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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 7 months ago

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Abstract

I used the standard deviation and mean across four races of millionaires and non-millionaires, to calculate Z-scores, then plotted scores on a standardized Z distribution with quantiles. My research question was simple: If there is systemic racism in America, then why are there 1,621,600 Black millionaires? The fact Black Americans are normally distributed, similar to all the other races, in terms of being classified as net worth millionaires, is clear proof contrary to the proposition that America is systemically racist. Asian, White, Black, and Hispanic races were statistically the same on the standard normal distribution. However, White non-millionaires were the only race to have a significant, unusual z-score (-2.43), with a p. < .01 the chance of being a White non-millionaire in the United States is not random. Moreover, there are far too many Black millionaires for the evils of systemic racism in America to be real.

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MY RESEARCH CLAIM AND HYPOTHESIS TESTING

I make the claim that there are far too many Black American millionaires for systemic racism to be a real thing. The odds of a Black American becoming a millionaire is favorable, with a 1 in 29 chance within the Black population, and 1 in 208 in the general population. I will prove my claim with simple Census bureau data (Jones et al, 2021) and computations of percentages and ratios of networth millionaires across four races: Black, White, Asian and Hispanic, both millionaires and non-millionaires. I stated my hypothesis the following way:

H1: No race of millionaires or non-millionaires will fall outside of a ±1.96 standard deviations of the mean of zero when z-scores are plotted along a standardized normal Z distribution with quantiles.

Why I rejected the Null Hypothesis

I tested the hypothesis based on the calculated z-scores plotted onto a standardized normal Z distribution. I rejected the hypothesis if any race fell outside of a ±1.96 standard deviations of the mean of zero. All four races were assumed normally distributed because of their huge populations and randomness, and the binary nature of race classification is White, not White, Black, not Black, etc. Millionaire status was the measure. Non-millionaire was a negative integer by necessity, as to calculate it, I subtracted the general population from the population of millionaires, by race.

I rejected H1; as p < .05: The White race of non-millionaires fell outside of a ±1.96 standard deviations of the mean of zero when z-scores were plotted along a standardized normal Z distribution quantiles. White non-millionaires have a z-score of -2.43, with a significant standard normal probability: p. = 0.00755.

A Throttled White Race?

Although there are more White people (with a z-score of 0.84, p. = .79955) who have achieved millionaire status, there are far more White people (with a z-score of -2.43, p. = .00755) who likely never will be millionaires. This fact is scientifically meaningful, because 95% of all z-scores should fall within ± 1.96 standard deviations of the mean of zero. Any z-score that falls outside of this range is significant at the p < .05 level of confidence, as z-scores falling outside this range is an indication the z-score is not a random or chance occurrence. The White race of non-millionaires is the only race that cannot be explained by random chance alone. The z-score of -2.43 for non-millionaire Whites is significant with a standard normal probability, p. = 0.00755, which is not by chance alone. The odds are 1 in 2 of not being a millionaire in the United States of America if you are White, and a z-score outside the -1.96 standard deviations when plotted on the Z distribution.

Therefore, it appears there could be a form of systemic racism in America, based on the z-scores plotted on the Z distribution, happening to White people. Some type of discriminatory activities appear to be happening to the White race of non-millionaires. Perhaps all the affirmative action laws and regulations has throttled their progress? Perhaps it is the constant bashing in main stream media about how White people are racist? It could be the number of divorces and household led by single parents. Perhaps the television broadcasters and talk show prognosticators who relentlessly paint pictures of doom-and-gloom for people of color against White people is having a deleterious effect? Who knows at this point the reason for this phenomenon?

What is now known is that White non-millionaires fall far outside the threshold of random chance, and that their status is likely due to a systemic problem. The White race appears to be throttled in the non- millionaire status. The reason for their being the only significant outlier deserves further exploration. There is no good reason as to why they were the only race to be significantly outside of a -1.96 standard deviation of the mean of zero. The chance of a White person falling between White millionaire and White non- millionaire status is 79.2%. On the other hand, the chance of a Black person falling between Black millioaire and Black non-millionaire status is 28.4%, for Hispanics, 38.0%, for Asians, 13.8%. This significant finding provides some evidence that systemic racism might be happening to the White race of non-millionaires. The formulas for calculating the z-scores, and probabilities found in the z-score tables for White, Black, Asian and Hispanic, millionaires and non-millionaires, are located in the Appendix.

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION

People in media, have been implying that America is unfair to Blacks. Their claims have been shown untrue when millionaires by race are measured by z-scores on a standard normal distribution. Their claims go against the grains of credulity that any system designed to keep something out would be also actively seeking to let in the very thing it was designed to keep out. Black millionaires, 1.62 million of them, is a contradiction to the claim of systemic racism: financial independence is the aspirant goal of nearly every American. What are the astronomical odds of winning a $1.0 million Powerball drawing, for any race? What could those lottery expenditures be worth in 40 years? Ramsey (2022) argues that $100 per month is a 401(k) invested in an index 500 mutual fund, ROI of 11%, means $1.0 million or more in 40 years. Social and psychological options are either favorable or unfavorable (Bell, 2013). Getting rich is favorable options for any American.

