#This is like the angriest I’ve gotten while drawing (I think)

[seven-thewanderer]

Okay I never really planned to ever say something relating to me working on a drawing, but I have to share this

So I was drawing something (that I won’t specify what exactly), and it related with that upper spot in Monty’s Gator Golf, which I think is called a catwalk, idk

But I grabbed 3 references for it.

As I was inserting them into the image as references for me to use. But I have a specify way I like to put references in. I don’t like them to be overlapping, and I don’t like there being an awkward gap in between 2 references. So, I zoom in really close to make sure that the boundaries of each image are touching, but not overlapping or leaving a gap.

So i insert the first 2 images, nothing wrong, everything’s going well.

Then I get to the third one. I thought everything was fine, but then I looked at it, and I jumped so badly

Apparently, when I grabbed this image as a ref, I didn’t see a problem

I SEE IT NOW AND I HATE IT

[taeswurld]

Ace VI [Shitshow]

pairing: bakugo x fem!reader 

genre: humor, romance 

TW: violence, cursing, angst, fluff

Summary:

 Shifting into My Hero was a total mistake, all those tiktoks you watched on a daily about shifting somehow convinced your brain to take part. Now the question is how to wake up, and most importantly, DON’T GET ATTACHED TO STUPID DRAWINGS!

A/N: 

HI! New chapter! Kinda late! Sorry! Let me know if you wanna be mentioned in the taglist! Here’s Shitshow!

{ACE MASTERLIST}

After that shitshow, you took a nap. 

It’s not that you passed out, no no. 

You definitely did not pass out in Bakugou’s arms. Nope. 

You simply took a nap. A three hour nap. You just so happened to fall asleep while he was holding you. End of story. 

To be fair, you had a really tiring day, and it was only 4 in the afternoon. 

You woke up in an alternate dimension with no clue what was going on whatsoever, and then realized you had superpowers. In fact, a power so super, it was difficult to control. 

Once you came to, you realized you weren't in Gym Gamma anymore, but instead in someone’s room. 

Hmm. Smells like cinnamon. 

As you looked around, you found Midoriya and Todoroki holding ice to their heads and Bakugou cleaning up the dried blood down his ears, grumbling about how this ‘always fucking happens’ and ‘why do I even fucking bother’. While you were lied down on a bed, Bakugou was looking at the hanging mirror and Midoriya and Todoroki were sitting on some beanbag chairs. 

When you made a quick move to rub your eyes, Midoriya stood up and walked over to you. 

“Y/N! You woke up! Are you feeling better?” Midoriya asked. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where’s Hiro? And where are we?” You asked as you moved to sit up. 

“Whoa, slow down there, Y/N.” Todoroki moved to push you back down. “Hiro’s taking a nap under the bed. His tail’s hanging out.”

At the sound of his name, he crawled out from under the bed to check up on you. Moving your hand to pet his fur, he sat on Todoroki feet. 

“I think your wolf is sick. He’s acting quite odd. Earlier he kept rubbing up against me.” Todoroki told you with a deadpan expression. 

“No, Todo, I think he just wanted a few pets. And he’s a husky, not a wolf. I don’t think I have enough talent to train a wolf.” You quirked an eyebrow at his comment. Jesus how dense is this guy? 

“Where are we anyways, it looks familiar but I can’t straight out recognize this room.” You ask, checking out the room. 

There was a few posters hung up, a couple of model airplanes on a shelf, along with school books. A desk was at the corner of the wall, piled with papers, a laptop, and a couple comic books. There was a couple of shoes on the floor, and some clothes sprawled out. And it smelled strongly of men’s cologne, but it wasn't cheap or tacky, it was for sure expensive, like the type a celebrity would wear. And caramel. Your nose was filled to the brim with the smell of caramel. 

“We’re in my room dumbass,” Bakugou says as he turns around, finally getting all the dried blood out. “After training, the four of us usually end up here for whatever goddamn reason. Even though I’ve said more than once that you fucktards aren't allowed here.” He said rolling his eyes complaining. 

“Okay Mr. Attitude, I didn’t order an extra side of sarcasm with your stupid ass answer. But thanks for taking care of me, I guess.” You said giving him a small smile of appreciation. “I like your room by the way. It’s very, Bakugou of you.” You said as your smiled widened to a full grin. 

“I’m sorry, just how the fuck did you use my name?” He said giving you a small, but semi playful glare.

“Moving on,” Midoriya said pressing his lips together, trying his best to prevent a smirk from showing up. “Y/N, your control is has gotten a little worse.”

“You’re control has gone batshit crazy.” Todorki butts in with a small smile. 

“Well, I mean, I wouldn't put it that way,” he says giving him a slight glare. 

Todorki’s smile grows wider, giving Midoriya a small shrug. 

Turning back to you, Midoriya begins going on about how you had an amazing control for a quirk so powerful. “It was insane. You could be the angriest person in the room, angrier than even Kacchan-” 

“Highly impossible, this man is a chihuahua incarnate.” You said, giving a small smirk, finally moving to sit up so you can semi-look them in the eye. 

“Okay princess, you’re lucky you’re injured and I’m feeling nice, because if it were up to me, your attitude would've been given a check a long ass time ago.” He says turning to you to give a small scowl. 

“Anyways,” Midoriya cuts in, giving both of you an annoyed look. “You’re emotions could be overflowing, but you always managed to keep your quirk in check. However, in the last couple of days, I’ve noticed you become slightly more agitated, up to the incident that happened last night, and then this morning, waking up to a pounding headache and in what you call an alternate dimension.” He says crouching down a little to be at head-level with you. 

“Yeah, I don't really understand that.” Todorki says, furrowing his eyebrows. “You were completely fine yesterday, other than being a little bit quieter and more snappy than usual. How the hell did your conscience manage to switch you out to a different dimension where you believe this is all fake?” He turns giving you a confused look. 

“Look, in all honesty, I don't know. All I know is that you guys were like, in this T.V. show I watched a lot, and then I woke up IN the T.V. show. Like literally yesterday I was attending my online classes, I scrolled through my phone a little and then I took a nap. Next thing I know, I wake up here, no memories of this place, or any of you. Shit, I know what memories you guys claim to have with me, but frankly those are all experiences I’ve read in like fan fictions” You say.

“What the shit is a fan fiction?” Bakugou asks, giving you a very much confused, yet judgmental stare. 

 “Not important,” you claim, blushing. These guys do not need to know that you’ve literally read about them fucking your brains out, especially Bakugou. God knows you’ll never hear the end of it. 

“And everyone keeps talking about this incident that happened last night. But nobody has filled me in. You mind telling me what's going on?” You ask, giving each of them a questioning stare. 

“Last night you went out to train your quirk.” Midoriya says. 

“You’ve said you’ve been feeling off for days. When I tried to talk to you about it, your bitchass got all pissy and then stomped off.” Bakugou says looking away, a little pissed off at the way past-you pushed him away. 

“When we went to go check on you, your were losing control of your power, your hands covered in this blinding light before it took over your entire body. Aizawa had to come out to stop you because you were screaming in pain really loud. Once he turned off your power, you had blood oozing out of your ears and  you were passed out.” Todorki says, not giving much attention to you, as he was too busy giving out stiff pets to Hiro. 

“We called out to Recovery Girl, but she said the only thing we could do is make sure you get a good nights sleep and hope you wake up better in the morning.” Midoriya says giving you a soft stare. 

“Jesus christ that sounds like a shitshow.” You say, rubbing your temples in hoping to relieve some of your stress. 

“You can bet your ass it was. You weren't even supposed to go to train today, but Tweedle Stupid and Tweedle Stupider,” Bakugou says giving Todoroki and Midoriya a harsh glare. “decided to test out your control again. Apparently the fact that you may not be okay didn’t cross their pea-sized minds.” He growls. 

“Hey! You know just as much as I do how important it is for her to maintain her control. We’ve gotta see where she is. After all, she’s got one of the strongest quirks in the class.” Midoriya says defending his actions. 

“Dude, she’s literally the only person who could keep up with our crazy training schedules. And,” Todorki says giving him a glare right back, “you forget that she was also a target at the training camp. Only difference is I managed to grab her out of the League’s hands. Her quirk is literally wanted everywhere. If she doesn’t get her shit together soon, she can end up in danger real quick.” He states. 

Sheesh, what a fucking reality check. 

Well, as ‘reality’ as this dimension gets. 

taglist : lanaxians-2

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 11: Ch 4

Previous

Summary: Finally, on Commander Knox’s spaceship, the trio finds themselves running out of time before the commander becomes an all too powerful Watcher.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

My sword is on its side, far from my reach, but I can’t feel my fingers. I don’t feel anything. Friend turned foe is lifting me by my collar. With how tightly he’s gripping it, the thread is starting to come loose. It won’t be too long until I drop back onto the floor and fall asleep for good, forever dreaming of my defeat. We have less than two minutes until that happens. My jaw is smashed. It’ll heal, but by the time it does, it’ll be too late. I still force out my sorrows even though it slurs out as indistinguishable sounds. 

S1Y transforms his other arm into a blaster. The outer metal on his arm slides back and floats around the internal hardware, pushing forward. He points it at me. My face heats up as it charges inches from my crooked nose. My hair flutters backward as it comes closer to finishing. Before I close my eyes and let my failure consume me, I note that even though the shadow from the vein above us masks his face, the goo’s glow lights up the bottom of his eyes. The purple sludge is slowly sliding down his face. Because of it, he looks to be crying. “Please, forgive me, my dear friend.” 

I tried to let out, “Forgive me, Ashley, for leaving you as I did.” It came out as a grumble. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, but S1Y’s blaster never goes off. Hesitantly opening my eyes, I see his wrists are being held above his head by my still lifeless Ashley. As he’s staring up at me in disbelief, he tries wiggling himself loose and begs for answers. She stays silent, not even piping up as he smashes the back of his head against her forehead, which has it bruised soon after.

I’m floating above them. I see that my hands, which I can now feel as I clench and unclench them, have a golden glow around them. No, my whole body is glowing. I’ve seen this sort of light before, but I don’t have the time to question it, and I especially don’t have the time to get hurt for what I’m about to do. 

Reaching my hand out, my sword becomes engulfed in the same glow around me. It spins in the air towards me, flying past the two, nearly cutting off one of S1Y’s hands, and I grab it with one hand before I float back down. S1Y makes another attempt at pulling himself free, but this time, he’s successful. He rips out one of Ashley’s arms from its socket. Eyes widening, I watch it fly past me, its blood sprays across the left side of my face, and it then twitches on a vein in the corner of my eye. Her only hand lets go of him and clutch the stump as she stumbles away from him and eventually goes on her knees with gritting teeth and tears falling down her cheeks. She doesn’t cry out, but I could only imagine the pain, and I think this is the angriest I’ve ever been. Whatever guilt I would’ve felt dies down along with my senses. My body moved on its own as the cause of my love’s pain shoots at me with two blasters. While those lights seemed to slow and blur, I didn’t even see my body moving. I didn’t even notice I’m in front of S1Y and preparing to decapitate him until I heard his voice in my head. “Thank you.”

He moves his arms to the sides, almost as if he’s giving the entire universe a hug, and closes his eyes. It’s been too long since I’ve seen that smile that I thought was lost forever, but I don’t relent. 

I catch his head and his actual lifeless husk before both can hit the floor. I look down at his smile one last time before setting his halves gently down and moving to Ashely. What’s left of her right arm is leaking out too much blood. It’s all over her left hand and right leg. Through squinting eyes, she looks up at me. She smiles, and my heart skips a beat. I bury down all the things I’ve been waiting weeks to tell her, especially my sorrow for running away from her rather than talking it out because we’re running out of time. 

Two glowing hands leaned towards her armless half. Without hesitation, she removes her hand from the wound so that my hands can clasp it. I infuse some of my new power into it. She squirms as the armless sight heats up. Her blood has stopped pouring out of her as I have her right arm fly towards us. I catch it and press it against the now glowing site.

As bone and skin stitch back together before our eyes, she touches the side of my face and wipes away her blood from my cheek. I so desperately want to press my lips against hers. I’m about to as we lean towards each other. I can feel her body heat, which increased my hunger to taste that cherry chapstick. We’re about to kiss, but she stammers out, “Help Saamuki.” I step back and see her clutching the sides of her head, pulling at her hair. Her nails draw blood. “Knox is trying to regain control. Help me by helping her.”

No matter how much it dreads me, she’s right. We have a minute left. With teary eyes, I remind her, “Until death do us part.”

Her eyes widen, and before she can respond, I snap my fingers. She’s teleported out of the ship along with Mikrovos, Khavas, and the bodies of Shiitakee, Skeema, and S1Y. 

Across Saamuki’s no longer glowing body are Knox’s blades. She’s been lifted in the air and is locked in place. Before he can ask, I punch him in the face. The swords slide off of her body, and I catch her. Her body returns to its blue state, and she smiles at me with a weak expression as those bloody holes close. I set her down and order, “Get as far away from this planet as you can.”

Saamuki, who’s now revitalized, gets up, reaches out to me, and asks with wide eyes, “No, wait—” 

She’s teleported out of here before she could finish. Now it’s just me in this wretched state and the actual Devil himself. He spits out a tooth as he mocks me, “A little late to show off don’t you think?” He turns to the timer and smirks at me when he notices I’ve gripped my sword even tighter. “Don’t you get it? You’ve lost. How can you possibly stop what’s meant to be in under a minute?”

I swing my sword with one hand to the side to send a blinding golden beam of light at the crystal with the other hand. It’s beginning to crack and between the cracks is purple lightning firing across the room. One zaps between us, but neither of us flinches. “That. We have under a minute until we both die.” 

He shuts his eyes, and he shows his purpling gums. His teeth grind against each other as his body shakes with rage. His fists go above his head then thrust at his sides. Knox growls and whatever was left of his humanity leaves as long claws are pushed out of his fake fingertips and toes, as well as horns and three sets of wings. Where flesh was has been turned into an exoskeleton. His fur turns into quills, and fangs grow with the horns shoved out of his head’s sides, which touch his shoulders and curve. Two purple rings of light appear and spin around each other and his body. Opening his eyes, purple goo flows out of them. Still, I don’t flinch as he shows me what happens when you slice and dice your DNA. “Before I kill you I’d like to congratulate you for being the first one to witness my true form.” His voice has gotten a lot deeper, almost demonic, fitting. That symbol used for the Lords appears above his forehead, but there’s a line going straight through it. “Thirty eight seconds to entertain me. Make me see that you have gone even uglier, worth my while.” 

He smirks. More purple goo gushes out from his mouth, and it fizzes at the corners of his lips. One moment he’s staring down at me as he’s shooting quills, which I slice through all, and the next, he’s diving towards me. My sword connects with his claws, cutting through them. I was about to mock him, but his claws regrow, and I swerve away, but the claws I cut extend towards me. I’m able to fly up, escape all but one, which penetrates my neck. I pull it out, but once I do, I find Knox has joined me in the air and smashes his wings together. They propel me away and cause me to lose control. I try fighting against the wind current to the best of my abilities, but I end up smashing against the crystal, which electrocuted me. I drop both the quill and my sword. 

Knox comes at me, and I pull my sword from its fall, and it reconnects with my hand just in time. I swing it at him, but he teleports to the left, pulls me by my hair, spins me around, and then throws me into the floor. I fall through the floor, room after room, and when the smoke clears, I see I’m back in the storage room and sent in a panic because of it. 

The room is warmer but is darker than I remember. The crystal above only outlines a few crates, so my glow is my only source of light. It’s surprisingly quiet in here until I hear Knox’s laugh echoing. I wave my hand across the room and see nothing, so I’m met with surprise when I find Knox appear in front of me and ready to punch me. My sword was supposed to go through him, but his body crystalized. So, his fist collides with me, and I am sent flying once again. I land in a crate and am covered in something slimy. There is no sign of any of those things, but a massive shadow now looms over me. Knox is descending onto me with his feet first. I teleport away, and he smashes the rest of the crate. 

On a railing, I look down as he looks around the room for me. When his eyes spot the hole Saamuki cut, he realizes, “Ah, you’ve got to see my experiments. A shame their pitiful lives were wasted because now I can’t become what I was always destined to be because of you.” He spots me, and I dash towards him, breaking through the guardrail in the process. The rings around him send beams of purple light at me. I evade them all. “One second,” he added, 

The last thing I see before the explosion is my sword, which its blade has turned into pure light, going right through Knox’s chest and one of his horns going right through my chest. Then, boom. 

