’t been allowed when you were younger, and it had you feeling lighter and happier than you had been.

“I’m usually not one for tea, but this one isn’t bad,” a voice comments pulling your attention away from your window.

Your eyes drift to the small dining room table, where your father sits sipping tea from some old china that your mother had been keen enough to pinch from one of her clients.

“It’s just green tea with lemon,” you reply with a raised eyebrow. “Nothing special.”

He looks at you somewhat sheepishly, “Just trying to make conversation.”

You walk over and sit across from him at the small table, fingers almost immediately beginning to tap on the surface of the table. “I’m surprised that you haven’t asked me what I did for the last two years, especially since I made such a show of leaving.”

His learned blue eyes stare at you over the rim of the small cup before he places it down.  A small rather fatherly smile crosses his features, and your cheeks flush in surprise by the warmth on his face.

“I don’t have much of a reason to ask, do I?”

“What do you mean?”

“You already told me you gave the money away, and I have a feeling it wasn’t to a criminal organization, was it?”

You cut your eyes away from him, “No.”

“Are you going to tell me where?”

“Charity.”

“Which one?”

“Is that important?”

“Not really, no,” he says picking up the cup and taking another sip. “It just that a few of our subsidiary charities, especially the ones having to do with placing children in homes, have been getting extremely large donations for the past two years. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

“Maybe someone didn’t know that Wayne enterprises infests every aspect of this economy and just happened to give money not knowing where it was going.”

“Infests?” He questions with a chuckle. “I’ve never heard anyone compare my company to an infestation before.”

“Yeah well that is what it seems like,” you say arms crossed over your chest. “You have a hand in everything, don’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

You roll your eyes, “I went away to practice too. Believe it or not I was having even more trouble controlling my powers when I left. All though look what good that did me.”

“Did you find someone to help you?” He questions.

“No, not many people offer telekinetic training out in the open,” You say with a roll of your eyes. “What I worked on was my emotions. When I left, I was at an emotional high. I didn’t know how much longer I would have before my emotions would consume me. Outbursts like the one you saw were common place. So, after I got rid of the money, I bought a small apartment and I meditated.”

“Where?”

“If I told you that when I run away again you’ll find me,” you say with pursed lips.

It takes him a minute to realize your joking, and when he does he allows a small smirk to run over his features.

“Are you planning on staying here now?”

Your eyes glance at the apartment and your eyes soften at the idea, “Are you going to come over and bother me every day?”

“Is once a week too much?” He questions. “I feel like we still have a lot to learn about each other. It would be easier if you came home.”

“I am home,” you bite quickly, the phrase coming out harsher than you intended it too, but he doesn’t react negatively almost as if he was expecting the reaction.

There is heavy silence that falls over the room.

“They don’t know that you’re back yet,” he says quietly watching your features for your reaction.

“Is Jason’s hand okay?”

“Yes, I think his pride was more wounded than his hand was.”

“I see.”

“If you don’t want to move back in, you should at least come by and visit.”

“I hope you aren’t expecting some big happy family reunion.”

“Never that, but it would help to alleviate some of the guilt that they been dealing with since you’ve been gone. It’s probably the only request I’ll have for you.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment. In your mind, the only person that you need to see is Jason and that was only to apologize, the rest you had no desire to see.

“If that’s what you want,” you comply, surprising yourself a little. After all, appeasing your father one little thing couldn’t hurt too much.

“Oh, are you going to start being nice to me now?” He asks with a playful smile.

“Don’t press your luck,” you say in a serious tone. “I just don’t hate you as much as before.”

A genuine smile spreads over his features, “That’s good enough for me.”

@starlabstrash, 

[raystart]

What I Wish I Knew at Every Age

When asked what we regret in our careers or life to date, it can be difficult to formulate a response. Not only is it tenuous at best to try to pinpoint the exact moment where we should have pursued this direction instead of that, seized one opportunity over another, or taken a risk over a guarantee, but each decision – whether later deemed good or bad – has led us to where we are today.

Regrets may be futile, yet there is a particular variety of wisdom that can only be gained in hindsight. As we move through each decade and navigate changes and challenges in our career and personal life, we begin to identify our supposed missteps – big and small. We begin to understand how our own doubts, insecurities, self-limitations or expectations may have been getting in the way all along, and take such insight into the decades ahead of us.