Imagine a cooling system designed to cool an engine, which allowed the engine to overheat each time the engine was running. Every mechanic that I know would deem that system defective. Imagine a deep- sea diver wearing an oxygen canister which did not produce oxygen, but methane gas instead. There are numerous examples of design features in machines and systems which can be used to illustrate system failures, whether those features are mechanical or procedural. Systemic racism by design would treat Black, Hispanic and Asian American opportunities like varmints needing to be eradicated by systemic racist formulas; nevertheless, the system of holding Black, Asian and Hispanic Americans down is failing dramatically.

In order for the theory of systemic racism to hold true, there needs to be far fewer Black millionaires (approaching zero) in the USA. The odds are extremely favorable of being a millionaire, for Black, Hispanic, White and Asian Americans, which means the chances of becoming one, is very good! All races of millionaires are statistically the same on the Z distribution; z-scores for millionaires cluster between .065 and .85, just below +1 standard deviation above the zero mean. The odds of becoming a millionaire preclude the dictates of systemic racism towards people of color. The data shows that the volume of Black, Hispanic and Asian millionaires in America should not be possible in a system designed specifically to lock people of color out of the American Dream.

The objective of the modern "antiracist" is to tell black people how hopeless life is for them, that there's no possibility of success or making something of themselves. Not coincidentally, that's also the same message of the old-school KKK.

#Reginald Bell #systemic racism #black millionaires #antiracism #antiracism as religion #neoracism #racism #woke #wokeness #cult of woke #wokeism #wokeness as religion #religion is a mental illness

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bluetorchsky · 4 months ago

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THSC OC – You Are Here (And You Are Love) (1/2)

Summary: An inner turmoil digs deep into the soul of one of the Music Enforcers, Accordion. Despite coming back from a successful mission, to him everything still went wrong–and it was all his fault. But does he truly believe that? Or has hauntings of his past finally caught up to him, after recent events made him dig up a question he buried long ago: "Why am I even here?"

Rating: Teen

Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama (slight drama)

Trigger Warnings for Chapter one: Panic attacks, Anxiety attacks, Self-Deprecation talk, Mentions of self-harm and suicide

Word count for this chapter: 7.4k words

Color and Format Legend for texts: Green - Geoffrey Plumb, Pink - Calypso Bells, Orange - Reginald Copperbottom, Blue - Violin (Trent ArcCoil), Red - Accordion (Oliver ArcCoil), Bold and Italics - ??? and ??? (Regular italics is either a flashback or someone's thoughts)

Accordion, Violin and Calypso belong to me. Every other character is from The Henry Stickmin universe.

The moment that they landed on that familiar, steel circular platform, surrounded by a pillar of light green, it was the moment his mind started to race with several questions. All the “what-ifs” and “what could have been” scenarios. It made his stomach lurch and do uncomfortable flips inside of him.

“Now you've done it. Look at you, showing yourself at your weakest point to that soldier. You should have killed them, they will tell their superiors now and you will become an easy target. Your family will become an easy target. Stupid boy, have you learned nothing? You should have killed them. Why are you even here if you can’t do one small task right–”

“Quiet.” He muttered to himself weakly, clutching his stomach as he stiffly pushed his way through the sea of Toppats trying to get off the platform, with injured Toppats and stolen gold in hands. Many of them would have gladly moved out of the way for the taller man, for he and the other group of enforcers fought their way to save their captured members. But as they heard his hushed, erratic breathing and the seeing the sway in his balance, it stalled them in surprise. “Is he okay?” “Does he need help?” “Should we let the others know?” Were some of the questions that filled the other Toppats’ minds, unaware of another Toppat rushing after the one that was trying to leave.

Just before the taller Toppat could take a step out of the room and into the dimly lit hallway, he was yanked back, harshly, by someone grabbing his arm.

“Accordion, what the hell is going on?!” Kabbitz’s deep and loud voice overshadowed the small chatter of the room. It made everyone look up at the two enforcers as Kabbitz tried to tug the other man back inside, a worried look on his face. “You’ve been acting strange ever since Violin came back from the Medbay, like three weeks ago. You haven’t been acting like yourself, at all. You haven’t even made one annoyed comment at me! What’s going on with you?”

Accordion, one of the tallest Toppats in the Space Division and a man of very few words, yanked his arm out of Kabbitz’s grip and turned to him with a snarl. “Mind your goddamn business, Kabbitz. I don’t need your help.”

The group of Toppats behind Kabbitz gasped and covered their mouths, some looking at the other with their open concerned looks. He’s never spoken like this to one of their own, at least publicly. What was going on with him?

The other enforcer’s eyes, blue as a glinting sapphire and yellow as a polished topaz, widened. “A-Accordion…” Kabbitz trailed off before he shook his head and glared at the other man. “Look man, me and the other enforcers are worried for you.” He said, anger seeping into his words like venom.