“Take my hand,” a familiar voice called out to me. Ojos?

People say when you die, you see the light. I did, but it’s not the type they always talk about. I don’t see dead loved ones, hear a harp playing or doves coo. Maybe being burned in the afterlife makes more sense for me, but I don’t think I did die even though I’m standing in a white room before seven almighty beings. The Lords of the universe are sitting in their thrones staring down at me. The Lord I talked with at their library has their head leaning into their propped hand at the very end of the left side. On the far right side is the one I met in my unconscious state, but now they have chains wrapped around the lower part of their face, covering their mouth. The center is a Lord who has their legs spread apart and left arm behind the headrest and the right across their right leg. There’s a cigarette pressed between their ring and middle finger. Somehow smoke blows out in front of their mask where their lips are supposed to be. 

Sword reforming in my hand, I’m about to lunge at them, but the center one snaps their fingers. My crown is teleported in their hand. I’m weaponless, yet I bravely inquire, “What am I doing here?”

To the right of the center one, a Lord that’s the bulkiest out of all of them grips their armrests, cracking it; the action causes their muscles to stretch their cloak even more, and they shout, “First, you dare to strike us. Now you’re commanding us?” This Lord’s voice is almost entirely masculine. 

Between them and the Librarian Lord is a Lord hunched forward. They look to be the tallest and longest. This Lord softly replies, “You’re a Lord. No need to waste your energy shouting, especially when it means hurting my ear.” They proceed to rub where their left ear should be. 

“Clearly, this human isn’t as perceptive as you.”

On the center one’s left is a porky Lord. From what I can tell, this one is the shortest. They respond, “It’s been centuries since you complimented them. Correction, any of us.”

Right of the one that tried taking my soul, who’s the only one that has a gold, faceless mask coos before asking, “If Second wishes to compliment them, let it be, but if they do then they should give me the rest of the compliments.”

Fourth, the first Lord I met sighs, “One, can we just answer her question already? I am growing tiresome hearing you idiots bicker. No, I have been tired from having to deal with all of your constant blabbering for centuries.” 

Besides the silent Seven and One, the Lords were about to go off on Fourth until One silences them with their hand raised. The center Lord flicks their cigarette. It hits Two, which is met with a grumble from them and a snicker from Three. One gets up from their throne and stands straight with their arms behind their back before revealing, “Welcome home, my daughter.” 

[eyesoftxmorrow]

A Moment of Silence

wwwwwwwww got bored at work today and wrote a GinMado oneshot, platonic or shipping idrc how you interpret it i just wanted to write something nice for these two :V takes place VERY early fusion (the day after gingka and ryuga’s first fight), little bit of canon divergence but not too noticeable

reblogs appreciated!!

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The only thing that occupied the space between them was the sound of the clock on the wall and the gentle clicks and shuffles of her handiwork.

His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, one arm draped across his forehead and the other dangling off the side of the couch. Mindless fingers rubbed against one another, fidgeting impatiently. Everything in him told him he needed to get up already – there are so many more important things to be done and you’re just laying here, dammit – but his brain remained stubborn. He hadn’t even touched his food since last night.

He had just enough energy to turn his head towards the girl on the other side of the room. So focused...she probably hadn’t even noticed he had woken up already. Absent eyes laid to rest on the bey she was currently working on; every measurement, every adjustment perfectly exact.

How does she do it? He found himself wondering that from time to time, but even more so now than ever before. Ever the voice of reason, that Madoka. Her intricate understanding of Beyblade surpassed just about anyone he had ever known, and her ability to keep a level head in even the most stressful of situations was nothing short of admirable.

“What’s wrong?”

Madoka didn’t even look up from her work, but her words cut right through the silence and snapped him out of his daze. He blinked, stopping himself from flinching at her sudden words.

“...Nothing” was all he could manage. He turned back to face the ceiling. “I just woke up, that’s all.”

“You were looking at me funny.” Was he? Shit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Madoka’s shoulders relaxed from their hunched-over position. Looking up almost annoyedly, she set the bey parts down and turned to her friend on the couch. Even through the lenses of her goggles, he could feel her staring him down.

“Look,” she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, “I’m not gonna force you to talk if you don’t want to. But I am worried about you – all of us are.”

“Don’t worry about it, Madoka,” he said, mustering whatever confidence his energy would allow, “I’m okay now. We all got out of there just fine, right? There’s nothing to be concerned about, promise.”

“I disagree.”

His eyes darted back to meet hers in time to watch her remove her goggles. There was...something in those eyes. Worry? Pain?

“Gingka, you could’ve gotten seriously hurt back there,” her tone was much more stern now. “I don’t– I don’t know what came over you the other day, but seeing you like that, it…” – she paused, bit her lip, letting her eyes waver for just a moment – “...I’ve never felt so worried for someone before. And never in my life did I think I’d have to feel that way about you.”

...God. God, he really fucked up, didn’t he?

If he had just stayed calm; if he had just ignored his aggravating taunts; if he had just...stopped and thought about the situation before diving headfirst into things like he always fucking did – maybe he wouldn’t be laying on this couch right now. Maybe they wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. Maybe…

A chill ran up his spine. That was the angriest he had ever felt in his life. It...honestly kind of scared him, too.

But he remained silent. He didn’t know what to say, and even if he did, he had no energy left to say it. His non-dangling arm returned to his forehead, sliding down to shield his eyes from the ceiling lights. A deep breath filled his lungs and escaped through his nose.

The sound of a rolling chair sliding across the floor and footsteps caught his attention, and he felt Madoka’s presence draw closer to him. She sat herself down to meet his eye level.

Only the sensation of her head leaning on his shoulder brought him back to the present. His shielding arm flinched, moving aside to glance at his friend.

“You’re a great friend of mine, Gingka,” she muttered, not bothering to maintain eye contact. “I want you to know that it’s okay to ask for help sometimes. Your burdens are ours, too; there’s no need for you to go through all of this alone.”

A lump began to form in his throat. He chewed on the inside of his cheek in a feeble attempt to hold it back. Madoka was right about a lot of things: this, he supposed, was one of them.

His head tilted slightly to meet hers, and he let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you, Madoka,” he whispered.

The two sat there in silence for a long while; there was nothing left to say. He knew he had to speak to the others about this soon, but for now, he needed to recover. Having Madoka here with him – even if it was in total silence – was enough to make him feel safe.

[allbeendonebefore]

I was kind of under the impression that this is just a widespread thing in Alberta, especially because of the Angus Reid fractured federation survey (I cant include the link here, but you can Google it, its from January 24th 2019). When got back into Hetalia, I imagined the dynamics kinda changed to this, which would be pretty bad tbh. I hope its not that aggressive in Alberta, I will never be able to go check tho, too expensive :( I loved the bad french btw

i see you guys sending these asks super late at night and i wonder whether any of you sleep - idk where you’re writing from and i may be on the west coast but are you guys ok wherever you are? I just woke up but I have my tea and if I’m not caffeinated now I surely will be as I answer this.

I’m sure I’ve seen the survey you’re speaking of before and before I address it in any specific detail I just want to back up and re frame Why I’m Being Like This in regards to recent events and my orientation towards answering these questions in terms of Hetalia the way I do, because I think it’s the heart of how I answer.

the tldr of it is:

1. I have an opportunity to make interpretations of reality in unexpected and challenging ways, therefore widespread opinions don’t govern anything but my stupid gag comics in the simple sense that if everyone was represented by widespread opinion alone all the time, nothing would change and

2. if i can answer dozens of asks about ralph and oliver hanging out there’s absolutely no reason I can’t answer asks about ralph and jean hanging out, lol.

3. If you’d like a shorter, more concise “vision statement”, I have one on @battle-of-alberta here. (although now I notice the links don’t work on mobile so you’ll have to be on desktop for that one)

I’m assuming this will be long so cut time

(and yes, alas, the bad french is my legacy and I’m afraid it has not improved much although i swear i was an A student when i was actually taking it) (and no please don’t visit now, purely for pandemic reasons, it would be really expensive And you’d have a bad time) (and talking to me is free lmao) (I do not mean to say that you need to have feet on the ground to understand a place at all, i mean, at the moment I don’t lol)

headings because I say a lot

what even is hetalia

At the most basic level, Hetalia is a tool that can be used in a variety of ways. It can be for memorization, current politics at a glance or historical relationships in different settings. I use it for all of these things, of course, I certainly use it a lot in comics that take place in the much more distant past in @athensandspartaadventures. When I was writing that, I was in undergrad and AaSA was a tool to help me pass my exams, I didn’t think of how it might be read or interpreted by people who have lived in or experienced those places these days, or what kind of political and cultural tensions it might reveal. (Not to say that it has gotten me into sticky situations, exactly, but I am more aware of where things like that would arise now).

These days I look back on a lot of my experiences - both in IAMP/Hetalia and just as a person, and I think that if Hetalia is a tool it should be used with some awareness of intention and responsibility. Things in the fandom have changed as it became more mainstream and more well known and I think there’s a definite worry about screwing up or not representing Everything or not pleasing Everybody or not doing it Right. I have a simple, insufferably academic principle.

(That said, yes, you can still do it very wrong if you write a methodology.)

Still, it’s a comfort to me that I’m just doing the things the way I say I’m going to do them, and that is the underpinning of Inspired But Not Constrained By Hetalia. I don’t do things Himaruya’s way, I can’t do things the way IAMP would do them if it were running today because it’s not and things have changed, all I can do is do them how I would do them.

I have hurt people in the past because they sometimes couldn’t tell whether I was writing From an Albertan Perspective or not, and I’ve evoked some preeetty spicy comments over the last decade, and I realized that tone and perspective are something that really shapes how people understand and interact with my work and I’m trying to use that understanding in a conscientious way)

what even is alberta

So when you’re me and you’ve grown up in a province that is the Angriest in the country and the most Misunderstood in the country and the most Entitled in the country and nobody outside of maybe Saskatchewan has a good thing to say about you half the time and maybe you’re tired of that... you get kind of depressed thinking about how every year some kiddo comes on the internet ready to be excited about making or celebrating characters that represent themselves and No Matter Where They Go running into everyone else’s negative impressions first and foremost.

We joke about how everyone hates Toronto, though I’ve always understood it in a teasing way because I’ve never ACTUALLY met someone (outside of our current legislative assembly) who REALLY hates Toronto, but it does feel like I’ve encountered (directly or indirectly) people who do Genuinely hate Alberta and hoo boy is That a strange feeling. I mean, there’s an understanding that BC also ‘hates’ Alberta but half the people in BC are originally from Alberta so it’s a, uh, different feeling.

The story of Alberta from everywhere else is always the story of that Angus Reid article and the memes and comments and listicles that spin out around mainstream media. Alberta is giving too much. Alberta is getting too little. Alberta is too stupid to understand that equalization payments are a good thing actually, and Alberta is too dumb to understand you don’t really need EI if you make enough money in six months to own a house and multiple vehicles Just Because you own a house and multiple vehicles. Alberta is destroying the environment for everybody. Alberta has a huge concentration of white supremacists. Alberta is the Texas of Canada* and has the conservative streak and bible belt to match. Alberta should get annexed by the US. Oh, but Banff! We like Banff, though.

And like I said, politicians use these widespread feelings to stir up the sentiments of people who can’t afford to travel, people who are naturally suspicious of mainstream news, people who have barely even left their hometowns let alone the province and have no other means of validating what they hear, but people who’s emotions are genuinely tied to real feelings of alienation that really exist and HAVE existed for generations. And when the so-called “laurentian elites” in ontario and quebec make fun of them for being uneducated red necks, well, you hit a wasps nest and expected what, exactly?

what even am i doing

And like I’m faced with this question every day I decide to pick up my stylus and badger you all with unsolicited comics: do I want this to continue? Do I want to wear the mask that fits? Do I want to stand aside and say #notallalbertans #notlikeotheralbertans and stand over here on the island** patting myself on the back for not? being? there? Do I say yes, you’re right, and stand aside and watch loud mouth white supremacists co-opt wexiters and let them lead the perception of the province I grew up in just because that is what’s currently happening? Do I acknowledge the widespread sentiment and then pick apart every other province to say Well Actually You’re Equally Problematic Hypocrites, So There?

Obviously I’ve been saying no for a while. I’m perfectly happy to acknowledge the reality and when I draw stupid gag comics like this or this you can tell (hopefully) from my style that it’s tongue and cheek. When I draw less stupid not-gag comics like this or this I am trying to explore the Real Sentiments in a way that doesn’t completely polarize the issue and spin it out of control. I’m more of the opinion that even though Current Sentiments do get in the way that as personifications they 1. have some perspective and as people they 2. have some interest in not throwing out a friendship that was a struggle to build up every time the polls change or some new radical party seizes power. I do a lot of research and I want that to be reflected in my understanding of each characters deep seated beliefs and motivations, but I don’t want to let either the history or the current realities dictate the future if I am going to try to do that myself. 

why even am i doing it for

So like really the heart of the matter is: I am writing what I write for my thirteen year old self. She was the me who moved back to Canada from the United States, who’s first introduction to living there was a hellish surge of nationalism after September 11th. Who’s defense against that was to hide behind a shield of Canada is Better, Actually and who returned to Alberta during the boom years to realize that, oh wait, the rest of the country thinks we’re assholes just like they think the United States is. Who spent her teenage years learning that, boom or bust, the widespread sentiment in and out of the province is just as narrow, shortsighted, self interested, and stubborn as her own fiction of What Canada Was Supposed to be Like. Who learned that propping up that image at the expense of her friendships was not worth it, that propping up that image at the expense of people who are suffering and dying under that image is not worth it. Who found herself rehashing the same sort of gut reaction defensiveness online because the Guilt and Apologizing on behalf of her province compared to others felt Really Heavy for a kid who didn’t have any clue what to do about it and was just there to have fun and learn some stuff.

So I’m writing for anyone else who finds themselves exhausted and saddened by coming online and seeing that the only way that people can imagine Alberta is as an antagonist. I’d like to challenge everyone to start to imagine it better. It’s my little “escape” from reality, and for me it’s much easier to talk to people here where the stakes aren’t as high and the grievances a little less personal.

I’m also writing (in a more secondary way) for everyone who’s ever looked at alberta from afar and wondered What is going On inside your Head and is it always This

(no comment at this time)

as always, I’m here to explain At The Very Least what goes on in My head because at the end of the day, that’s all I can do. And though there are some things that make me angry and emotional, I’m happy to explain why. Happy to answer asks or chat on discord or whatever, any time I have the time. :)

footnotes

*This is just a footnote to say something I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of my comments, but this is an annoyance that me and my Texas Tomodachi share lol

**You’ll notice angry Albertans online have a favourite tactic, and that’s pointing out hypocrisy. They can justify A N y T h I n G by calling another province a hypocrite “so there” (i.e. BC can’t claim to be environmentally conscious because of Victoria’s sewage problem or Site C) - and while I am interested in shattering the image of Alberta vs. the Perfect Rest of Canada a little bit, I feel like it’s a very lazy argument that is used to deflect and not to help. I think it is more useful to unpack the sentiment of Why Alberta Still Feels Taken Advantage of rather than mudslinging, and when the mud starts flying no one seems interested in addressing problems anymore.

[cynicalrainbows]

Possibly the sappiest thing I have ever written.

Based off an idea @upsettimyspagetthi and @moan-jeutas had, about an AU in which Bessie is fostered by Aragon and Hyde features as a stuffed animal (and Maria features as Aragon’s pet cat).

Honestly, content warning again for how incredibly bad this fic is; there is like no plot.

She’s never been one to cry easily. It’s not out of toughness- tears just don’t come easily to her, even when they should, even when she can TELL someone is getting frustrated with her refusal to just react like a normal kid fergodsake, even when she knows that it’s what they want. Whether they’re someone looking for tears of contrition, or of forgiveness or (and these are the worst, these are the ones who get angriest when she remains sullen and dry-eyed, ironically) the ones who want her to cry as a sign that she’s finally opening up…..they all go disappointed.

Except now she’s crying for real, her throat hurts and her head hurts and her face stings from the salt and she can’t stop and it’s for such a stupid reason too, that’s what makes it even worse.

She never forgets to shut her bedroom door usually- it figures that the one time she gets careless is the one time that Maria actually bothers to drag herself upstairs, the one time that her animal-huntress-instincts seem to have gotten the better of her usual sleepy-lap-cat self.