Without such experience, it can be difficult to gain such clarity around what we might be doing wrong or what might be holding us back in our work, side projects, relationships or health. But sometimes the experiences of others can help speed us along.

In an attempt to gather the lessons we can only gain through time, we’ve asked several creatives – including Lisa Congdon, Debbie Millman, Tina Roth Eisenberg and Ken Done – to reflect on what they wish they knew at every decade.

I wish I knew in my twenties…

To stop worrying about other people…

 “We spend a lot of time in our twenties trying to please other people or worrying if we are doing the right thing. There is something about getting older that just makes you think to hell with that, I’m going to do what I want to do because what have I got to lose? That was definitely my experience – I quit my job to be an artist, and I owed it to myself to try.” – Lisa Congdon, illustrator and author, Portland, Oregon

That there’s no rush…

“The pressure to do things quickly or have success happen right away is ingrained in our culture of instant-gratification, but really your real life is so long. There are so many things that you can do and there is no reason to panic when you are in your 20s. Sure, you only live once, but you also have this long life ahead of you.” – L.C.

You can create the world you want…

“I really wish I realized sooner that I needed to be an active participant in creating the world I wanted. I was floating and going with whatever came my way – I wasn’t very active about thinking about what type of person I wanted to be, or what environment I wanted to work in. My daughter was my biggest career catalyst, and I wish I had that wake-up call earlier. It never occurred to me that you could start companies sooner – when your life is so much easier and you have fewer responsibilities.”  ­– Tina Roth Eisenberg, designer and founder of CreativeMornings and Tattly, New York City

That careers are never linear…

“I used to think my career would be very linear, but even in the almost eight years since I graduated, I’ve worked at a branding studio, done illustration and product design, worked in-house for several large brands, and now as a freelancer. And I don’t necessarily want to be a graphic designer forever.” – Ben Wagner, independent designer and art director, New York City

No one has it all figured out…

“Acknowledge that no one has it all figured out – even your mentors, bosses, or design heroes – and that’s okay. The important thing to remember is to keep creating. Spend more time and energy on making your best work, and less on comparing yourself to others.” – B.W.

To stop being so hard on myself…

“I wish I knew not to be so hard on myself and not to beat myself up so much. I wish I knew not to take everything so seriously in terms of my worth and my value. I wish I had spoken up more and stuck up for myself.” – Debbie Millman, writer, educator, designer and host of Design Matters, New York City

Skills are more important than grades…

“At least as a creative, the skills you acquire in school are more valuable than the grades. I wish I tried to learn more while I still had access to those resources in a safe and nurturing space.” – Adam J. Kurtz, artist and author, New York City

Not to worry so much…

“Shit isn’t real yet when you’re in your 20s. Your early 20s problems will feel really insignificant soon. Try a bunch of stuff, be a little reckless, smoke weed one time, kiss someone nice, stop trying to be cool – it’s not working, it never works – and generally let yourself live.” – A.J.K. 

Everything will be okay…

“I do wish I could tell my younger, confused, insecure, lost, and angsty twenty-something-self that everything will work out okay. I will meet the perfect person that I can share my life, passion, and work with, and that I will someday get to do something I love everyday with people that I love and respect, that I will get to create beautiful things that inspire people in their everyday lives.” – Angie Myung, co-founder of Poketo, Los Angeles

“If I were to see myself in my twenties, I might say hey, things are going to be okay. Do what you love, work hard. Know that creativity is everything in life. Even in business, creativity is the driver. It’s really what makes you whole, in that inspiration and that creativity.” – Ted Vadakan, co-founder of Poketo, Los Angeles

It’s probably not the worst decision ever…

“When I left New York to come to Australia [after falling in love with Melbourne], I think there was a lot of fear in that. When I was retouching images of dog food or working as a kitchen hand, I definitely felt I had made the worst decision ever, but it’s so hard to be in touch with those feelings now, when I couldn’t imagine life any other way! All will be revealed in the fullness of time.” – Jeremy Wortsman, Director of Jacky Winter, Melbourne, Australia

I wish I knew in my thirties…

To think seriously about whether I wanted a family…

“I had two miscarriages because I was 39 and 40. I’m fine about it, but I tell women all the time now that if you want to have children later in life, freeze your eggs or start in you’re early to mid-thirties because often it’s too late by 39. I try to help people avoid that if at all possible.” – D.M.