“You’re taking on more missions than you usually do, you look like you haven’t had a proper night’s sleep, let alone a damn nap, and you have been avoiding anyone and everyone who wants to talk to you! This…This isn’t like you at all.”

Accordion’s eyes narrowed, almost in disgust. “What I do is my own damn business.” He repeated, a danger in his tone. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Just leave me alone.”

“Acorn, please! The man’s got a point.” Matilda Ivy spoke up from behind the fusion enforcer, with her brother, Jack Doogan, joining her at her side. She held her hands together, pleading as she looked at him with the same concerned look everyone had in that room. “Please, Acorn. We only want to help you. We know it’s a bit stressful for you and Violin right now, especially with the new changes. Maybe you should take a break–”

“I don’t need a break!” Accordion snapped, a bit more bite in his words than he anticipated. He stopped and shook his head, growling as he turned his back to them and started walking away. “I just…I just need to do this. That’s all they need me to do.”

“Oi, come on mate! This is serious!” Jack yelled as he sidestepped Kabbitz and tried to run after him. The man who mentored Accordion, one of the very few Toppats that became one of his friends in the clan, tried to reach out for him. “You just can’t ignore this!”

The Toppat in red growled, one hand reaching up to grip the side of his head. “Enough, enough.” He whispered to himself, a wall of transparent red suddenly appearing between him and the group of Toppats. He barely heard Jack slamming into it and falling down, as he walked down the hall, speed walking his way back to his and his husband’s room. Even when the wall disappeared, no one made an attempt to catch up to him, not even Kabbitz. All they could do was watch him leave, a layer of stifled tension and unease settling over them.

Not once did Accordion stop for anyone he passed in the hallways. He ignored the shouts and cries of his fellow Toppats, some of their voices were familiar in a warmth he knew but he still ignored them. He even ignored his chief and his right hand, Reginald Copperbottom and Right Hand Man, when they called out for him. Especially when the chief used his real name. It made him freeze for just a second before he continued making his way back to his quarters as quickly as possible, all while trying to battle against the overwhelming, sickly voice in his mind.

“You’re breaking, you’re being truly seen. You don’t want that, do you? You don’t want them to know how something so small is breaking the walls you built? Go hide away like you always do, you sniveling coward. Just like the failure of your father would always do.”

His body twitched, his fists clenched and another growl escaped his lips. “Quiet, quiet.” He muttered before he forced himself to stay silent as he finally found the hallway that led him to his room. He cursed himself as he realized he passed the hallway twice, blaming himself for easily forgetting the new room he had moved in with his husband. They had a better view of the never-ending darkness of space and Earth, as they moved on to the next new stage in their life.

After too many tries opening the door with his key card, and almost ready to punch the damn thing, it finally opened and he stepped inside. He took in a deep breath before he grabbed his hat and pulled it over his face, and let out the scream he had been holding onto, using a bit of his magic to muffle the noise and keep it inside his hat.

When he ran out of air to keep screaming, he gripped his hat very tightly. “Enough.” He thought to himself. “You have the next few days off. So just…relax…”

He put his hat back on and started removing the items that made him too recognizable in this damn place. His jacket and vest were tossed haphazardly to the ground, leaving him in only his black turtleneck and pants. His boots were tugged off and shoved into the closet, where they fell over after losing their balance from not being placed properly. He yanked his gloves off so hard, he almost pulled one of his prosthetics off, before he tossed them over his shoulder where they landed near the coffee table by the couch. And as he tried to remove his hat, he had to tug it off his head, as it wanted to stay there for its own safety. He finally snatched it off so violently that it caused his hair to be pulled up and fall over his face, obscuring his vision. He growled and shook his head and walked over to the chair near the window, slamming the piece of headwear onto the couch. It deflated a little as it let out its own sad and tired scream from everything that happened today, and the days before.

When all of his colour had been stripped off, he started to pace back and forth in front of the window with his head in his hands. “Too much noise, too much noise, too much.” Accordion said with a frustrated growl. “Quiet, I need quiet…” He tried to focus on his breathing, try to steady the rapid heartbeat that threatened to become louder and louder and break the peace he was trying to build in his mind. He needed to stay in control, needed to stay above the waters before he could suffocate and drown into the deepest depths of the unknown. He had to free his mind from this stress that just came out of nowhere!

“No…it didn’t come out of nowhere…” He muttered to himself as he lowered his hands from his head, stopping in his tracks as he casted his gaze downwards to the maroon colored carpeted floor. “It’s my fault this is even happening…”

“Is it really? You are too hard on yourself. You have to step back and–”

Accordion closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “Please. Stop it.”

When the voice did not respond and he felt he could breathe a little easier, he looked over at the items he threw away like garbage. With a sigh and his shoulder still bunched up, he walked over to the items to pick them up. He fixed his boots so they stood up properly next to another pair of shoes, he went to the couch and fixed his hat, carefully reshaping the top of it like pottery. He reached under the coffee table and grabbed his gloves, folding them neatly and placing it beside his hat, smiling a little at the contrast of colours. As he picked up his vest and jacket, he paused when he saw his phone sitting in the inside pocket, the screen’s colours illuminating in the small dark space it was sitting in.