Whether she was playing at being a leopard or whether this is her cat-way of telling Bessie she isn’t welcome in what used to be just Catalina’s flat…..well, it doesn’t matter.

Hyde is just as shredded either way.

(The fact that she still thinks of her as Hyde- the fact that she’s still thinking of this pile-of-fur-and-stuffing as her at all- is ridiculous and she knows it. Why can’t she just grow up?)

If she was a proper person, she’d just shrug it off, she knows. Move on. Get a snack, watch tv.

Even if she was still a bit sad about it- well that wouldn’t be unreasonable. But she’d still be able to get things in perspective, to reflect that a shredded soft toy arguably a very, very light price to pay for the fact that she now gets to live with someone who doesn’t say her name as if they’re trying it out for size, who doesn’t coach everything in false smiles, who actually remembers things like her hatered of tomoatoes and her preference for burnt toast, who asks her opinion as if it matters.

She is grateful for these things- she is, she is- but obviously she isn’t grateful enough because she can’t stop the sick emptiness inside, she can’t push away the sudden feeling of being very, very alone and very very small.

She can’t rationalise and she can’t reason, she can’t even clear up the mess of fabric from her usually scrupulously clean carpet. Instead she just sits puddled on the carpet and holds a piece of Hyde’s fur to her face and sobs the way she’s seen kids cry on their first day as a Kid In The System.

It’s ridiculous. She’s ridiculous.

(No wonder nobody ever wanted her until now.)

*

She can’t bring herself to throw the pieces of Hyde away but she can’t leave the mess either so she nudges them under her bed.

That’s all she can do for now.

*

When Catalina comes home from work, she’s gotten as far as dragging herself down to the living room (no one likes a reclusive teenager, she knows that already, so she does her best not to be one) and she’s washed her face in water cold enough that most of the redness has gone from her cheeks. She makes a decent attempt at sounding normal (she thinks).

Clearly though, she isn’t doing a good enough job: she’s just thinking she’s gotten away without Catalina picking up on anything amiss when Catalina takes the last of the freshly-dried dishes from her hands and asks her if she’s ok.

She freezes.

She’s already prepared some answers (Fine. Tired. Homework.) but they fly from her head for a moment and she just stares at the woman, not saying anything.

Catalina is one of the more patient ones (she’s stopped- just about- being scared that Catalina will get cross at her not answering fast enough) but annoyingly, she’s also one of the more persistent ones.

‘Bessie? Are you ok?’

‘Fine.’

Her mouth is dry and she’s angry at herself. Here she is- at the best placement she’s ever had- and she’s ruining it, just as she always does. Sometimes it’s her moods and sometimes it’s her nightmares and sometimes it’s just her being a bit too weird.

‘You look so worried, querida.’

She hates the concern in Catalina’s face. If Catalina knew that she was moping over a stupid stuffed animal…. The thought makes her feel a bit sick.

‘I’m okay. Tired.’

She hates the thought of Catalina looking at her in that way they all have- half pitying, half mocking (‘Don’t you think you’re a bit old to be so childish, Elizabeth?’ ‘Don’t you think you should grow up a bit?’), which soon resolves itself into weary resignation (‘Of course, they’re all like this really- they all have these issues-’).

She’s determined not to drive Catalina away like she has done everyone else- she can be normal, she can be adjusted, she can- but even as she’s thinking it, something in Catalina’s voice, in the warmth of her hand on her arm (not gripping her, not pulling her, just….there) makes her have to blink hard and bite her lip.

‘Bessie- please talk to me, what is it?’

She shakes her head. She can taste blood.

Why is she like this? Why is she so pathetic?

Catalina still doesn’t look annoyed though- she doesn’t look as if she’s getting tired of trying, as if she’s edging into one of those ‘I don’t know why I even bother-’ sighs. Instead, she just wraps an arm around Bessie’s shaking shoulders and walks her into the living room.

‘Just one of those days?’

It’s a question she can answer by nodding (it’s an answer that will hopefully cut off the possibility for more) so she nods once and allows Catalina to gently pull her down to sit on the sofa.

‘You poor thing.’ She finds the tv remote and flips through the channels. ‘In that case, I reccomend a cup of hot chocolate. And some poor quality television.’

There’s a pause, and she feels Catalina draw back the tiniest bit, the way she always does, giving her an out, giving her the chance to escape if she wants to. ‘Of course, if you would prefer some space, that is also completely alright, ok? I could bring you a drink up to your room if you’d like?’ 

(It’s funny- she’s the only one Bessie has ever known to remind her so often that she doesn’t have to stay, that she’s free to go, that she can choose what to do. Funny too that it’s these reminders that she can leave that actually make her want to stay, more than any number of requests to ‘Come sit with us!’ ‘Come join in!’ ever have done. She knows it makes no sense.)

Part of her wants to go back to her room, where she can fall apart in peace and without fear of Catalina seeing….but then she knows if she does go back to her room, she’ll just be faced with having to throw Hyde away properly. So she stays.

She ends up tucked under Catalina’s arm, silent tears dripping silently down her face and soaking into Catalina’s shirt, while a host of women argue over wedding dresses on the screen.

They don’t talk, other than Catalina occasionally murmuring assent or disagreement over the choice of one bride or another.

‘Ooh...bad choice, mija….. She thinks that lace is good idea?’

(When Bessie first came to live with her, she had assumed that Catalina had been watching the reality tv shows in an attempt to bond with her, and that her commentary was the forced, awkward attempt of an adult to connect to a nearly-teenager. She’d hated it. 

Now though, she knows that Catalina will watch the program with or without her, and that her commentary, likewise, will go ahead whether or not Bessie or even Maria is there to hear it, and it’s oddly soothing, as background noise goes.)

Every so often, Catalina will hand her a tissue from the coffee table, or tighten her hold on her, or press a light kiss to the top of her head, but she doesn’t press for answers or intimacy and Bessie is grateful.

Still though, not grateful enough- because she’s still just….sad.

She wonders if this is how people feel when people they love leave- she knows it’s awful of her to think it, to compare the two things…..but still. (Hyde at least has been constant. Hyde has never shouted at her, hit her, locked her into or out of a room. Hyde has never lied to her, broken a promise or feigned anything. Obviously, her capacity to do any of those things is somewhat limited, due to her not actually being real but…...still. Hyde at least has never left her.)

After a couple of episodes, Catalina suddenly remembers she needs to put a load of laundry on and excuses herself (‘I’ll be right back, querida; I’ll make the hot chocolate after I’ve put it on-’) and…..Bessie waits.

And waits.

And when she realises that Catalina has been gone for far, far longer than it would take someone to put a load of laundry on, she feels- after the familiar first sudden sick sinking feeling- a distinct lack of surprise.

Of course she got tired of her.

(They all do, in the end.)

She wonders if the drawing away will happen all at once (like it does sometimes) or if it will be more slow (like it is othertimes). 

She doesn’t know.

But it is coming- she knows that much.

And now she doesn’t even have Hyde.

On screen, a woman jumps up and down, her face red, arms waving. Bessie can’t even tell if she’s meant to be pleased or not.

Catalina does not come back.

*

After a while, she wonders if she should go to bed- it’s getting late after all.

The hall is dark upstairs- no light under Catalina’s door, maybe she’s already asleep (making it her first night in Catalina’s home without being wished sweet dreams)- but lightness from her own room.

Which is funny because she’s sure she turned the light off….

Catalina is sat on the edge of her bed, and she jumps, guiltily, when Bessie enters.

‘Oh! Querida, you startled me-’

Oh god.

Bessie has had people go through her stuff before but the fact that it’s happening so fast….it just hits her hard.

Was her mood really so noticeably bad that Catalina thinks she’s hiding something?

She wouldn’t be the first to suppose drugs or boys or boys-with-drugs….and she wouldn't be the first to go actively searching for evidence….. Bessie’s stomach clenches into a tight fist.

‘I’m sorry-’

‘-I think we need to have a talk-’

They speak almost at exactly the same time but she knows what she’s heard- she’s heard the same words before out of the mouths of so many people. She knows what’s to come. She just hopes she can keep herself together throughout it- it’s always been so much harder when she breaks too quickly, there’s something vaguely repulsive about being begged for another chance, she knows (and it never changed their minds).

(She won’t beg.)

‘Ok.’

‘Sit down.’

She sits.

‘Querida...there’s no easy way to say this…’ She bites her lip in anticipation, steels herself.

‘And I’m so sorry it’s come to this-’

Here it comes: ‘Just not working out….better for us all….fresh start…..’

‘-but I must have completely forgotten to shut your door this morning-’

Ok. This is not what she expected.

‘-and Maria…. Well, decided to take against your things, for some reason-’

Catalina takes a breath and takes what she had been holding from where she’d pushed it under Bessie’s pillow.

Not her diary after all, like she’d assumed. 

Hyde.

But not Hyde as she’d last seen her- she looks the same as always, as if nothing has happened at all.

‘I’m so sorry querida- I thought I’d have finished before you came up, when I first found her but I lost track of time….’

She grabs Hyde from Catalina’s unresisting hands and studies her: up close she can see the lines of tiny stitches, she can see where the scraps of fur have been patched together and patiently, bit by bit, restuffed.

There are still a couple of seams left to do but- there’s no doubt about it- she’s pretty much finished.

‘You- fixed her-’

‘I tried to- I’m so sorry, I don’t know what got into Maria to make her go so wild-’

Catalina looks so apologetic and it’s just….strange to see.

 She’d have expected a brush off, perhaps a scolding for being careless enough to leave her door open, perhaps a chiding for being childish enough to even care since she’s nearly a teenager, she’s nearly an adult, or close enough-

The idea of Catalina frantically sewing in order to fix a stupid stuffed animal- even trying to do it quickly like it was a big priority, something important- makes her throat feel tight all over again.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do a better job of it darling-’

Catalina’s words barely register- she holds Hyde against her face and tries to breathe normally: she’s slightly lumpier than usual but she still smells the same and oh god, the  sudden lifting of the darkness that had settled upon her is enough to make her feel limp with relief.

She leans against Catalina’s shoulder and sighs shakily.

‘I’m- you-’ She can’t find the words for what she wants to say- she can’t express it all properly and she isn’t even sure that she wants to- but she grips Catalina’s arm fiercely and clutches Hyde against her chest with her free hand. ‘You fixed her-’

She feels almost dizzy- as if she’s just felt too much in the last few hours. It’s exhausting- and she can’t explain that either, not to Catalina (who she is sure is probably wondering why Bessie hasn’t even said a proper thank you, is probably secretly still thinking she’s too old to make such a fuss over something so silly, is probably thinking twice about- It’s an effort to shut down the spiral but she does, just about. Catalina’s warm, solid presence next to her helps.

‘Of course.’ She says it so easily, but not as if she’s upset with Bessie for doubting her. ‘I promise, I’ll always try to help if I can. With anything.’

It’s a promise she’s heard a variation of many times before….but never when accompanied with actual sewn-together proof of the truth of the words.

She can’t explain that either, why it means so much to hear it now, why it’s making her cry all over again as if she hasn’t already been pathetic enough for one day….but perhaps Catalina understands a little bit anyway: her other arm goes around Bessie’s shoulders, her hand gently rubs circles against her forearm.

‘Ok. It’s ok. Everything is alright, sweetheart.’

Catalina sounds so very sure; Bessie lets her eyes drift shut for a moment, focusing on her voice, on her touch.

‘Everything is alright.’

Perhaps it will be, after all.

[kimetsu-no-cuties]

Getsurei: Prolouge

Chihiro grunted as her mama dropped her down onto her futon, her wide and curious eyes watching her movements as she paced around the room. She hastily grabbed different items and stuffed them into a bag. Her confusion shifted to slight fear as she watched her mama grow increasingly more frustrated with trying to shove something else in the bag. Mama let out an inhuman growl when she could no longer force anything inside it, slamming her hands down in defeat.

“Mama, what’s going on?” She questioned, this wasn’t normal.

Mama paused to compose herself, then turned around a sad smile gracing her delicate features. Quietly, she moved to her, settling on her knees with a sigh. Hesitantly she brought her hands up to rest on Chihiro’s face, smoothing over the rough, scaly patches on her cheeks with the pad of her thumb. She took a deep breath, shaking her head at her daughter.

“Oh, Hiro… mama has to leave…” she whispered sadly.

Chihiro shook her head confused, eyebrows furrowing angrily.

“Is it because of those mean people in the village?” She said agitatedly.

Her mama simply shook her head with a little smile, hushing her as she brought her to lie against her chest. One hand ran through her hair while the other ran up and down across her spine, soothing her.

“No, no, it’s not just because of that… Mama has to go to keep you and Papa safe, okay?”

“We’re safest with you,” she shouted in protest, not able to grasp the situation at all.

“Hush, Hiro... “

Chihiro glared at the tatami on the floor quietly, thinking about the circumstance she was under. She didn’t understand why it had to be her mama; why not one of the mean village kid’s mamas? Was this Kami-Sama's way of punishing her for being different?

“It’s not fair,” she finally spoke up with a shaky voice, “why do you have to go?”

Her mother sighed, pulling away to look into her eyes “Mama doesn’t want to go, but life isn’t fair, Chihiro…”

Chihiro looked up at her, those vibrant green eyes that reflected her own filled with pain and sadness. The look was foreign on her Mama’s face -- it was wrong. It made Chihiro’s well up with tears, but she refused to cry, she had to be strong like her Mama.

“Tatsu,” she whispered the nickname, grabbing her attention, “do you know why that’s your nickname?”

Chihiro shook her head, “Uh, because I look like a dragon?”

“Not quite…” Mama chuckled, “it’s because you are strong, much like a dragon, you’ve got tough skin,” she placed her hands on her scale-like markings on her cheeks, rubbing her thumb over them, “well... more like scales, but you’re strong. You’ll be okay without me, you’ve got Papa, Jiji, Baba... even Mizuki to help you.”

She paused, thinking something over before moving her hands to the necklace around her neck. Chihiro had never seen her without it since she had been able to remember. She lifted it off from around her neck, holding it out so Chihiro could admire it closer, the dim lighting of the room glinting off its rough surface.

“Mama…?” Chihiro said quietly.

“This is my family heirloom, my Mama gave it to me and her Mama gave it to her, and so on,” she explained.

“That’s a lot of mamas,” she giggled.

Mama smiled affectionately down at her, “It is… now, I’ve been waiting for a while to give this to you, but I think now would be a perfect time…”

She lifted and placed it carefully around her neck, adjusting it until the moon was perfectly on display.

“When you look at it, know that Mamas there… I’m protecting you, always.”

Chihiro nodded absently, her curious little hands grabbing the necklace - messing up the careful handiwork of her mama as she observed it closely.

The moon was heavy in her hands, very old and scratched up, but still, each little gem in it was beautiful and intact. She wondered how old it was, probably way older than she was. It might’ve been more than thirty years old, that would be very old.

Mama watched her, biting her lip, her sharp teeth drawing a little droplet of blood which she quickly wiped away. She jumped slightly when Chihiro’s sharp eyes suddenly turned to hers - the eyes she got from Mama - the crisp blue-green shocking to see on a human child, especially with such an intense look on her face.

“Don’t forget about me…” she whispered, voice too serious for an eight-year-old.

Her mama stared down at her face, a look Chihiro couldn’t make out - maybe of shock and confusion mixed with sadness. She didn’t have much time to think about it, as she was pulled into a tight embrace where her mother hid her face in her shoulder sobbing quietly. Chihiro didn’t cry - she had to be strong for Mama.

For some reason, she felt like she would see her mama yet again.

A throat clearing pulled her mother apart from her, the kind face of her Papa peeking into the room. His face held the same grief her mothers did, but it seemed he wouldn’t cry - at least not in front of the family.

“You have to leave now if you want to be safe, Ayumu,” he whispered as he approached.

He placed a gentle hand on Chihiro’s head and pulled her into his side, away from her mother. Chihiro curled into him, holding onto his Haori tightly as she watched her mother collect her overstuffed bag. She began to walk away, posture slumped unlike her usual proud and regal appearance, but she stopped to look back at them once more as she stepped outside.

“Hurry,” her father urged, “you’ll be hurt if you don’t.”

She scrunched up her face slightly, angry and sad, but she nodded and turned away - not before saying one last thing.

“Be strong,” she whispered.

Chihiro smiled up at her Papa, who pressed her closer to him with a sigh. Both of them watched as she walked away until her father could no longer see her, though, Chihiro watched her retreat just a bit further before pulling away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“‘Tsushi, Baba, Oba,” Chihiro called out excitedly.