That mistakes always count for something…

“I could talk for hours about our failures trying to expand into new areas by solving problems that we only imagined existed, or disasters hiring the wrong type of employee or not putting aside money for tax, but those are lessons you have to directly experience to really learn from, as each business is so unique. At the end of the day, the business itself is your biggest teacher.” – J.W.

To take care of myself…

“I recently had spinal surgery for a herniated disc, and it was one of the most agonizing experiences I had ever been through, and while I was in the midst of the experience I was feeling lots of regret. Regret that I didn’t exercise enough, or eat right. That I sat too much at work or in the car. It took nearly two years to fully recover, but in that time I became so much stronger, and I now know my body on a whole new level.” – J.W.

No experience is wasted…

“I had a career in education before I turned to art, so I thought I was throwing all this experience away to go do this other thing. But the good news is if you are going to change careers later in life or do something new, anything you’ve done before is going to contribute to you doing a better job at that new thing because you have all this life and work experience.” – L.C.

I wish I knew in my forties…

Aging is life affirming, not scary…

“It didn’t take me long to realize you know what, it’s actually affirming to turn forty. You’re always learning and that’s the key – it never ceases.” – T.V.

You can’t control everything, but you can adapt…

“You can’t control everything. My uncle used to say to me, that we are like grass; it bends, but it doesn’t break. Even in turbulent times or uncertain times, it’s good for people to adapt, to embrace spontaneity and go with the flow and bend like grass, but not break. Be open to change and accept it with grace.” – T.V.

How to balance trust and being accountable…

“There was one instance with Poketo where we maybe put too much trust in a person and we didn’t get what we needed. While I always see the good side of people, at the same time you need to be accountable for whatever needs to get done and not just solely relying on someone else. To grow as a business, you need to find a balance between being the captain of your ship and being able to trust your crew.” – T.V.

Compromise, compromise, compromise…

“For Angie and me, Poketo is like our baby. It’s something that we’ve been doing since we first started dating and there are difficulties in growing something together. There will always be disagreements, but what we’ve learned is to talk it out and come to a compromise. We need to be in sync to execute something new, so it’s never one-sided.” – T.V.

I wish I knew in my fifties…

To savor…

“Savor every day. Savor every day. Keep experimenting. If you want to do something, do it.”– D.M.

  20. You set your own rules… “Now I’m approaching my fifties, I wish I knew earlier that you set your own rules. Part of why I worked so hard for so many years was this pressure to keep up. But I realized that was a pressure I was putting on myself – no one else was telling me that I had to work that hard or take on that many projects at once. We invent our own rules and we have control, which is pretty cool if you can orient yourself to it in a healthy way.” – L.C.

I wish I knew in my sixties…

To have patience and perseverance…

“Even the things I’m unhappy about in my life have allowed me to persevere and to be patient. I now know that things will take a lot longer than you think they will to achieve. If you don’t have patience or perseverance, you’re not going to be able to work.” – Maira Kalman, illustrator and artist, New York City

Wisdom takes time…

“Things get murky and confusing at any age. But you can’t have the kind of perceptions at twenty-five that you have at sixty-five, and I don’t think it would even be good to have that kind of wisdom – it might prevent you from doing all the stupid things that you should be doing!” – M.K.

I wish I knew in my seventies…

Every age has highs and lows…

“There are hills and valleys, some deeper than others, some higher than others. In your mid-twenties you’re convinced that you know everything. By your 30s and 40s you’re beginning to understand that this may not be so. For me, the 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s have been filled with the desire to become a better artist.” – Ken Done, painter and designer, Sydney, Australia

You can be 77-years-young…

“I’m surprised to find myself with the chronological age of 77 when really I feel as if I’m still somewhere between the ages of fourteen and twenty-eight. The key to feeling young is keeping your eyes open and trying as best as possible to get the most out of every day.”– K.D.