He pulled it out and looked at the phone’s background image. It was of Violin sitting in a booth in the cafeteria, when they were still on the Airship. He was staring out of one of the windows, a small smile on his face and the sun’s rays laid over his face in just the right ways. He had gotten a good angle of his husband too, where he could see both sides of his face instead of just one. There were too many photos in his gallery of him that only showed one side or the other. He cherished these kinds of photos whenever he could get them.

Although his heart wasn’t beating against his chest with a constant drumming, he still felt the pit in his stomach getting heavier as swiped over to his messaging app and opened the conversation between him and Violin. Accordion took in a deep breath before he started to text out a message, forcing his fingers to move over each letter.

“I’m back from the mission and I’m in our room. It went well.”

Even before sending it, he knew how stiff the tone of the message felt. He felt awful, desperately trying to think of another message but none came to him. He did his best to reel his emotions back in before he sent the text off to his husband. He pocketed his phone in his pants and resumed picking up his items. Just as he was about to fold his jacket and vest to put beside his hat and gloves, he caught something out of the corner of his good eye.

One of the rooms had its door slightly ajar, where it was dark inside except for the glow in the dark stickers he put up about a week ago. It was a mixture of space and music themed stickers that filled the empty spots of the walls that surrounded two of the new family members in their family. The twins, Aurelia and Florence, were sleeping quietly and soundly under the watchful eye of Echo and Jingle, the animated radio and music player watching from above a dresser near the crib, and Crumb the Chain Chomp and Morsel the moody Chao. The two creatures were resting by the foot of the crib, with Crumb snoring in time to the music that the mobile was playing over the twins. Nothing could happen to the twins, who were about three months old, with the small group of strange magical creatures watching over them.

A small smile graced Accordion’s face before he froze, realizing something. “Oh no…” He paled as he checked the time on his phone. It was almost the end of the afternoon and the beginning of the evening.

“We came back late…later than usual…I took too long again…” He whispered to himself, clutching his phone tightly to the point it almost felt like it would snap in half. “I promised him I would come back soon. To be with him and the kids…B-But I messed up on the mission and–”

“Your first mistake was choosing to even go on this mission. Every time, you choose to go on a mission instead of staying here. Why? Do you just enjoy leaving your family behind to fend for themselves? Again and Again, you chose the missions over them. So you’re right to blame yourself for everything that has happened, you are at fault for everything going wrong with them.”

“Quiet, quiet.” He repeated to himself as he knocked on the side of his head, trying to drown out that haunting voice. “I-I’m only doing this for them. I’m trying to keep them safe.”

“But what are you trying to accomplish? This doesn’t seem right. Something is wrong here. There’s no one who can hurt you or them. So why are you doing this?”

“Because he’s a monster! A god awful monster who only cares about himself, and he knows it. He knows he’s making the wrong decisions and he still wants to be loved? How awful!”

Accordion murmured the two words to himself once again, over and over, as he dropped his jacket and vest onto the couch and walked over to the large, plush chair set up next to the window. Despite the soft material trying to lull him to relax and put his feet up, he stayed sitting up, rigid as a statue, left foot tapping the floor in a quick, even beat. As he tried to focus on his breathing again, he stopped when he felt his leg vibrate. But instead of one vibration, there were several vibrations, one after the other. He took out his phone and read the new notifications that appeared on the screen.

“Hey kid. Thomas and I heard from Kabz that you left before you guys could do a debriefing. Is everything okay with you?”

“Sugar, I heard you stomping to yer room from a mile away! Did something happen on the mission? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Accordion, I hope I am not intruding, but is it possible later today that Right and I come to your room? Or at least when you are ready to talk. We’re very worried for you, Accordion.”

The beat beat beating of his heart started to get louder, his vision became unfocused as the words started to blur and merge together, creating amalgamations of sentences that didn’t sound or look right, and his head started feeling lighter, as if he has hit his head too hard on the wall. As more notifications started to fill the screen, new messages from different Toppats, family and friends alike, he tried to come up with a reply, or even think of one for one of these messages. What could he even say? There was too much, too much, too much to handle, too much to think about!

…But why? Why were they asking now? They never asked this of him before, not on any other previous missions. Even when he got hurt, almost died on some of them, they never asked, they never wondered, they never thought to say anything to him. Why ask now, huh? Why did they even care at all–

Accordion’s phone vibrated again. He blinked and looked down at the new notification. This time, he could make out the sender’s name to be his husband’s and suddenly his vision cleared as he swiped to read the message.

“Ollie, I saw your team came back from the heist. They said you didn’t look okay when you left, but they said you weren’t hurt either. I’m glad to hear that at least. I’m sorry I’m not there right now, I had to run out of the room to grab something I forgot from one of the lounges.”

He paused for a moment, taking in every word on the screen, before he started typing out a reply.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay. Did you put a barrier around the kids before you left?”