She stumbled her way through the doorway, tripping over her feet a few times before finally landing face-first on the tatami. She groaned loudly, lifting her head slightly and rubbing at her face. She needed to be more careful when she was excited.

A hand reached out in front of her, around the same size as hers, and with that obnoxious laugh, she knew that it was Atsushi offering to help her. He flexed his hand again as if he thought she didn’t see it or something - though she knew he was just trying to get under her skin.

With a little huff she pushed herself up onto her feet, straightening out her kimono as best she could - she still had to look presentable for Baba’s sake. Atsushi chuckled at her, watching as she tried desperately to straighten herself out.

“Need some help,” he asked smugly - he was only two years older than her, but he treated her like a helpless child.

“No, Atsushi, I'm doing great… Besides I highly doubt you could be much help,” she sassed back with a roll of her eyes.

He held his hands up defensively taking a step back, “Okay, okay, I get it, you’re a big girl now. You don’t need big bro ‘Tsushi looking after you anymore.”

She growled at him, though she couldn’t stop the affectionate smile that grew on her face. He was like a brother to her, and despite how annoying he could be she loved him.

“Shut up, Atsushi.”

“Make me.”

“Alright, you two, quit your bickering. It’s already hard enough to live with Atsushi as it is, I don’t need both of you giving me headaches,” her Jiji’s annoyed voice sounded behind her.

She smiled widely, turning to face him with a wild grin just as he opened his arms for her.

“Jiji,” she squealed, throwing herself at him at full speed, both of them stumbling back a little from her force. She heard Atsushi groan a little at the sight -- good, maybe he’ll learn not to bother her.

“Kami-Sama, Tatsu, you’ve not only grown bigger, but you’ve gotten stronger too,” he groaned out humorously.

“Try not to be so rough Hiro, your Jiji is old,” her papa said tiredly behind them, he was always tired.

“Masahao I’d watch that mouth of yours unless you want to be sleeping outside tonight,” Jiji shot back with a little laugh, “besides she’s fine, nothing wrong with my little Tatsu showing off her strength!”

She smiled widely up at him, basking in the praise she was given from her second favorite person in the world - second only to her dear old Baba.

“Yeah, besides Papa, I don’t think I could ever possibly hurt Jiji, he trained in that army place right?” Her father rubbed her head gently, adjusting the strap of their travel bags with the other.

“Just be careful, and don’t hurt anyone too badly okay?”

“Okay, Papa, I’ll be careful,” she assured.

She watched him pass by and walk into the other room, the sudden commotion from the two other women in the house exploding from it as he walked in. She smiled at the noise, happy to be back where she was happiest. Jiji smiled back down at her, rubbing her head affectionately before pulling away to acknowledge her sister who made an appearance at the front door.

“Mizuki, nice to see you again kid,” he said with a small smile.

She nodded, quietly moving onwards past everyone without a word in her usual fashion. Chihiro didn’t like that about Mizuki - well she didn’t really like anything about Mizuki, but her silent disrespect made her angriest - especially when it was toward Jiji.

“I wish she wasn’t like that,” Chihiro grumbled.

“Yeah, not only is it mean, but it’s just annoying,” Atsushi chimed in with his thoughts after his long silence, “not to mention when she does speak it’s mean; it’s like she thinks she’s better than us.”

Jiji sighed, looking between the two kids then at the door conflicted. Chihiro knew he wanted to deny their claims against her sister, but it was hard to do so when he too knew it was the truth. They all knew it was the truth.

He shook his head and shoved Chihiro forward toward the family room, “Come on, let's stop picking on Mizuki and go say hi to your Oba and Baba.”

With a nod, she pulled away and followed after Atsushi, who was already excitedly prancing away. When they reached the room where the rest of the family was she smiled, quietly watching their interactions at the entryway for a moment. Oba was fussing over Papa’s appearance, while Baba quietly spoke with Mizuki.

Her Jiji cleared his throat in annoyance from behind her, drawing all eyes to him “Mikasa leave him alone, he’s not a child, he can fix his own hair.”

Oba pulled her hands away from Papa’s head, a nervous smile on her face as Jiji approached. Chihiro watched the interaction with a smile, happy to see her family acting as they normally did. Every interaction was so casual and comfortable, as it was meant to be.

She stared quietly for a few seconds more, giggling at Jiji smacking Papa upside the head for a smart comment he made - yes things were as they were supposed to be.

“Chihiro,” a quiet shaky voice called, her head turning to attention immediately, “come here, let Baba see you, Tatsu.”

Chihiro smiled and made her way over, pretending not to notice the annoyed look her sister gave her as she walked away. She pulled her arms around Baba’s frail body. Every time she held her it felt as though she somehow got smaller since she last did so - or maybe Chihiro just got bigger.

She gave her a gentle squeeze; not too strong, but not weak enough to make her Baba notice. She had to make a perfect balance to not hurt her physically, but still not weak enough that Baba would notice she was holding back. Baba was never one who liked being underestimated, then again neither was Chihiro.

“My, Tatsu, you’re so strong now,” she said with a laugh pulling away a bit, Chihiro didn’t mention she was hardly using any of her strength.

She placed her hands onto her cheeks, jerking her head around to observe her closely. Chihiro grumbled at the jerky movements but did nothing else as to avoid being reprimanded. For such a frail woman, she was scarier than Jiji when she was angry.

She rubbed at her cheeks, the roughness of her “scales” - as her family called them - setting her at ease somehow. Her Baba chuckled at her, she must’ve been wearing a weird face so she laughed along with her. When the laughter died down, Baba’s face faded to a sad smile.

Chihiro knew what she was thinking, everyone always thought the same thing, but she still had to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, it’s nothing, you just…. look so much more like your Mama every time I see you,” she sighed, “you’re so beautiful… your father is going to have to fight off all the boys in your village.”

Chihiro groaned overdramatically, pulling away from her hands, “Baba quit! You know I’m not interested in boys!”

Baba just smiled knowingly at her, ruffling her hair slightly, “I used to think like that too before I met your Jiji.”

“Ew, Baba, that’s gross,” Chihiro whined, pretending to throw up.

“It’s always gross until you fall in love yourself, Tatsu,” she continued to tease, a smirk on her face that made Chihiro frustrated, “you’ll find someone who you love someday, and then you’ll understand what I mean.”

She groaned once again, both because she was disgusted and she felt a heavyweight on her back -- one that could only be her cousin. She shoved him off her, turning and immediately throwing a fist at his face. He barely dodged it and stumbled back a few times before his back met the ground. Chihiro smirked, ready to jump on top of him, but was stopped by her Baba’s angry voice.

“Chihiro, Atsushi, knock it off this instance,” she yelled angrily, grabbing the attention of the four others in the room.

“Baba, we were just gonna mess around a bit, honest,” Atsushi whined pathetically.

“Yeah, Baba, we were just going to roughhouse a bit that’s all, we’ve done it since we were little,” she defended - also not wanting to get in trouble.

“You two aren’t five anymore, you’re a young boy and lady it’s not appropriate for you to do things like that,” she scolded.

Chihiro was about to retort, not understanding why it was wrong to have a little fun with her cousin -- they used to do this all the time just a year ago -- when her Oba stepped in.

“Now now, Kaa-san, let the kids have a little fun they won’t be this youthful for that much longer, you know,” she said, gently helping Atsushi onto her feet and smoothing out his hair.

“They need to learn to act like proper civilized men and women as soon as possible, it isn’t right to have them roughing around with each other,” Baba retorted, to which her Oba merely hushed her.

She turned her gaze away from Baba and to the two children next to her - Atsushi her son, and Chihiro her niece. Chihiro watched her carefully, Oba’s eyes widening a little when they met her bright ones, gaze softening slightly after a moment. Out of everyone in the family, Oba was the one person who she couldn’t seem to read like the others.

As if Oba knew what she was thinking, she gave her a subtle wink - something that she always did when Chihiro stared at her so attentively.

“Now, why don’t you kids go out with Masahao and Jiji to get something sweet for later tonight… Baba and I will cook dinner in the meantime,” she turned behind her to Mizuki, “that includes you Mizu, have a little fun, okay?”

Atsushi immediately started shoving Chihiro out of the room excitedly, chanting ‘free treats’. Oba must not let him have sweets often, she could see why. Though Chihiro was excited as well, she didn’t miss her sister watching the both of them with annoyance as she followed them out - nor did she miss the side glance she gave Oba.

“Alright, Atsushi, shut your mouth,” Jiji snapped, pulling Chihiro out of her daze.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The group had been out much later than she thought they would be initially, the sun beginning to set over the horizon. She couldn’t complain, she never really got to go out due to her skin condition, so being out in the village -- albeit small in size -- was more than she could ask for. She even met a kind boy around her age who was selling coal, she didn’t catch his name, but she recalled finding him cute. She also met the girl Atsushi always gushed about when they visited, and she decided she was way too good for her cousin.

It was fun; the most fun she’d had in her entire life. Still, she had to go back home at some point, and that’s what she was doing. Holding onto the bag of sweets she and Atsushi picked out, resisting the urge to devour everything inside it by staring straight ahead and trying not to think of it.

She focused carefully at the distant scenery until her Oba’s home came into view, which caused her to pause. It was wrong. The door to her Oba’s home was completely torn apart, thrown away from where it was and in pieces on the ground. Inside she could just hardly see some broken pots and things strewn about - like there might have been a struggle. She could tell just from that alone there was something wrong - something had happened.

The adults didn’t seem to notice it, or maybe they couldn’t see it yet, she always had impeccable vision compared to everyone else she knew. Other than her Mama of course, but that wasn’t something she should be concerned with now. She needed to make the adults aware of the situation.

“Papa,” she said, tugging on his pants to get his full attention.

“Yes, Hiro,” he looked down at her, an affectionate smile on his face - the happiest she’d seen him in a while.

How she hoped that she was wrong, just this once, for Papa.

“I think something happened...”

He stared at her for a long moment, then looked up at the house, his face twisting in confusion. He must’ve just noticed the open door. He pulled her a little closer to his body, which did little to soothe her worries, but she appreciated it.

“I wonder,” he said quietly, “how about we get Jiji to go ahead and see what happened, and I’ll take the three of you somewhere else while he checks - would that make you feel a bit better?”

She nodded, gripping his shirt tightly. The last time he held her like this was when Mama left. She hoped she would see Baba and Oba again.

“Tou-san, would you go ahead and check up on the house please, Hiro’s a little worried.”

Jiji paused and looked back at them, about to come up with a retort, but snapped his mouth shut when his eyes met with Chihiro’s. He sucked in a quick breath before he nodded and turned away leaving the four of them behind as he hurried to the house.

Mizuki and Atushi turned back to look at the two of them, confused and a bit shaken at Jiji’s reaction.

“Obon, what’s going on…” Atsushi worried.

Papa shook his head, ruffling Atsushi’s hair with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s nothing… now… who wants to go back to town and get some more sweets?”

“Won’t Kaa-san be mad,” Atsushi asked, eyes wide but hopeful.

“It’ll be our little secret,” Papa said, placing a finger against his lips, ushering him away quickly.

He looked back when neither Chihiro or her sister moved, but Mizuki merely waved him off -- seems she wanted to talk.

They stood next to each other quietly for a few moments, the tension thick in the air. They were never alone together, not even at home, they always avoided each other as much as possible. Now she couldn’t avoid her sister, and she knew Mizuki knew that too.

Chihiro nearly spoke, but Mizuki beat her to it, “We both know something bad happened, something really bad.”

She nodded, “Y-you think someone was mad at Jiji or something?”

“I think it was demons,” Mizuki said blankly, not a drop of humor or emotion in her voice.

Chihiro stared up at her, trying to discern if that was a joke or not. Demons weren’t real, they were just part of scary stories her family used to scare them away from misbehaving. If that was so, why was her sister saying that? It couldn’t be a joke, she never joked about anything, especially not with Chiro. So what was she talking about?

“Don’t overthink it, it makes your head hurt…” she looked up to the house, “you should probably go check up on them, I know you want to.”

What? Was Mizuki being… considerate?

“Don’t think this means I like you, I don’t, I just know what’s best for my family,” she said quietly.

The confirmation of her hatred kind of stung, but Chihiro didn’t have time to think about that too much. She turned on her heel and ran as fast as she could, kicking up dirt and rocks with each step until she finally made it to the house - faster than she thought she ever could. Her feet stumbled over the tatami, slamming into the wall roughly before she could catch her balance.

“Jiji, Baba, Oba,” she called out, voice strained with worry.

No reply, just silence. She called out again, this time a bit louder and a bit more desperate. Her eyes took the time to scan the area carefully while she waited tensely, noting the broken vases and furniture. Signs of a struggle, but nothing more than signs.

She sniffed, the air was thick with the smell of iron and ash that nearly suffocated her. The smell, combined with the tenseness of waiting silently for something that maybe never come, made her nauseous. She was sure she would’ve fallen over dead had she not heard the smallest noises - just the gentle shifting of clothes, something easily missed if she was not listening for it.

She stood silently for another few moments, waiting for another noise - another indication of life. After getting nothing once again, she let out a silent huff, deciding to just find out who was in here; to find out what happened to her family.

She wishes she hadn’t.

Stepping into the family room, the stench of blood and ash was stronger -- more suffocating than before. It made her dizzy enough to feel her head spin, to make her close her eyes for a moment to recover. When she opened them she finally noticed the ruin the room was in. The walls, the floors, the ceiling all cut and broken; torn and smashed apart by an inhuman force; in shambles. Then she looked straight ahead, and nausea returned in full force like a kick to her gut.

There, sitting in front of her, Jiji was cradling a body -- Baba’s body. Oba’s lied near the entrance to the kitchen, her guts torn out and exposed for Chihiro to see. She couldn’t see the state of Baba’s, but she could easily assume it was no better. Next to all of this, glinting dangerously in the afternoon light, a sword of some sort.

Her body shook violently, face paling as she took in everything in front of her. Her family -- her life all dead in front of her. Taken by the man who she trusted with her life -- she didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was clear, even if she knew that it didn’t fully make logical sense. She was going to die, she was going to die in his hands. Her Jiji was going to kill her.

A sob ripped through her body, at the realization, loud and clear in the silent room. She froze, she hadn’t meant to be so loud. She might’ve been able to get away safely had she stayed silent, but the sound snapped Jiji out of whatever trance he was in, his head whipping around to face her and his hand grabbing onto the sword. His eyes were wild and lit up with an emotion she’d never seen on his face before.

He looked crazed with anger.

She stumbled back, tripping over her feet and falling hard onto her back. She wasn’t ready to die, she didn’t want to die, she reminded herself as she forced her feet to keep pushing back away from him. She moved until she hit the destroyed wall, squeezing up into herself until it was painful.

Her mind at war, the clear evidence that he had killed her not matching up with the already destroyed home she saw earlier. He couldn’t have done this when he was with her, she tried to rationalize, but her body still kept moving back from him.

She kicked at his hands when they touched her, screaming at him to stop. Though she wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt her, and it was all some misunderstanding. She wondered if this fear was what Baba and Oba felt -- overwhelmed and scared knowing the inevitability of death by their beloved’s hands was coming. She sucked in a breath, still pushing and screaming even as his arms wrapped around her tightly.

“Tatsu,” his stern voice called, but she just screamed; she refused to listen.

“Tatsu,” again, “Tatsu calm down, you’re fine.”

She screamed again, punching and pushing as hard as she could against him. She couldn’t go without a fight.

“Chihiro,” he said sternly, making her freeze in her actions on impulse -- her mind almost trained to stop at his tone.

“I’m not going to hurt you, now calm down you’ll suffocate if you don’t,” he eased, pulling her into his lap as she finally relaxed.

He held her like that for longer than she knew, she wondered if Papa noticed she was gone. If ‘Tsushi was worried about her… maybe they were coming back for her right now. Who knew? Her sobs died down into little sniffles and she allowed herself to relax fully into his arms, knowing full well she would never be able to escape him anyway.

“Jiji,” she mustered, “w-what… what happened to…?”

She wasn’t sure that she wanted to know, but she had to ask. She had to get confirmation from his mouth, not just from her eyes.

He pulled her back, face gravely serious as he looked down at her. His gaze bearing into her and making her feel even more uneasy. She was sure this was it, this was where he would kill her -- yet she still found the time to wonder if the rest of her family was enjoying their time in town, or if they were searching for her.

“Tatsu,” he said seriously, gripping her arms tightly, and she said her last prayer, “do you believe in demons?”

“What…?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Prolouge End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey! Uh yeah I wrote this thing... it’s not good... it’s actually bad so. Anyway, I’ve worked for several months on this, and I saw a few people encouraging me to post it... so I did. I guess you can sort of see this as a trial run for the fic. Anyway I hope it was good, cause it’s 4K+ words and by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I worked really hard on it... hahaha...

[punkinroses]

On this first shitpost of ocs, I give you: Kat totally has her own youtube and twitch channels and has the most amount of fun with it that she can.

She does an all day stream for the release of Sword and Shield and does a ton of giveaways for them bc "Switches are expensive enough and this shits sixty dollars just go take these and have fun"

She gets Grookey as her starter bc she thinks he's friend shaped and just seems so happy and needs that in her life. She names him Goku and then loses her shit the first time she sees Rillaboom.

*sees Galarian Farfetch'd* "He looks like an asshole. Like that is the angriest face I've ever seen and then hes gonna turn into the smuggest bastard with the big sword I'm -- WAIT." *names it Kaiba*

I guarantee you this becomes a meme and people spam Kaiba with it.

*Sees Raihan* "Move over Leon, I'm marrying that one. Chat -- chat are you team Leon or team Raihan."

Her champion team consists of Rillaboom, Bolthund, Sirfetch'd, Hatterene, Dragapult and Copperajah.

She also does various nuzlockes and she just keeps a posterboard in the back with the names and drawings of the Fallen Ones on there.

She, Joey and Ryou streamed all of the Devil May Cry games together bc she knew they would have fun with it.

"Go fuck yourself, Vergil." Was basically a running gag for Joey. Kat probably had a shirt design for it for merch.

Y'all know in dmc 3 where you have to go through that strip club to get to the temen-ni-gru and there's that pole and if you hit something right Dante just spins around. None of them knew that could happen and they spent ten minutes just doing that and laughing their asses off. Kat literally got up, pulled out her wallet and started making it rain hundred dollar bills at her screen.

She's also gotten her friends to play the Sims games with her, all four series, and they just. Have a blast making everything go to shit.

She, Tristan and Duke did the 100 baby challenge and oh my god it was a disaster.

"We should never be allowed to be parents. Like...ever." "Hey, I'm doing a fantastic job here raising little Shrek and little Han Yolo."

The house caught fire like 5 different times in one stream.

Kat has really quiet days where she just wants to chill and so she'll stream Stardew Valley and put on some lo fi in the background and just get to chill with everyone while drinking some tea or hot chocolate.

Its a nice time.

And, of course, she absolutely does do Duel Monster streams and videos.

She loves getting to do tips and tricks videos, dexk building strategies, showing off new cards, etc. When certain online games come out, she 100% uses that opportunity to get to have online duels with her viewers and has a lot of fun with it.

On her YouTube channel she also does a lot of makeup videos where she just talks about whatever and has actually done Duel Monsters inspired ones.

Theres also just a lot of vlogs of her three dogs and her bunny rabbits.

[lovemesomesurveys]

What is a topic you are uncomfortable with discussing with most people? I don’t like talking about personal stuff like my health and such. Despite what you think and see on here, I’m really not that open in person. I don’t like talking about myself, I’ll brush over things and downplay and the quickly turn the conversation to the other person or about something else. I also avoid politics and controversial stuff. What is something you dislike about the dating world? I don’t even know about the dating world, man. I haven’t even been talking to anyone in that way for 3 years. I’m so not in the dating world loop. What gives you confidence? Nothing? Is there a habit you’re currently trying to kick? I should. Have you ever dated someone with very different sexual tastes than you? No sexual experience, so I wouldn’t know.

Have you ever said anything you regretted while drunk? Ohh yes. Has anyone ever been extremely jealous of you? Do you know why? Ha, I very seriously doubt it. I have no idea what they would be jealous of. What do you wish you’d spent more time doing five years ago? Really thinking about my future and making sure I was doing what I really wanted to do, and most of all I wish I took care of myself better and took care of some things back then because I wouldn’t be dealing with certain things now if I had. Some things have gotten worse and I wish I would have dealt with them years ago. What is the most meaningful gift you’ve ever given? Many things throughout my life. What was the angriest your parents ever were at you? When I lied about taking my medication when I was like 12. I had been hiding them behind my bed for months and one day my mom found them. They gave me the whole, “they’re disappointed in me” speech, which of course is much worse. I also had to earn their trust back in that regard. What was the longest you stayed in your own home for? Months. Right now, what is your number one desire? I want to be better. Do you feel as though someone ‘won’ in your last break up? No. Whatever happened to the first person you ever loved? He’s out there living his life. What is the biggest difference between you and your best friend? She’s super hardworking, strong (like emotionally), outgoing, intelligent... and like people gravitate towards her and everyone likes her. Soooo not me--any of it. Are you currently healthy? No. This Taco Bell and Ramen diet I’ve been on for months can’t be helping, ha. What turned your life around? My life turned around for the worst 3 years ago. What is something most people are turned on by but you’re not? Uhhh I don’t know? Has anyone in your life changed drastically (for better or worse) since you met them? How? Yes. When was the last time you felt truly at peace? Have I ever? Is there anything you wish you had done with a current/previous significant other? I just wish I handled things differently with someone. What are the top three qualities that draw you to a new person? Some people you just vibe and click with. Good sense of humor definitely helps. What is the best positive change you’ve made recently? I don’t feel I have. :/ What song reminds you of good times from high school? Uhhh. Have you ever inherited something? What and from who? DNA?

[toomanysurveys9]

What is a topic you are uncomfortable with discussing with most people? sex. politics. although with politics, it’s not really being uncomfortable, just no desire to discuss it.

What is something you dislike about the dating world? people seem a lot less inclined to stick with people and make things work. they want fairy tales 24/7 but that’s not how real life works.

What gives you confidence? nothing. lol. i’m only confident when i’m pregnant. and i’m never getting pregnant again. lol.

Is there a habit you’re currently trying to kick? nope.

Have you ever dated someone with very different sexual tastes than you? nope.

Have you ever said anything you regretted while drunk? oh, yeah. i’ve told people way more than i wish i did while i was drunk. Has anyone ever been extremely jealous of you? Do you know why? kendall admitted to being jealous of me once upon a time, although i have no idea why.

What do you wish you’d spent more time doing five years ago? making friendships. talking to people.

What is the most meaningful gift you’ve ever given? i have no clue.

What was the angriest your parents ever were at you? probably when they found out i had sex with jacob, especially since they found out because there was a SLIGHT chance i could have gotten pregnant. i wasn’t.

What was the longest you stayed in your own home for? i don’t know.

Right now, what is your number one desire? right now, my number one desire is for jacob to grow up.

Do you feel as though someone ‘won’ in your last break up? i mean, i guess i kind of did because i didn’t have to worry about the in and out of juvie, jail, and prison bullshit. plus i eventually started dating jacob, and now we are married with two kids.

Whatever happened to the first person you ever loved? i’m married to him.

What is the biggest difference between you and your best friend? she is more outgoing than i am. people tend to like her immediately.

Are you currently healthy? for the most part i suppose. What turned your life around? hard work.

What is something most people are turned on by but you’re not? nothing comes to mind.

Has anyone in your life changed drastically (for better or worse) since you met them? How? eh. i don’t know about drastically.

When was the last time you felt truly at peace? cuddling with my littles tonight before they fell asleep.

Is there anything you wish you had done with a current/previous significant other? not really.

What are the top three qualities that draw you to a new person? kindness, trustworthy, and good sense of humor.

What is the best positive change you’ve made recently? i can’t think of any changes i’ve recently made, let alone positive ones.

What song reminds you of good times from high school? those nights by skillet.

Have you ever inherited something? What and from who? when my grandma passed away, she said she wanted me to have her dresser. because she saw the dresser i was using once, and she didn’t like it (it was an old one from jacob). i still use the dresser from my grandma. although it needs fixed up a little..

[discordant-daydreams]

valkyrie rosin: enter

i had done this for school about one of my ocs i have been trying to develop since 2013 but turns out i didn’t need to. I’m posting it here so it was worth it also because i am proud of it! please enjoy! 

I had been napping. It was a hot summer day, well it was spring but it felt more like summer, and I had nothing better to do. Napping was always interesting. Whenever i napped i had dreams, No not dreams, nightmares. They were always the same thing, my village was being destroyed. I always wake up panicking and honestly who wouldn't. I've talked to others about it and they always say that it's just my internal fear of becoming leader of our village but that feels wrong. I feel it is a warning like someone telling me something bad is going to happen. In the dream an evil shadowy man with glowing red eyes is destroying the village. At the end he always says i told you. Today was no different.

“Val! Wake up! We’re gonna have another race and you are still the winner!” i hear my older brothers voice. We are a race of shifters, a species that looks human but can transform into two other species, and i can become a horse or swan hence the name valkyrie. My brother a bear and a wolf. He hasn't gotten a name yet and he doesnt really want one. We are given normal names at birth, mine being rosin his being beamard but id rather valkyrie. So many people struggle on remembering how to say rosin that its just easier to go with valkyrie. I groan in annoyance and get up.

“You know I’m going to win if you allow the use of abilities, right? I can become a horse!”

“Yeah but eric is gonna join us today”beamard remarks with a smirk

“Oh no,” my brother laughs pats my shoulders and walks to the location

“So you have the same dream?” he says with genuine worry. I frown and nod. There's a silence for a while as we make our way towards the venue. My brother gives the normal rundown of rules. No inflicting pain on another, no cheating, yada yada yada. We start to take on our fastest forms and i notice hesitation on my brothers face.he glances towards me and forces a smile and mouths that he is fine. I raise an eyebrow and stay guarded.

Me and bee have been talking a lot about the history of our species and how it has been forgotten. We used to be able to shift into anything but we had to know the species very well and practice. We used to use it just to change our appearance slightly or prepare for battles and such but some wanted more. Our village got greedy and tried to learn any species possible so we could have the upper hand and the humans didn't like that. They never liked us because we are different but i get that. I understand how it feels. Some species scare me and my first reaction is to react unfavorably so i understand if they want to attack us. The humans asked us to agree to learning no more identities and we accepted it well reluctantly. My parents didn't like having their freedom taken away and neither did I when i learned.

My brother takes on the form of a wolf, Eric a falcon and me well i did something different. I tried a thoroughbred horse instead of a friesian. I probably would have been stopped had i not waited till the last minute. The cap gun goes off and we took off. I knew i was doing the wrong thing but man the adrenaline i was feeling was unreal. It was amazing. We all make it to the end but i zoomed to the finish line last minute and won. I was cheering having my own celebration but no one else was cheering.

“Ah c’mon guys don’t be sore losers it was only a-”

“Rosin how could you! You know that's forbidden! Are you trying to get us killed!” beamards shouts as he grabs my shoulders shaking me. The terror he is feeling was tangible and i looked up at him frowning.

“I-i thought it would be fine if it was just a different breed im sorry… im sorry! I don't want to get you killed! Im sorry!” as i begin to cry beamard softens and realizes he reacted harshly.

“Im sorry val i just worry i don't want anything to happen to you and honestly they wouldn't punish an entire village for an 8 year old’s curiosity.” somethign about the way he spoke felt fake and wrong but i just brushed it off and ignore it. we hug and our friends declare me the winner again. I convince them to all go out for ice cream by saying bee would treat them. He frowns and says fine and i laughs. Everything is nice and fun again and after ice cream w get home for dinner with our family. My parents seem oddly serious and beamard steps behind me. Dad nods at beamard and sighs.

“We know beamard you don't have to say anything i want you two to grab your dinners and go to the basement.” beamard nods and grabs our plates and heads off nudging me forward. I stand firm and glare at my father.

“No i will not! All day everyone has been acting.. Off? Weird? I cant describe it! Whatever it is im tired of it! Stop leaving me out!” beamard just quietly says please as i yell at my parents. Was it wrong of me to yell probably. Had i known what i know now would i have yelled? I wish i could say no but knowing myself the answer is still, probably. My father and mother kneel in front of me and frown grabbing my hands and say,

“Sweetie i know you want answers but please you have to trust us. We will be joining you two in the basement soon!” i frown, nod, and hug them and follow beamard to the basement. We eat our dinner in silence both too worried to speak. I suddenly remember my dream as it plays back in my head and i start crying as i realize.

“Beamard? The humans, they are trying to exterminate us aren't they?” he looks at me shocked but then nods and gestures for me to come over. I do and we huddle together hopeing for the best. “So my dream was correct… that really sucks.” i try so hard to keep my emotions under control but its hard. We hear screams outside and magic. we feel rumbling as homes are destroyed. The home we knew for years being reduced to ruble. The village i was to lead some day, no more. Everything we knew was being ripped from our grasp just because humans don't understand. Beamard looks down at me frowning.

“Rosie please don't hate the human. Please promise me you will stay open minded with them. Not all of them are terrible. Not all of them intend to destroy those they are confused about. Please keep your kind loving heart and promise me if anything were to happen to me that you wont change. That you wont let the hatred consume you. Please remember that i love you-” the door blasts open and a short winged humanoid comes in. they are wearing a cloak so we are unable to see what they look like but they are pale almost pinkish in hue. The vibes they give off are feelings of unsatiable blood lust and a hunger for violence. They send chills up my spine and i have the urge to run away. My brother grabs me and runs to the farthest corner of the room where he left his sword. I hiss through my teeth. Why didnt he have his sword on him? I draw my sword and approach “rosin no!” beamard jumps in front of my his sword clattering to the ground. There is a bright indigo light and it goes through my brother and reaches me. I an feel a searing pain from my left shoulder down to my hip and i wince, gritting my teeth. As i look forward to check on my brother all i can see is a pile of glittering crystals where my brother once was. I lose my composure for a moment and weep, collapsing where i stand, nd then regain it tearing off the crystals forming where the wound is.

“You arent a normal 8 year old are you? Youve prepared for this.” the person says with an unsusual voice. Its higher and friendly. One you would here and think of an innocent childlike individual. “A normal 8 year old would have been too afraid of the danger let alone the threat of death. They did warn me that you are an intelligent individual but i thought that meant for an 8 year old.”

“Yeah well you don't know our species then.” i get up draw my sword careful to make sure they arent looking and charge at them driving my sword through their middle and then using a match to light their wings. I didnt expect it to do much but they panicked and managed to break their wing. I oull my sword out and run away. As i am running i see the village i once knew. It was on fire. The cause? A grey dragon whose face was the angriest ive seen. The dragon made eye contact with me and it seemed to be appologizing. I run into the forest leaving a trail of blood. I find a cave and settle down when i hear a voice. The voice of a child about my age.

“Hi there my name is uh alex, we’ll go with that, um why are you in my cave?” i frown out of it.

“My village was just destroyed can you not see?” the child pauses and smirks. The smirk makes me go cold

“Oh yeah i forgot. I did warn you though.”

[teresa-not-theresa]

I've just been thinking (I know, that's dangerous) that even though like almost everybody claims that the twins are exactly alike (besides the loss of an ear and a loss of a twin :/) I think otherwise... I've always thought that George was the more moral of the twins. Just looking back at pranks they did alone-ish, and pranks they haven't done in front of Harry, George always seems more merciful.... For example, Fred was the one who transfigured Ron's teddy bear into a spider in the first place, sparking Ron's Arachnophobia. While George gave Ron the dud spell: "Sunshine, Daisies, Buttermellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow." The worst possible result of this prank-spell is merely public embarrassment, which anyone can recover from with enough time, while Fred's spider prank's worst possible result is a 4 year old traumatized for the rest of his life. Sure, you must admit, there is a bit of an age difference between these two pranks, Fred is like 6 in the spider prank, while George is around 12 or 13, so maybe you're thinking, "They just matured a little, but only George had the opportunity to show it." Well if you thought this, my dear reader, you are wrong. In the fourth book, when the twins made a bet with Bagman, and he didn't pay up, Fred and George were found arguing in the owlery about whether to blackmail him or not. This is what they said, and I quote:

"'--That's blackmail, that is, we could get into a lot of trouble for that--'

'--we've tried being polite; it's time to play dirty, like him. He wouldn't like the Ministry of Magic knowing what he did--'

'I'm telling you, if you put that in writing, it's blackmail!'