“Yes, of course I did. I even–”

Accordion closed his eyes and took in a sharp inhale, almost making his chest hurt. “Don’t think, don’t think, it’s not like that…” He whispered before forcing his eyes open to read the rest of the message.

“–I even had Echo and Jingle watch over them, alongside Crumb and Morsel. Morsel’s been really coming out of his shell since we took him in. A few days ago, he tried to climb into the twins’ crib to sleep with them. I stopped him from doing so since you weren’t around to help make a decision. But what do you think?”

He bit down on his lower lip, trying to force down the feelings of doubt and regret before they spilled into the pit of his stomach.

“Well, he is smaller and softer than Crumb so he should be able to sleep with them no problem, as long as we can take his phone away from him. But I can watch how he is when they take another nap.”

“Okay. Will you do that before you have to go on another mission as usual?”

His doubts and regrets tumbled together into the pit of his stomach, causing the opening of that pit to become wider for his uncontrollable emotions to seep into his bloodstream. His blood ran cold as he forced his fingers to type each letter and form words to make sentences that were legible enough to read. He tried so hard to stop his phone from shaking, begging his hands to stop trembling with every small breath he took to keep himself grounded. A lump pushed up into his throat, threatening to choke him as his body shook in an unseen earthquake, but he forced himself to stay still so could send out his message.

“no i have the next few days off so i wont be going anywhere. We can figure out what to do with Morsel together.”

“If you say so. I got what I needed so I should be back in about five minutes. See you soon.”

“luv u 2.”

He almost dropped his phone as he typed and sent out that last text, letting out a shaky breath. The trembling became worse and worse as his vision started blurring again. He could feel his husband’s sarcasm and annoyance laced within those texts, haunting him and making him question if he still even loved him. He didn’t say “I love you.” or even say “I love you too.” to his last text. Did it feel too passive aggressive? Did he think he was just trying to bait him into fighting him? He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it!

“No, no, no!” Accordion shook his head and tried to control his breathing once more, his right hand clutching the space where his heart was. “No more, I shouldn’t take on any more missions! No more! Today was the last one. I-I can’t keep doing this, this is ruining my marriage with him, my relationship with him. I…I can fix this, I can fix this! I won’t do this again–”

“You said that the last time and the time before that. Did you forget that? Or are you just too scared to admit you want to be away from him and your kids? They put so much pressure on you, it’s just better to be alone! And he knows that too, why else would he have said the things he did? This is all your fault!”

“Maybe perhaps you can just talk to him, express your feelings–”

“You’re acting just like your father. Actually,” The voice laughed cruelly. “You’re really acting more like your mother.” “I…am…NOTHING like her.” He whispered in a harsh, raspy voice. His throat started tightening as his dry lips started to crack under pressure as he re-read the conversation over and over again. Searching for something, anything to show that Violin, no, Trent wasn’t that upset with him. That maybe there was a hint of him being happy that he had the next few days off to spend time with him and the twins. To his knowledge, he hadn’t seemed that annoyed in the past few days. Or was it because he always came back so late that he didn’t have the energy to be annoyed with him? Was it that obvious that he was so oblivious to it? Did he overlook the fact he was causing him and the twins so much pain being away, that he couldn’t admit that he was doing this for whatever reason he had? Was he really becoming like his parents? Were his kids forgetting him already? What, what if–

“It’s not too late to fix things. You just have to do it–”

“Please, he already knows he is the problem. Instead of always trying to be there, he just disappears! They don’t need you, when has anyone ever needed you?”

“There are other ways–”

“Oh! I know! Remember that argument the two of you had three weeks ago? You made him cry, you made the kids cry, you’re an absolutely worthless piece of garbage. Why don’t you just throw yourself into the trash compactor and everyone can move on, you stupid, worthless boy!”

Accordion whimpered and pressed his hands against the sides of his head, wishing he could just flatten his mind and the two voices like a box. Just so he could have some peace and quiet. He closed his eyes and groaned, ignoring the pain he was putting on himself. “Quiet, quiet, please, just be quiet!”

He tried to drown out the bickering voices by thinking of something, anything other than what they were putting him through. But that was a mistake as his mind freely wandered back to the argument that was brought up, back to the day that started the whole divide between him and his husband. No matter how many times he tried to avoid this memory, it always hit him like a heavy right hook to the face.

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When Trent was finally allowed to leave the Medbay, after spending another week there because of his health after the pregnancy, Oliver ran into a small problem.

“Gods, what if I hurt them?” He said to himself as he held a bottle of warmed up formula in one trembling hand, while carefully holding Florence in his other steady arm. The little baby was squirming and crying and crying to be fed, while his twin sister, Aurelia, was lying on their bed, whimpering and crying for one of her dads to hold her.

There was a heavy sigh to his right. “You won’t, luv.” Trent said as he put away the things he used to change the twins’ disappears. “Just hold the bottle up to his lips and he’ll take it. Didn’t you say you got the hang of feeding them while I was still in the Medbay?”