'Yeah, and you won't be complaining if we get a nice fat payoff, will you?' The Owlery door banged open. Fred and George came over the threshold, then froze at the sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione..." it later goes on to say, "'Ron didn't move. 'Who're you blackmailing?' he said. The grin vanished from Fred's face. Harry saw George half glance at Fred, before smiling at Ron. 'Don't be stupid, I was only joking,' he said easily. 'Didn't sound like that,' said Ron. Fred and George looked at each other. Then Fred said abruptly, 'I've told you before, Ron, keep your nose out if you like it the shape it is. Can't see why you would, but--' 'It's my business if you're blackmailing someone,' said Ron. 'George's right, you could end up in serious trouble for that.'

Based on this, we can see that George was the one that was saying blackmail was wrong, and even though he was the one that sent the owl in the end and claimed he was joking, I bet that was just to cover for Fred, because why else would he continue arguing against sending the letter if he was only joking, and there wasn't a better reason not to send it off other than blackmail? George also knows where to draw the line, when Arthur was attacked in Ootp, and Sirius forbids the Weasleys to go to Saint Mungo's until they at least alert Molly, so it doesn't cause awareness to Harry's visions, the argument goes like this:

"'Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!' Said Sirius. 'Course we can go to St. Mungo's if want,' said Fred, with a mulish expression, 'he's our dad!'

'And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?' 'What does that matter?' Said George, hotly. 'It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!' said Sirius angrily. 'Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?' Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Ron was still white-faced and silent. Ginny said, 'Somebody else could have told us. . . We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry. . .' 'Like who?' said Sirius impatiently. 'Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's--' 'We don't care about the dumb Order!' shouted Fred. 'It's our dad dying we're talking about!' yelled George. 'Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!' said Sirius angrily in his turn. 'This is how it is-- this is why you're not in the Order-- you don't understand-- there are things worth dying for!' 'Easy for you to say, stuck here!' bellowed Fred. 'I don't see you risking your neck!' The little color remaining in Sirius's face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke it was in a voice of determined calm...."

Not only does this show what an awesome and totally supportive father figure Sirius would be, but it shows how savage Fred has the potential to be. This is probably the angriest either twin has been in the entire series, and Fred takes his anger to a nightmare level. You do NOT want to make Fred angry, he's like a ticking pipe bomb with X-ray vision, seeing your greatest insecurities. We all know how much Sirius wanted to help the Order, and how frustrated he was with being cooped up for so long, and Fred sees this and uses it to his advantage in arguments. George was merely trying to convince Sirius to let them go to St. Mungo's, and while Fred does the same thing, he tries showing dominance over Sirius by tearing him down. It also seems Fred and George's senses of humor are actually pretty different. You see, as I previously mentioned, Fred's pranks tend to do more harm than good most of the time, while George's are usually just innocent pranks that may be annoying, but pretty much harmless... Heck, George is even inclined to make fun of himself for the sake of laughter. Need I put any examples? Just look back at the "I'm holey!" Scene and you'll 100% agree with me. His ear was frickin' blown off his face with creepy voodoo magic and he jokes about it like 5 minutes afterwards... that's pretty lit, you must admit it...

And I'm not hating on Fred at all, Merlin knows after JKR killed him I needn't tarnish his memory... and please, I'm not saying that Fred is a good-for-nothing bully, because he isn't, it was mostly close family he was picking on and I'm pretty sure it was all intended to be playful, I'm just saying George is the quieter, more gentle twin, and if anybody states that they are carbon copies of each other, I'm going to die and then they are going to be charged with involuntary manslaughter and then when they attend my funeral, this post that you're reading right now will be read there in my memoriam, and then they'll die of shock and I will have gotten my revenge from the grave. Sorry, admin's weird today...

[queenburd]

Stuck on the Puzzle

Hey look guys, it’s a Bloody Roses fic.

This one’s kind of on the longer, harder to chew side. The title comes from the song by Alex Turner, the singer is talking about this one person who he can’t figure out. He can’t figure out why people are so drawn to them, why they always act like they’re doing something wrong.

It’s been a Bloody Roses song for like, forever.

Anyway, this fic is the backstory fic. I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to do it for a really long time but I settled for something more direct and healthy on everybody’s end and I’m fairly happy with the result. I’ not sure how in character Ellis, or even if this is accurate to the timeline I’ve tried to set up, because it’s a little inconsistent with past writings, but. Shrugs.

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression, emotional abuse and CPTSD.

On one of their weekends off, Ellis watches his girlfriend while she cooks. She sings under her breath some song that's stuck in her head, and he rests his head on his crossed arms on the counter with tired interest. She folds shredded chicken mixed with a spice he's never heard of into pastry packets, and folds them, and gives them an egg wash before setting them in the oven to bake. It's nice.

"Where'd you even learn this stuff?" He asks her, watching the way she holds the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she makes another neat fold. When she talks, it's unguarded and dismissive.

"I learned this one when I was a kid, but when I started living on my own, I started collecting my own recipes of easy-make stuff."

"Huh," Ellis says, and leaves it at that.

He's never gotten far, asking about May's life. He never asked too hard, because that was her business, and it never really mattered in the now. Not to mention, it's always obviously been a sore spot, and if she wanted to bring it up, she would. She's honest about her feelings, even if she's ashamed of them.

But they've been dating for maybe a year and a half now. He kind of wants the little piece of guardedness that exists in her face to go away, and Ellis thinks that maybe if he knew about this part, it would help. It'd definitely help explain why she freezes up for no reason sometimes. He's not stupid.

"Can you get the plates? These don't need too long to bake."

"Sure thing babe."

Their Saturday night dinner is a pretty chill, quiet affair, and after the meal, she drops with him onto the couch to pick out a movie, as they usually do. Before she picks up the PS controller, however, Ellis surprises himself by taking her hand.

"Hey, I wanna do a serious talk thing right now. Can we do that?"

They don't do serious talks too often, only when something's really clashing between the two of them or one of them is having a genuine problem. Serious talks can be pretty anxiety inducing, but when they're done, it's a pretty heavy weight off their shoulders.

Still, he's caught her off guard--as well as himself. Ellis didn't realize he wanted to talk about this now until it came out of his mouth, and maybe it's best like that. Sometimes, the working up the courage to say it is the anxiety inducing part.

"Um. Yeah. Is everything okay?"

And, yeah, he can see worry starting to lace her brow. He doesn't want to back out, but he doesn't want her to get freaked out. This is gonna be a hard subject for May, if he can get her talking about it.

"Yeah, babe. Everything's fine, I just kind of want to cover something with you, if you're cool with it."

Some tension drops from May's shoulders, and she nods, turning her body on the couch to face him. Her cheek rests on the pillow of the couch, curls scrunching into her face. "Okay. What's up?"

Ellis licks his lips and draws his lower lip in to chew on as he thinks out his words. "Well, okay. Full disclosure here, you are at any point free to back out of this subject, end it, close it, whatever. I don't want you feeling like you gotta talk about something you don't want to."

"O....kay?"

"Okay!" He inhales deeply, exhales out his nose. "Okay. So. I know that there's a lot that's always going on in your life, or has happened, or... yanno, stuff you've gone through, that you don't wanna talk about. I wanna respect that, seriously! I just, I do wanna at least bring up the elephant in the room?"

Oh boy. May's shoulders have hunched slightly. Well, if he'd asked this about a half year ago he wouldn't have even gotten this far before her face would have closed off completely. Progress. He's trying really hard to be good at this boyfriend thing.

"Like, yeah. It's your life, and if it's fucked you up and you don't wanna talk about it, I get that, that's--that's okay. It's just, it's a little like the bird thing. It was so cool when you shared that with me, and I know that was hard cos you were scared and I have shit self control but--fuck, gimme a sec to collect my thoughts."

Ellis is rambling a lot, and he feels he's lost the plot, until--

"Right! Like. I want you to take your time sharing stuff with me, at your own pace, but I also wanna be... part of your life? Yanno, share your problems and stress with you and stuff? Cos--cos you do so much for me, May!"

May's looked away, just sort of in weariness, but this has her looking up, a bit sharply. Ellis continues, barely having time to catch his breath, rambling incessantly.

"You're like the best assistant and you're supportive but you don't put up with any of my shit, and just. Like. You've made me maybe a little bit of a better person? I know I'm pretty amazing but you have without a doubt made me better and look at some situations better and I love having your point of view on things and, I wanna have your back like you have mine. So."

She's smiling a little now, and she looks tired. Maybe a little bit teary. He tries really hard to tell her that she's super helpful in his life, since he realized she was kind of lacking in that department. The results have been worth it, Ellis thinks. May chews her bottom lip for a moment, thinking, before saying, "I'm not mad, just--just to make that clear. It's okay you brought this up. Heck, I'm surprised you managed to wait this long."

He huffs in offense, and she backtracks with a snort. "I mean, you're kind of the most curious, snoopish person ever, babe. But I seriously appreciate that you were so patient with me for so long."

She straightens on the couch, looking at the TV screen without really seeing it.

"I mean, I've definitely thought about talking about it, but I never really was sure how to bring it up. I thought about maybe making it like a story, or like it was something that happened to somebody else. You know, something dramatic and so me."

They both snort, and there's little tension in the air now. Godwin is relieved. May continues, and he watches her fingers curl and uncurl softly in the blanket draped on her lap.

"But I just didn't know how to, cos. It's sad, babe. It's not the worst thing to happen to anyone ever, but thinking about it makes me really, really fucking sad. So I worry I'll tell you and then start crying, or stop because it's messed up. It's--there's this part of me that tries hard to project it in this story setting so I can think 'that happened to somebody else, someone that's not me'. I've tried to distance myself from it so much I sometimes think that person is dead, and then I'm even more sad."

"That is not a healthy cycle."

"It's not!! I'm not a healthy person!!! Babe!!!!"

They're both chuckling a little bit, and that's--that's okay, he thinks.

"Like. I try hard to laugh and joke about my mental garbage because otherwise it will make me and everyone around me sad. I didn't wanna put anything so heavy on you."

Ellis releases another breath, a little bit like a sigh, and sits so he is shoulder to shoulder with her. "I get it, babe. You don't have to feel forced into talking about it but I just wanna be there for you. I'm a tough guy, I can handle some tears!! Promise."

She makes a small sound like a laugh. "Okay. I--I'll definitely try. There's just a lot, so I'm gonna be really tired by the end of it. S'that okay?"

"S'fine babe. I can make you a drink if you want, any point."

"Thanks."

They get set up a little bit. He makes her a cup of tea, and she bundles up with the blankets, and then she thinks about where to start. When she does, her voice doesn't waver.

"I was born under a different name that I don't use now, one my mom made up. I was the youngest of two daughters, and my mom and dad were immigrants from another country. Maybe a quarter of the family came to America, so it was a semi-large family of people with really weird habits and beliefs and, it was kind of hard being a first generation kid growing up with all these people stuck in old ideas, yanno?

"But that's--like, that was barely a problem compared to, A, my parents fighting for as long as I could remember, B, my sister deciding she hated me because I was fat and nothing like her, and C, everybody at my school also hating me? For some reason? I'm still not sure why outside of middleschoolers are little pricks."

She snorts, and Godwin nods sagely. Middle schoolers are monsters. That is a known fact in this household.

"So, imagine tiny bitty May, with like. No support on any side, and being a cry-baby on top of that but also being the angriest little thing, picking fights out of low self-worth but stupidly high sense of justice. Not really a good time. I would--" her voice catches here, and she swallows, reaching for a tissue in advance as the pitch in her throat rises. Yeah, that's a sign of crying. Oof. This early. "I seriously used to, fantasize about some pretty shitty things. Like, maybe if--if I was dead, my mom and dad would realize they loved each other and missed me. F--Fuck, hang on. Sorry."

She dabs her face. Takes some deep breaths. Skips ahead. Ellis hovers uncertainly, until she takes a large gulp of her tea, and continues.

"So, I developed some bad depression pretty early on. Untreated, because why would life be easy? Ha. And when my mom finally left, I learned just about why, and that reason was my dad? Is a piece of shit. Emotionally abusive asshole who hates women and made me basically act as his little wife, or maid, or whatever."

Her voice has strengthened if only to drip with hatred, an emotion that he hears rarely from her. She grimaces, staring at her mug.

"He never did anything physical, but he would do that thing? Where he would have huge mood swings over tiny things, and shout over stupid shit, and he would say something that had happened didn't happen. I'd end up apologizing for getting my feelings hurt, and shit. Asshole," May spits, and makes a face.

"Sounds like it, christ."

A lot of things click into place now, like how she claims her memory is bad, or how she tenses when loud noises happen like a dish clattering or his raised voice. Ellis finds himself angry for her--he wonders if she would mind if he found the bastard and killed him for her. Probably.

"I stood my ground a lot, I wouldn't take his bullshit near the end, and that got me in trouble, but, you know me. I'm a stubborn asshole."

They both snort. She's trying really hard to keep the mood light--and he appreciates it. He appreciates how hard she tries to frame it like it was; something that maybe wouldn't have hurt everybody the way it hurt her, but fucked up no matter who was put into that situation. It's honest.

She's been through a lot.

"So, when I was about seventeen, I got kicked out of the house, and I crashed with other family for a couple years. That--kinda sucked, cos like I said, first gen American with a bunch of people who have this idea of how the world should be, and I didn't ever fit into that bubble of theirs. It wasn't good for me but it was better than my dad's, and I was--I was constantly scared of him coming to the door and demanding to see me. He did, a couple times. And, heh, ha, sometimes I worry he's still looking for me and that he'll find me. Dumb."

She's hunching again. Ellis decides he'll probably find the guy and kill him for her anyway, she doesn't need to know about it.

"So, I was eighteen or nineteen, and I went abroad, and started doing mythological research. I was still--I wasn't being treated for my depression, I was a socially anxious kid who was kind of coming into herself as a person. I guess. And I went treasure hunting, and then--"

May stops here, a bit abruptly, and then shakes her head a little bit, like jostling a rough, faded memory loose. Ellis pulls a pillow to his chest and watches carefully.

"I found the crown. And then, you--you know, it changed me. I stopped being that kid at all because I wasn't human, and I wasn't using that name. I separated myself almost completely from that, besides how I look. And I thought it made me better."

She pauses, and Ellis takes in the quiet before he asks, a little hesitantly, "Do you still think it made you better?"

May closes her eyes. She looks exhausted.

"I don't know. Maybe not. I know that deep, deep down, I'm still that depressed and scared and stubborn girl? I'm still really fucked up. I don't think I've let myself heal right. I never-- I never really knew how."

She pulls her knees to her chest, and leans her face on them, looking at him. "I'm sorry. Like I said--this is heavy stuff. I try to keep it under wraps, and I know I show my self-consciousness pretty often. Emotional depth--it's not quite what you first signed up for, babe.

"But I think if--if anything's made me better, it's you. You've really helped even ways you don't realize--you're considerate to my shitty habits and stressors even without knowing why I have them. And--when I like something, you don't mock me for it."

"Well, of course I wouldn--" Ellis stops himself, feeling his face go a little cold, because the only reason something as stupid for not mocking something she likes would matter would be because she's never known any other treatment, and--and now he's a tiny bit upset.

"Sorry," she says quickly. Fuck, oops. Ellis pulls himself close to her and curls up around her hunched form, blowing raspberries.

"You didn't do anything babe, don't gotta apologize. You're fine, okay?"

"Okay," May says in a hushed tone.

They stay like that for a bit, his face pressed to her cheek. Her breathing slows, worn out. He thinks, reeling a bit from the revelations.

"May?"

"Mm?"

"Do you, maybe, wanna see someone to help with this stuff?"

Her body goes a little tense in his arms, and he continues.

"I'm really--I'm glad you shared it with me, but this is heavy, hon. Maybe seeing someone would help you get better."

Her response is to bury her face into his shoulder. "Maybe. I think I'm done thinking about this for now, though. I'm starting to get a headache."

"Yeah--okay, yeah. Thanks babe." Ellis kisses the crown of May's head, blowing hot air into her scalp. "You wanna go to bed, or just chill?"

"Bed, I think." May gathers her blankets, and gently maneuvers out of his arms, drinking the last of her tea. "You gonna stay up?"

"Hm. Maybe a little bit, but I'll be in soon."

"Okay. Love you. Night."

"Love you too. Night."

She goes to bed, and Ellis sits and thinks for a bit, watching his hands curl, the tendons flex.

May is braver than he thought. May is much, much braver than he imagined. She's so tired so often, and no wonder. There's so much that's been set on her shoulders, so much trauma. Like scar tissue, those have a permanent mark on their subject. This isn't something he can cut away in a clean slice.