Oliver nodded. “Y-Yeah, b-but I had Caly h-helping me, because–”

“Then just feed him, Oliver! Gods, it shouldn’t be that hard.” Trent snapped before he reached down to pick up Aurelia, rocking her in his arms. “Shh, my dear, shh…”

His husband sighed nervously, looking down at his son. Carefully adjusting him and gripping the bottle tighter in his hand, Oliver brought the bottle up to his lips and hummed. “Come on, you’re hungry aren’t you? It’s okay, it’s okay…”

Still, no matter how much he tried to reassure his little one, Florence cried and squirmed in his father’s arms, his little balled up fists tap tap tapping against his forearm. As he tried again, Trent scoffed and Oliver swore he could hear him rolling his eyes.

“Give him here.” He said with a heavy sigh, placing his soothed daughter back into the crib she shared with her brother. “I’ll take care of it. Like I usually do.”

Immediately, Oliver moved away from his husband. “I can do this Trent.” He said through gritted teeth, an annoyed and angry look on his face. “Just give me some time, I can do this. I-I just need a little more time.”

Trent’s left eyebrow twitched and his lips pulled back into a thin line. “Oliver, seriously. I can feed him better than you can, so just let me do it!”

The rising argument caught the attention of the two pets that had been playing near the bed, Crumb and Morsel. The chain chomp had been hoping over the black-colored chao for a few good minutes, one of its favorite fruits hanging between its sharp teeth. Crumb stopped jumping when she heard the husbands’ voices rising, and it made Morsel bump into her. He yelled at her for a moment before he followed her gaze to the bed, his tired look replaced with a concerned one.

“No, please!” Oliver cried, fear creeping into his voice. “Trent, come on. We’re still new dads, I’m still not used to this! Just let me–”

“I thought you were practicing the things Whitespade told us to do while I was stuck on a hospital bed for the last ten days!” Trent yelled back. “I felt like I was dying all over again without my strength or energy! The least you could have been doing is practicing taking care of the twins!”

“I have been, I have been practicing almost every hour Trent!” Accordion shouted, trying not to drop the bottle or his son, but do his best to cover Florence’s ears. “I had to make sure Crumb and Morsel wouldn’t jump on them the moment I brought them back, I read every book the doctors gave us, I did my best! I always do my best for you and the twins!”

“And so am I, but clearly what you do isn’t enough! Whatever you’ve been doing has been pointless if you can’t even feed our kids properly! You’re just not doing enough, Oliver!”

Oliver stepped back, his eyes wide as the full effect of Trent’s words hit him like slamming into a brick wall. Tears filled his eyes as he looked down at Florence, who was still crying and whimpering softly, trying to reach out for the bottle in his hand that he was squeezing too tightly, like it was going to break at any moment.

Then, gently, Oliver passed Florence over to Trent’s waiting arms along with the formula, still intact in the plastic bottle. He didn’t notice how his son had immediately stopped making noise the moment he was placed in his other father’s arms, nor did he hear the subtle movement of Aurelia rolling over and pulling herself up to try and look at her dads and her brother. He was just focusing on trying to calm his breathing, trying to slow down his racing heart.

“Honestly Oliver, I already know you can feed the twins if I’m not around.” Trent said, his back slightly turned to him as he fed Florence his bottle. He sighed heavily, turning to look at him. “I just don’t understand why you need more time to do something you’re–”

Whatever the reason for why Trent stopped speaking, Oliver didn’t know and he didn’t care. He was already leaving the room as soon as Trent started to talk to him. As he did try to go, Crumb bounced over to him, barking and panting to get his attention. He ignored her, lips tightly shut as he grabbed his jacket and left the master bedroom. Trent called out his name several times, but he shut the door before he could hear another word from his husband.

Oliver took in a deep breath, shakily letting out as his tears finally fell down his face, staining the floor beneath him. “Why…why am I not good enough?” He thought to himself, holding his arms close to his body in some pathetic way to protect himself from the self-deprecating thoughts. “What can I do? What can I do to say I’m sorry for what I couldn’t do?”

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt his phone vibrate against his chest, making him and his heart jump up into his throat. It continued to vibrate as he fumbled to pull it out of his inside pocket, and saw that it was Kabbitz calling him.

He answered it, doing his best to hide the trembling in his voice. “H-Hello?”

“Oh thank gods you picked up! We need another guy with muscle for the mission we’re going on. Are you able to come?”

The Toppat looked down for a moment before looking at the closed door to his room, staying silent. Then, he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Yeah, yeah I can come.” Accordion replied, pulling his hat down further. “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

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“I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have gone.” Accordion muttered to himself, the memory now fading into the back of his mind but still sitting there like an uncomfortable reminder of everything wrong with him. The thought and the sounds of the bickering voices returning, like the sound being turned up on a radio, started to make him feel lightheaded. The urge to throw up was crawling up from his stomach to his throat, and he had to force himself to take steady deep breaths to try and stave off the feeling. Even trying to stand to get to his bathroom was an ordeal of itself, his feet planted on the floor as if someone had put super glue on them.

The haughty and rude voice laughed and whispered right into his ear. “What a horrible father you are, what a horrible husband you are! You ran away from your problems instead of facing them, like a real man would do. What you’re doing is very cold, Oliver. Just like what your mother would do.”

“No…No I wouldn’t….” he gasped out, the phone falling from his hands and onto the carpeted floor, notifications still going off as other messages still flooded the screen from concerned co-workers and friends. As he tried to focus, tried to grab onto anything to center himself, another memory surfaced from beneath the waters and grabbed him into a vice grip.

“Remember the fire that almost killed you both? The two of you could have escaped, but you didn’t. And why was that? Ah, yes. Another argument that you started between him and you.”

“No, no, please stop, please stop…”

“It is normal to argue sometimes! It’s not his fault–”

But the words of the worried and concerned voice couldn’t stop Accordion from remembering the sensations of that day. Although he couldn’t remember what they had been arguing about, he still remembers how heavy everything felt. The material of his shirt started itching at his skin, inflaming and tormenting his burn scars. The blazing heat of a fire that had changed his life forever resurfaced, grasping at his burnt flesh and digging their fiery ends into it. The air suddenly felt stifling, the smell of wood and concrete invading his nostrils, hitting him like a freight train. The nausea overwhelmed him and he felt the bile rise up into his throat, climbing faster and faster. The smoke from long ago found its way back to him and grabbed him by the neck, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing, dark fingers curled around his neck so tightly, his vision become dark and darker and–

“ARF!”

He gasped as he was hit from the side with such force, he almost fell off the chair he sat in. Accordion took in several deep breaths before he looked down at his feet. “Wha?”

Crumb barked up at him again, rubbing her head against his leg with a whine. Next to her, Morsel calmly walked over to where his phone laid and pushed it back towards him, looking up at his owner with its black pupils, narrowed in worry.

The Toppat looked down at the two creatures with some bewilderment before a thought came to him. “Oh…you must be hungry…y-yeah, hungry…” He said in a daze, the feelings of a fire long past leaving him for the time being. “I…I can do that…”

Before he stood up, he took in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it go. He did this a few more times until he felt his breathing had gone back to normal, reminding himself that he was not lying face first on a concrete floor, surrounded by debris that trapped him and his husband to an almost fiery death when they were younger. But even with that thought that should bring him some relief, he still felt tense, stiff, and too high strung. He still felt like something could go wrong right about now, or any second.

He looks down at his hands for a moment, his cold, metal, colorless prosthetics. He moved his fingers a little, testing to see if they were still moving, before looking up at the glass window that separated him from the black void of space. Accordion stared at himself in the glass window, looking at the image of a disheveled man who still woke up to do a mission that he should have never done in the first place. He looked away from his reflection and gazed out the window instead. The vast emptiness of space with its canvas covered with just a few brush strokes of pinks, oranges, and soft reds, speckles of sparkling white dotted the inky black canvas wherever it could, with Earth and its colours of blues, greens, whites and browns perfectly framed amongst the stars. It rotated slowly on its axis, keeping every person still walking and talking on that planet alive and breathing, with every step they took.

It all looked so peaceful. Outside where no noise could be heard, it was peaceful. On the space station, with people safe behind the metal walls and with each other, it was peaceful. Wherever he looked and wherever he went, those around him were happy and content with the lives they had. He knew he was in no danger, that he was safe and that no harm could come to him or his family and clan.

So why was it so hard to accept this peace that was given to him?

Slowly, he lifted his hand up and pressed his palm against the surface of the glass window. He doesn’t feel the cold hard glass underneath his metal fingers or palm, but he remembers the feeling instead. A feeling of sitting in a warm humid room during a harsh heatwave, the aircon blasting from one end of the room, and being able to reach out and touch a window, its surface chilled and cool against his skin. It makes him remember the feelings of warm sunny rays touching his arms and hands, a warm fire that caresses his skin with gentle touches. He could hold his hand up in the air, let his fingers run through the sun’s hair and feel content laying on a grassy field than he did at home. Or feelings of his hands plunging into icy, frigid rivers, a relief for when he was too hot, and let the shock of the cold run through his veins like a runner in a marathon, leaving behind goosebumps that rode up from his fingers to his shoulders, shivering in either fear or excitement from the shock–

When someone else held his hand and squeezed it firmly, reassurance passed on from one to another. The feeling of safety and love right there in that one single action, especially when he intertwined his fingers with his partner, his lover, his best friend; the warmth they cherished with him, foreheads pressed together as they shared that intimate moment–

“I wish I didn’t have to remember.” He mumbled loudly, the lump returning in his throat as his tears found their way to his eyes, sensing a break in the dam he had built so flimsily. He let out a shaky sigh, bringing his hand back so he could hold himself close, curl up as much as he could sitting down on the chair. “I wish I could feel it again…I wish I didn’t have to be so careful, I wish I said something else, I wish I did something different, I wish, I wish, I wish I wasn’t like this!”