He takes a second to think it over, and wonders, for a second, if this is really something he can handle. If, maybe, she was right to not tell him.

Ellis has never been too great at emotional baggage. He's a pretty aggressive guy, and his empathy skills leave something to be desired.

But--

Nothing about May seems hard to handle. If she's got severe depression, she's doing everything physically in her power to control it, or at least keep it from being a hazard in her life. The hardest part, she's doing already, on her own.

All Ellis really has to do is--is have her back, and pick her up when she gets too tired of doing those things, and see if he can't get her to a less severe state.

God, he wishes he could cut the sick out of her. It would be so much easier than this slow process.

Ellis gets up and stretches his back, and flicks to light off, slipping into the bedroom they share. May's already curled under the sheets, but she doesn't turn to face him. At first, he thinks she's already asleep, but then he hears the sniffle.

"Babe?"

"Mm?" she says, trying to be subtle, like he didn't just catch her crying. God--okay, Godwin doesn't like it when May does this, when she does the silent crying thing. He's caught her at it a couple times, but only because he walked in to find it. He never heard it in advance, she'd perfect the silence.

And--And now he knows why. God, what does he do with this knowledge.

Here's what he does--Godwin plops onto the bed and crawls over to her, pulling her into his arms while she's still under the covers. May makes a small startled noise, but doesn't fight as he gathers her up, instead submitting and tucking her head under his chin.

"Sorry," she whispers. "I'm--I'm sorry. I'm fucking broken."

"Shush," Ellis says, vaguely noting her press her ear to his chest. His heartbeat always calms her. "You're not broken. You're fucking tough as nails and a huge brat."

A tiny snort can be heard from between his arms. Then, her voice, high and wavery, tries to clear itself, before she says, "I--I get it, if you don't--don't wanna be with me. S'hard."

"S'not hard, May. You really think I'm gonna leave you hanging? What kind of asshole do you think I am?"

"A huge one," she replies quietly with a little laugh, and he thumps her gently on the back of the head in fake offense.

"Buttface."

"Mm."

"Go to sleep."

"Mm."

They're quiet after that, only moving so Ellis can slip under the sheets himself, warm beside her.

Yeah. This isn't hard.

[talesofzero]

La Douleur Exquise - Ch. 7

AU; Chapter 7 - The Case of Yellow

Rated E for Eyy boys actually bang in this one. As per request, contains some casual Bulge/Zero. 

~4100 words

I wasn’t sure if Harlock wanted to make it obvious that he was avoiding me. But it was obvious.

He would only stay in the same room with me if everyone else was with us. Even then, he wouldn’t make eye contact, wouldn’t speak to me. I tried to think what I could have done to bring on this kind of behavior, but I’d never made much sense of Harlock or the rest of his family.

I was fine to leave Harlock to his devices. I didn’t need his approval. Didn’t need him meddling all the time. I didn’t care if he was avoiding me.

But I didn’t like being ignored for no damn reason.

“Alright, what is it?” I asked once I’d shut the office door. He’d been spending more time than usual in there in his quest to avoid me.

“What’s what?” he asked, his eye locked on his computer. I doubted there was anything to see on his monitor.

Stalking up to him, I slammed my hands down on the desk to finally draw his gaze. “You know what’s what. What happened that’s got you all moody? You’re like a little kid again. Did I do something that upset you? If I did, you’ll have to explain. I can’t read minds.”

Rather than respond, his glare matched mine. We were at our usual deadlock. Childish as I felt, I refused to let him win. He always made me like this. Always had.

The day I was introduced to him, he stared up at me with those big brown eyes, framed by unbrushed curls. Poor kid was in desperate need of a haircut. After a minute spent watching me, he pointed up between my eyes and yelled, “Your nose is real big!”

“Phantom!” Wataru scolded as my hands shot to cover my nose. “Don’t be rude!”

“It’s true?” the kid shot back.

Wataru eyed Phantom the same way my moms looked at me when I did something they didn’t like. “Excuse my brother, Warrius. He has no manners. He’s been spending too much time around my father.”

“He’s a lot younger than you,” I said as I glanced around the house. They lived downtown, and it showed. The placed seemed to be held together by yellowing wallpaper and wobbly linoleum. There were mismatched, chipped dishes stacked in the sink, much like all the different chairs at the kitchen table where we sat.

“Phantom’s thirteen years younger than me, just a few years younger than you, really.” He returned to skimming over my homework, tapping his pencil against the tabletop. “He’s my half brother, though,” he added.

I glanced between them, Wataru with his calm brown eyes and strong jaw, and Phantom with his wild hair and squishy cheeks. If not for the age gap, though, they would have looked identical. There was no sign they had different parents.

Phantom returned to scribbling crayons around some copy paper with a vengeance. His tongue stuck out to the side as he concentrated on his work. I tried to make sense of what he was drawing, but it just looked like a blob to my eyes.

“This is fine,” Wataru said with a smile as he slid the papers back to me. “I’m not sure why your moms insist on me tutoring you. You’re plenty smart, Warrius.”

I could feel my heart hammering in my throat, my cheeks burning. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

He usually came to my house to look over my work, and when he’d leave, Mom would laugh. It wasn’t her or Ma who asked for his help. It was me. He was way too old for me to have a crush on. I was just some kid to him - a high-schooler. Even back then, I knew that. I didn’t ever expect anything of it, but I would make any excuse to be around him.

After Phantom’s mom got sick, our after-school tutoring sessions moved to his house. That first day, Phantom climbed into my lap without asking and showed me his picture. “Um, it’s nice,” I said.

“Dad’s spaceship!” he said.

“Your dad has a spaceship?”

“Yes! He’s cool!”

Wataru made a noise of displeasure as he opened the fridge. “Don’t go around advertising Father,” he said. “Now do you want potatoes?”

“No! No potatoes! Macaroni!”

Wataru leaned on the fridge door as he looked back at Phantom with dull eyes. “We had macaroni yesterday.”

Phantom reached up and smacked his hand against my face. “Warr’us wants macaroni!”

“I didn’t say that,” I said as I tried to pry his hand away.

He turned around and pinned me with the angriest glare I’d ever seen from a four year-old. “Yeah-huh.”

I glared right back until Wataru startled us both with a laugh that made my face burn again. “Not a lot of people challenge Phantom like that. You can’t win. You’ll just be stuck staring at him, but I’ll give you points for trying.”

He was right. I never really won. Even now, my eyes tore from Harlock’s as he yanked open a desk drawer. I could feel him still watching me as he pulled something out and tossed it on the desk. I recognized my own handwriting, but I couldn’t recall the envelope at first. The last time I’d written any letter to Harlock was…

“My uncle dropped a stack of those off when he was here last,” Harlock said.

Ah, so it was those letters. “Hm, I wouldn’t have expected him to keep them all these years,” I said as I picked up the old, frayed paper. The top had been sliced open. I doubted Franklin was the type to read others’ mail, meaning Harlock had read through them.  “So you finally got them then?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harlock’s tone was accusing, like I’d wronged him somehow.

“What did it matter? You never got them, so it didn’t change anything. It was stupid anyhow, writing to an outlaw. Could have gotten me in so much trouble.”

As I removed the letter, I glanced up to see Harlock glowering at the wall. “I thought you hated me all that time,” he said. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I’ve never hated you, Harlock,” I sighed.

He jolted as though I’d slapped him. Once again, he was that wide-eyed child staring at me as I unfurled the letter.

Dear Harlock,

I hope this letter finds you well and all that. See past letters for proper formalities. I’m too tired for them right now.

The last few weeks have been rough. I’ve been missing home more than ever. We lost seven men in one battle, three in another. We’ve struggled to maintain repairs while the government keeps sending us on new missions.

I don’t begrudge them for it. There aren’t enough ships. They have to send us out to meet any oncoming threats, but I haven’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in ages. We’re all starting to lose it a bit. I’ll be fine, but I really need some sleep and a good day where things aren’t on fire. I love this ship, but something is always on fire.

I’m not really cut out for my new position. It’s becoming more and more apparent that we all get promotions based on how long we’re able to stay alive out here while everyone around us dies. I wasn’t trained for the position of First Officer, so I’m always two steps behind, having to check manuals. I just hope I don’t get anyone killed because of it.

Sorry to talk so much about myself. It must get boring to hear me complain. How are you? How’s Tochiro? I hear the Deathshadow made a mess of some space wolves a while back. Some of the crew here would probably like you if you didn’t also shoot at government crafts. Seriously, stop that. We need those.

We should have a leave on Earth in two months. I’ll likely sleep through the whole thing, but I’m looking forward to it. I’ll drink some cheap wine for you while I’m there, just like old times. Take care of yourself. Don’t do anything too stupid.

Sincerely, Warrius Zero

“I remember this,” I said. “Things were awful. We were low on supplies, and I ran on coffee until I passed out at my station. I wouldn’t recommend that. You feel like death.”

“I’m sorry,” he said like the wind had been knocked out of him. “I would have written back had I known.”

I wasn’t so sure. “No need to apologize. You never got the letters, so it doesn’t matter. I’m sort of embarrassed you read them now. I did do a lot of whining.”

At least that answered one thing I’d questioned since meeting him in that infirmary. When I was on the Karyuu, I imagined he did receive everything I wrote, but I didn’t know if he read them. Why should he? In my mind, he hated me. Some letters had sentences or paragraphs scribbled out to remove my apologies over how I had let us end things.

But when I saw him in that bed, almost as pale as the bandages, he looked up at me with sorrow in his now-lone eye. “I thought you’d given up on me,” he murmured in that drugged haze.

“Believe me, I tried,” I said. “But you’re a hard man to ignore.”

His eye searched me for answers, still sharp despite the fog over it. “Why are you here now? After all this time?”

“My ship’s gone too. My family...” The Machine Men’s all-out attack had taken everything. Even if I could have brought myself to work under them, they kept insisting I get a machine body. Either that, or I had to accept the mission to capture Harlock. I accepted to keep my humanity, and because I needed to know why Harlock hadn’t protected the Earth. The answer was that he had. He’d tried to, but he never got that far.

“We’re in the same boat,” I said as I brushed a few strands of hair from his face. “I’m an enemy of the government now. And your father asked me to look after you.”

His expression darkened at the mention of his father, the same way Wataru’s used to. “If you’re just doing this for him, why avoid me for so long? I wasn’t worth looking after then? Just now that I don’t have other people to look after me for you?”

My mouth was left partially open as I stopped myself from asking about the letters. I’d never abandoned him, but then, maybe letters weren’t enough. So I said nothing, unaware he’d never received them.

We stuck together because we were all we had left. He sulked for a while, missing his ship, his friends. I couldn’t say I was any better. I didn’t spend a single day sober for months.

If I’d been sober, he wouldn’t have come up with this stupid, insane brothel idea in the first place. I woke up to a raging headache, a spotty memory, and him sitting naked in bed beside me ranting about this amazing idea he had.

I had so many regrets in my life that I could have amassed an army out of them, but that night would have been one of my generals.

Perhaps everything would have turned out differently if he’d received my letters. Likely not, but the way he looked at them made me wonder. When I handed the envelope back to him, he took it as though it might crumble in his fingers.

“Well, with that out of the way, you can quit getting all anxious around me,” I said, still not sure why he’d reacted so oddly to receiving them. “Get some rest too. You look like you could use some sleep.”

He didn’t say anything as I turned and walked out, but I took a quick glance at him as I closed the door, still holding the letter, looking even more exhausted than before.

We were both so young then. Just stupid kids, too young to be fighting wars, too young to see so much death. I wished he would forgive himself, that stupid kid he used to be. That kid didn’t deserve all the blame Harlock placed on him. Just a boy trying to fill his father’s shoes. I couldn’t blame him for that.

But I could and would blame him for this terrible brothel filled with too many kids. Even Manabu was much too young for this, but Daiba and Tadashi were hardly teenagers! And I didn’t even want to think about Monono.

As I started back toward my room, I heard chattering from down the hall. Manabu’s door was open. No one was supposed to be alone with Manabu, so I had to check, even if it was a stupid rule.

“Manabu, please stop,” I heard as I neared. The voice definitely did not belong to any of our boys. No, it sounds like… Schwanhelt. Poor man was probably doing Wataru’s bidding again.

“But I’m attractive, right?” Manabu asked.

“S-sure. I mean- I don’t know, Manabu!”

“If you didn’t know me or my dad, you’d sleep with me, right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know you!”

“Well, that wasn’t a no.”

I turned at the doorframe to find Schwanhelt standing with his face in his hands beside the doorway. Manabu sat cross-legged on the bed. He’d undone his bowtie and the top button of his shirt. Subtlety was not this boy’s strong suit.

“Manabu, you know you’re not allowed to be alone with other men,” I said.

He flashed a grin. “Of course. Only you, Mr. Zero.”

My unamused glare only made his eyes shine. He’d been spending too much time around the other boys. They were bad influences.

“But the door was open,” he continued, “So I wasn’t really alone.”

“That’s not how it works,” I said as I grabbed Schwanhelt by the arm. “Sorry, Manabu, but...good attempt, I guess.”

That was enough to keep him from pouting as I dragged Schwanhelt away. The poor man still had a hand plastered to his face. “Ah, thanks, Warrius. I just need to...sit down somewhere for a while. If I could just…”

Schwanhelt lied about as well as most of the SDF - poorly. “Come here,” I said through a sigh, pulling him into my room. “God, you have it hard-up for that boy, don’t you?”

“I don’t. I don’t. I don’t.”

“Convincing,” I drawled. “Do you use this same method on Wataru? I’m sure he really falls for the part where you hide your eyes.”

That got him to look at me. “You can’t tell him! Oh God, I’ve done enough to hurt that family. I can’t have feelings for Manabu after everything that’s happened. I can’t.”

There was no point in treading old waters and trying to convince him what happened wasn’t his fault. He had to work that out on his own. But I wasn’t so bad a friend as to let him go so anxious and, well…

“Schwan, just sleep with me,” I said.

He froze. I could almost see the sirens spinning around in his head. “W-what, Warrius, I can’t-”

“It’ll relieve some tension,” I said. “Come on, Schwan, when’s the last time you had an orgasm?”

He blushed from his neck to his ears. Honestly, Schwanhelt was adorable. The uniform didn’t help. I was a sucker for those uniforms.

But coming right off from dealing with Manabu, he was a mess. “I-I can’t afford- I’m sorry-”

“I won’t charge you,” I said. “If you’re not up for it, it’s okay. I’ll leave, and you can hide out in here for a bit. It’s up to you.”

He stood in silence, a war behind his eyes. When he moved, it was for the door. Manabu really had his work cut out for him if he wanted to catch this one, I thought until Schwanhelt locked the door.

“Okay,” he said in a whisper.

He’d obviously never done this before. “You’ll have to be more explicit than that.”

His cheeks tinged red again. “Explicit? God, what do I need to say? Can’t we just get on with it?”

I shrugged. “That works.”

His back hit the door as I pushed up against him, locking our lips. He whimpered his contentment against me as I pressed my leg between his. Manabu had been more successful than he may have realized, and Schwan was quick to grind himself against my thigh. His hands locked onto the arm loops of my vest, pulling me in closer.

He tasted of strong coffee and desperation. His movements were all quick but strong. I let him take over the kiss, his chest heaving as he toyed with my tongue. By the time he pulled back for air, there was a line of saliva running from the corner of his mouth.

I breathed a laugh into his neck, peppering kisses up to his jaw. “Poor thing,” I said. “You have been neglecting yourself.”

“Warrius,” he groaned, now clawing at my back. “God, I need you.”

“How would you like this to go?” I asked before placing a gentle bite to his ear.

He stuttered a gasp. “I-I don’t know. Damn, don’t make me think now.”

I decided to make it easy for him. “Fast or slow?”

“Ahh, damn. F-fast. I can’t wait.”

“So impatient,” I laughed. “Do you want to go all the way, or do you just want me to suck you off?”

His hand returned to his face. “Fuck, don’t make me answer that.”

“So you want to go all the way.”

The stressed sound he made was enough of a confirmation.

“Top or bottom?”

“I-I don’t know!”

Again, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ahead and top this round.” Preparing him to bottom would add time, and he was suffering enough.

He whined his agreement as I pulled him back toward the bed with one hand and unbuttoned my vest with the other. By the time the back of my knees hit the bed, I had my shirt halfway undone as well. As I fell back, I pulled him down with me. He caught himself, his face flushed as he hung over me. His eyes fell to my bare chest, and he swallowed.