“You can never have it back. You know you can’t, you must live with this–” “You think I don’t KNOW THAT?!” He yells at the meek voice in his head. He is angry that it has come back, disrupting what fragile peace had settled in his mind. Accordion grabs his head with both hands, clutching his hair too tightly as he lets out sobs that almost made him heave. “You don’t have to remind me! You don’t have to remind me that I’m a freak! That I just make too many mistakes, that I’m worthless! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m just trying, I’m just trying to be what people want me to be!”

He doesn’t hear Crumb and Morsel slowly back away from him, nor does he feel the continuous vibration that grazes his foot before it stops when Morsel taps a button. Instead, he continues to cry and repeat the words to calm himself down. “Please, please, please! Just leave me alone, just leave me alone–”

“I will never leave you alone, Oliver. Do you think that just because you’re off planet means that you can escape my wrath?” The haughty voice turns sickly sweet, oozing with glee as it somehow grabs his chin and whispers into his ear, “You will never get rid of me, son. You will never have peace so as long as YOU allow me to stay in your life, even beyond death, I will make sure you know nothing but disgust for yourself. Disgust and dissatisfaction for everything that you are!”

“Stop, stop! Please, just be quiet–”

“Why are you even here?” His mother’s laugh makes his blood run cold to the point he thought his heart stopped beating. “Isn’t that something you ask yourself each and every day? Why are you still here in a clan full of people who see you but nothing as a meat shield? As someone to take blow after blow so they don’t get hurt themselves? You’re not respected, you’re not needed, and you are not loved at all! Everyone pities you because you can barely do anything right, like even feed your own damn kids properly! Everything you do is wrong. You are a disgrace, a mistake–”

“Don’t listen to her! Oliver, please–” “You can easily be replaced by the chief, your “family” can find someone else to replace you, your husband can find another man to fill the shoes you have.” Her maniacal laughter and words grip him tightly, squeezing every bit of tears that were pouring from his eyes. “You are nothing, Oliver Arc. You messed up with Trent, you messed up on the mission, and you messed up at being a good father. Face it–You’re better off killing yourself so you don’t have to think about how much you’re hurting those you love. They’ll forget about you as soon as you’re dead.”

Oliver sinks down in the plush chair he sat on, his whole body shaking and trembling as he tried to just be. What had once been an open invitation to rest his weary body and sink into the soft, comforting material to rest, he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into an open grave, one that he dug himself for this very moment. His breathing became faster and faster and his heart beat beat beating so hard it would jump right out of his chest any second, he clutched at his chest to try and stop it but it made it worse with how hard he digs his nails into himself. His foot taps repeatedly against the floor he hunches over his knees with his hands pulling so hard on his hair that it cascades around him like a black curtain, hiding him from the world that he desperately wanted but now felt like it would banish deep into the depths below. The curtain pulled in more closing in with each rapid breath he takes, he takes and he takes he shuts his eyes his hands pull harder at his hair punishing for even thinking that he could matter that he could make a difference that he could help out at all but he only made things worse because no one really cared for him no one loved him he was just another person another tool for this clan he could be replaced with someone better better better at speaking better at talking better at everything else he could have done in his life he should just let the casket close its door over him and let him suffocate and stop him from breathing it was getting so hard to breathe breathe breathe he sobs and wails and cries because no one can hear him no one wanted him no one needed him no one loved him no one loved him no one cared she was right she was right she was right, I am nothing–

“OLIVER!”

His name being called shot through him, the archer hitting their mark with incredible speed.

His eyes snap open and he tries to breathe again, but he struggles to even move or to grab at his chest. He flails his arms, he screams, he tries to hit whatever is holding him down, pressing him into that underwater grave–

“Oliver, PLEASE SNAP OUT OF IT! You’re hurting yourself!”

He stops when he throws his left arm out and ends up hitting his elbow on hard wood. He lets out a pained cry and falls back onto the carpeted floor, curling up into a fetal position as he tries to comprehend what the hell was going on. Someone tries to pull him out of his shell and he snaps his head up, ready to scream and yell that they shouldn’t even bother–

Oliver freezes and hiccups. “T-Trent?”

Trent hovers above him, fresh tears running down his cheeks as he desperately clings onto his husband. “O-Oliver…” He starts before a sob escapes his own lips and he has to cover his mouth. “I-I was just c-coming back when I felt w-what you were feeling, I tried to c-call you and w-when you picked up, I-I heard you say those things and–”

The black haired man stared at Trent confused for a moment before he moved his head up. At the end of his body, by his feet, Morsel held his phone, with Crumb’s help, to show that Trent had indeed called him just a few minutes ago. In the past few minutes he was having a full-blown and harsh panic attack, he heard every scream and hateful thing he said about himself.

He could still hear Trent trying to say something to him, but a dull static noise filled his ears as he realized what had just happened. Oliver felt whatever energy he had drained away as he collapsed back onto the floor. The last thing he saw was Trent yelling for him and the door to the twins’ room fully opening, Echo and Jingle running towards him as fast as their little metal bodies could take them.

But the last thing he heard was Aurelia and Florence waking up, letting out shrill cries that pierced his heart and broke into the tiny pieces that floated down with him, into his unconscious, broken mind.

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Chapter two

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