“You still doing okay?” I asked.

He did manage a smile then, if a shy one. “Yes, sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“You’re doing fine,” I said as I placed my hands to his cheeks. “You will have to take something off to make this work though. Condoms are in the nightstand, of course, unless you want to fool around some more.”

“Ah, I wish I could,” he said, standing back up to take off his jacket while I finished removing my shirt. I went ahead and took off my shoes, pants, and boxers too while he fiddled with whatever weird undersuit came with those uniforms.

“Sorry-sorry,” he mumbled, as he partially tried to cover himself. His boxers really couldn’t hide anything, not that he had any reason to be so stressed. I was more exposed than he was.  

“It’s fine. I like a good show.” With him all flustered, I reached over and fished a condom out of the drawer myself, tearing it open with me teeth. “Come ‘ere,” I said around the plastic.

He leaned in as I spit the wrapper away, and I wrapped my hand around the back of his head to pull him in for another kiss. Clients didn’t kiss much, so it was more for me than him. He hummed and moaned sweetly into the kiss as it deepened. It also made him sink closer toward me, until I could yank down his boxers.

His breath hitched as I pulled from the kiss and moved to his neck. WIthout the collar of his shirt in the way, I could press soft love bites to his shoulder as I rolled the condom over his cock.

“Warrius,” he whimpered. His arms trembled as they held him up over me.

“Relax,” I breathed as I reached back over to my nightstand. “You feeling good?”

“God, yes. You’re amazing, Warrius.”

That sent a pleased shiver up my spine that made my toes curl. “Thank you. Now don’t lose yourself yet, alright?”

What started as a confused hum ended with him choking in surprise as I worked some lube over his cock. “Fuck,” he hissed. Before his arms could give out, I released him and leaned back, wiping what was left of the lube on my own half-hard cock. I was going to ask if he wanted me to turn over, but it seemed not. Grabbing my hips, he put one knee on the bed and lifted me up. I pulled one leg up to rest over his shoulder. Rare to have a client who didn’t want me face-down, but then again, he wasn’t a proper client.

Even rarer to have a client suddenly look so concerned. “A-are you prepared?” he asked.

I bit my lip to stifle a laugh. “Schwan, babe, I do this every day. As long as there’s lube, I can handle it.”

Still looking a bit nervous, he leaned in enough to kiss me somewhere between my eyelid and my nose. He must have missed wherever he’d intended to kiss me because he was too busy trying to hold himself together while pushing his cock inside me.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers pressed tight to my hips.

Unlike him, I gave in with a gasp and a sigh, grasping for the sheets. God, he was so hot inside me. It made my whole body pulse. I needed him to let go too. I needed the rush and the heat. “Schwan,” I said as I fought to keep my hips from rolling. “Please fuck me.”

He choked as he tried to suck in air, but he was quick to give me what I asked. His hips pulled back and rocked into mine as he gasped my name. Then again. Again. Always with my name.

“That’s good,” I purred as my eyes rolled back. My body writhed without my permission, but I let it for once. “More, Schwan. Harder.” My chest rose and fell with each of my gasping breaths. “Faster.”

He gave a growl as he picked up his pace, as lost as I was in the pleasure. Only years of habit kept me talking.

“So good,” I moaned, gnawing my lower lip. “So hot.” It felt so damn close to heaven to be filled like that, and so damn close to hell to be on fire from the inside out. My back arched toward him as his pace became frantic. I loved drowning in his power, feeling the bed shake just like I did.

Through half-lidded eyes, I admired his smooth shoulders and chest. His muscles strained with every snap of his hips. Damn, he looked good. He could have moonlighted at the brothel if he wanted.

His voice was ragged when he finally strung together something coherent. “Oh god, Warrius. Fuck, I’m going to come.”

“Go ahead,” I panted. Before I could wrap my hand around my cock for my own release, his hand took my place, his thumb circling the head until he had me melting with weak whimpers, my hands fisted in the sheets. “Schwanhelt, more,” I begged.

Sweet as he was, he pumped my cock as his thrusts became erratic. I felt his whole form tremble as he came, riding out his orgasm with a few shallow thrusts. Only then did I let myself fall over the edge. The writhing pleasure in my gut became pulses of ecstasy as I came across my stomach. “S-Schwan,” I said through fragmented gasps.

As the pleasure faded, my body went slack. I bathed in the feeling of exhaustion and contentment, listening to Schwanhelt catch his breath. “Fuck, Warrius,” he said as he pulled out. “That was good.”

I hummed in response. I hadn’t had two rounds in one day in a while. I only had five clients a week, so I was pretty well worn out.

“Is this the part where I leave?” he asked.

My body shook with a silent laugh. “You’re welcome to join me for a shower,” I said. My body protested as I sat up, though I’d never listened to its complaints before, and I wouldn’t now. “And thanks, Schwanhelt, that was nice.”

Even then, he blushed. “M-my pleasure.”

[mintyvan]

roadtrip - new england

PART 5 of 7! I can’t believe it’s almost done. Thank you all so much for reading, and for the lovely messages!

(If you haven’t read part one / two / three / four.)

Notes: Today we get a little background history about why our lovers have been  distraught with each other over the course of their dynamic relationship. Of course, tumult ensues.

______________________________

The cool mist rolls over the bay, shrouding the green foliage and pale beaches; dark pines stand proudly, swallowing a thin dirt road that disappears into the darkness. Gray wavelets break upon shore, restless and restrained, in rhythmic cadence. Between breaks in the fog, they see the proud outlines of the old houses, the pride of New England, their haughty eaves and windows standing silently in the grey light. Lush hedges and long cobblestone walks are obscured; a damp flash of pink roses shows, then disappears again. A thin ray of sunlight struggles, pale and otherworldly, to break over a point in the bay. Shadows of a ship slip in the distance like old ghosts.

"Edgartown," he notes absently as they drive past the stately sign.

"A.k.a. New England's most elegant community, property of the richest, angriest, nastiest trust-funding snobby-nosed old-aged white people ever."

His mouth struggles to the semblance of a smile, but she can tell he is thinking of something else.

They drive in silence past the Greek Revival style mansions, the New England colonials, and the mysterious gated drives that disappear into lush lawns. She pulls in front of a gate, saying a few words in the speaker, and the lacy iron pulls back slowly, granting them access. She parks in front of the house, alighting quickly and hauling out her bag. She changed at a gas station into a slightly wrinkled slip dress and sweater, sliding battered white sandals on her feet. Now she stands in front of the car, her hands moving nervously over her hair again and again and again, almost obsessively. He's not sure of his reaction watching her; he doesn't know if what he feels is anger or pity. She cares so much; she is so trapped.

She tucks her hair behind her ears again, patting it down at the roots, smoothing the slip dress as though trying to iron out the wrinkles with her damp hands. She examines her face quickly in the side mirror, wiping at imaginary dark circles under her eyes, pinching her cheeks and biting her lips, running her tongue over her teeth until he grabs her hands abruptly and she straightens up, face twisted in an expression akin to shame.

"Stand up straight. You're acting guilty. Am I really that embarrassing?" he smirks, something raw layered behind his words.

Her eyes flash blankly, opened wide.

"Van, I-"

But he isn't listening. He's already sauntering up to the door, halfway up the little marble steps. She hurries after him, standing next to him as the maid opens the door. They both set their faces into pleasant, bland expressions.

They are seated in the plush parlor, waiting. The room seems to be closing in on them with its gold embossed wallpaper, velvet and satin settee covers, dark mahogany floors, and luxurious ferns and details. A little silver drink cart covered in crystal decanters and set with linen napkins and Wedgewood glasses sparkles invitingly.

Then her grandmother Edith glides into the room, with her elegant smile and perfectly set hair, doling out little pleasantries, engaging them in small talk, pouring Dom Perignon into thin flutes and proposing a little toast for this celebration. William, the grandfather, tall and imposing, presents himself impeccably with a certain practiced joviality and makes himself a martini, but both she and Van are hearing nothing really but the quiet pounding of the blood in their veins, their mouths opening without them, saying non-consequential little things.

"Darling, it's so grand to see you. I've missed you so this whole summer. We've been dying of loneliness on Fridays while you were gone traipsing around the country on this university tour of yours. I think William was almost afraid you'd find something you liked better than Yale," coos Edith in a voice much too pleasant for her. They all felt Van's unkempt presence keenly.

William chuckles.

"She'd never let down her old grandfather like that. She's a Yale girl, and always has been. I wouldn't be surprised if she found her match there." Van stared at his boots, so out of place and worn on the pristine lavish carpet.

Edith smiles a little cocky smile.

"Oh William you're hopeless. The girl is not even nineteen."

She turns to Van, thinking for a moment. Then,

"Well, it's certainly nice to see you! I must admit when our granddaughter told me she was stopping by I didn’t expect another guest as well?"

"I didn’t expect to come either," he says, forcing his mouth into a smile that passes.

"Well, son," replies William, "it's nice to have you with us now anyway. One of my regrets is never having a boy of my own. Perhaps you'd like to go out sailing tomorrow, get to know each other a little better."

Van is smiling, nodding, but to the girl sitting next to him everything seems terribly wrong, terribly awful. It's as though no one else notices this nightmare; with a jolt, she realizes they wouldn't. No one knows.

She gulps her champagne, and quietly refills her glass, going unnoticed.

Van is saying something about the band, William is smiling, Edith is nodding. The world is ending. Her palms are damp.

The maid announces dinner.

She notices his slight sign of distress at the four forks, two spoons, two knives, two glasses, two plates and the salad set before him. She motions with her eyes, signaling for him to follow her. Smoothly, they both slide their napkins into their laps and pick up the three prong fork, smiling at the same time as though they are dancers in a nightmarish dance, performing in perfect tandem. Edith notices this quick duality, and something behind her perfect smile is now a little disturbed, although her face doesn't show it. It doesn't need to. The younger pair can read it in Edith’s eyes.

They barely make eye contact during dinner, but Van holds his own with several well-timed and well-placed references that delight Edith and a few intelligent remarks about his family’s bed and breakfast business that win William over. Y/N smiles and laughs gently, indicating slowly and casually the proper dinnerware, patting the corners of her lips with the napkin, sitting up straight, and taking tiny bites. Pretending. They have another drink after dinner, and Edith shows them to their rooms, impeccable guest rooms with monogrammed towels and little local prints on the walls. The younger of the women plants two light kisses on the older’s cheeks and says goodnight, and then she and Van’s doors close at the exact same moment. The identical clicks echo blankly in Edith's head.

*

At two a.m. in the morning, she tiptoes through her grandparents’ house and quietly opens his door. She closes it behind her, and then presses herself against it, standing there like a small, guilty thing in her slip of a nightgown that makes her cross her arms self-consciously. He is awake, sitting up against the headboard, smoking.

She takes a step forward, arms dropping to her side. The thin little strap slides off her shoulder, making her collarbones stand out starkly.

Her hair is neat and long and dark, her eyes glimmering damply in the semi-darkness.

"I was alone and I was thinking about you. I couldn’t sleep," she whispers. There is no response, only the thin curl of cigarette smoke in the pale slash of the driveway light streaming through the window. Her voice is so small now, small and dark and anguished. "I wanted to…"

There is a sudden, brusque motion from the figure on the bed.

"I hated you tonight," comes the answer. Her eyes burn in the darkness.

"I know," she replies helplessly.

“This isn’t you. This isn’t the you I know.”

A pause.

"Come here," he says roughly, suddenly. She moves towards him slowly, cautiously.

In a lightning flash movement, he's grabbed her arm and pulled her in the bed, pinning her against the headboard. Her eyes spark in fear. His mouth is rough and strong against hers. She presses her weak hands against him but they're useless.

"Van," she whispers harshly, afraid. "They'll hear. Don't do this."

He pulls her down, and she falls against the pillow. His eyes are stones in the moonlight.

"I won't make a noise," he whispers back, something strange in his voice. "But you might," he adds wickedly.

She might have had the urge to grin if she wasn't so afraid. There is a queer, terrible mixture of fear and elation pounding in her chest. His hands on her are making her feel that recognizable warmth spreading through her, and she struggles against it for her grandparents’ sake but she can't stop it because she loves it. He's being reckless, teasing and torturing something strange that is growing somewhere down inside her, a dizzying feeling she'd gotten a taste of before but could never draw out. There is nothing here of the gentle boy that handled her so sweetly, so carefully, the night before. The boy that had tried to make it easier for her, the boy that paid such close attention to her pain, the boy that kissed her so gently and followed her contours with a damp towel afterward, has disappeared. This is a new, strange Van.

He is pressing her down into the white, lightly scented sheets, mouth buried in her neck, her slip nightgown pushed up under her arms; his hands are on her hips now, pulling down what's left of her clothing, and a strangled sound escapes her throat. His hand immediately covers her mouth, muffling everything that follows; he's relentless and strong over her, but she's past caring, clinging to him. The thing that was clawing earlier is now steadily thumping; she feels a sharp thrum and assumes the end, as she has before, but he does not stop this time. And the feeling, miraculously, it keeps expanding, widening, pounding harder. He won't let her go, he won't stop, and she doesn't want him to. Then there is a strange silence in her body, and something is sweeping over, pulling her under, exploding, blooming, ever stretching. He clasps his hand over her mouth but he cannot entirely mask the cry. With a gasp, it's over, and he collapses on her, and they lay limp, shuddering, but he's not done taking his revenge.

He's kissing her again, then her stomach, and sliding down further and further and she's delirious and barely capable of letting out a half-whisper, half moan, a weak plea of resistance that has no effect on him. She's almost certain she can't take anymore but he's doing something else now that makes stars surface under her closed eyelids and she begs for him to continue. He doesn't stop, and the feeling is back, clawing and clenching and leaving her limp again and she bites a pillow and holds tight to the iron bedposts and lets out a wail that stops both of them cold.

They lay there, still, covered with the sheen of sweat and her tears of ecstasy, when they hear the creak of feet on the stairs.

She gasps, sitting up, half frozen with fear.

He sits up too, and before he can open his mouth she is gone, slipping out like a shadow. He cannot even hear the sound of her door closing again. What seems like lifetimes later, he hears the creak of her door opening, and the murmur of voices. He tiptoes to the wall, pressing his ear against it.

Edith's suspicious voice filters through the wall.

"I swear I saw you out in the hallway and I heard this noise, it sounded like a …scream or something. Are you alright?"

He hears the bed covers rustling.

"I had a terrible nightmare. I went to the bathroom to wash my face, I'm all covered in a cold sweat. I suppose I must have cried out."

He hears the sound of sobbing suddenly, then Edith's posh, comforting murmur, and a thin little smile spreads on his lips, a weary, sad smile. He opens a window and lights a smoke, grateful it wasn't his door she chose to open. After all, there is no mistaking the smell of sex.

*

It is morning. The four of them sit silently at the breakfast table, William reading the paper, Edith buttering her toast and studying Van, Van staring at his coffee.

"So, where will you two be heading next?"

There is a pause after this sentence.

"Home, I suppose,” replies the girl, a faint rose rising into her cheeks. "Well, not home home, but the house my mum’s renting. My semester at Yale starts in two weeks. I…should…buy pencils….."

The older woman nods sharply.

"And what about you, Van?"

His head jerks up, and he stares at her, seemingly dazed.

"New York. I'm working on writing songs for the new album, and we got a call from Communion Records the other day. We’re dead set on getting signed."

Edith's tone is crisp and polite.

"How nice to see such an independent young person."

There is another silence after this.

William folds his paper and smiles, oblivious.

"Van, how about that sail?"

The two women are left facing each other. Edith stands up straight, her bearing almost regal.

"Perhaps you'd like to join me in the study," she says, and her low heels clack softly on the wooden floor, and all of a sudden she is afraid and there is something so strange and terrible and beautiful about this feeling, finally understanding, finally getting it. The past 18 years of her life, everything her mother has never been able to explain, it's all here now and in spite of the bitter taste of fear rising in her mouth, for the first time since she has kissed Van there is a sudden calm in her, a steeliness she does not recognize.

There is not much to say in the study. Edith stands by the window, her back facing the girl, her voice even and soulless.

"The maid found an undergarment belonging to you in Van's room this morning."

There is a long silence. The foggy ocean is visible from the window, shrouding the verdant lawns, turning the world into a strange dream.

"This situation is one that I will not allow. Not only is it disgusting, seeing as you were in your dear grandparents’ house, and you faked a nightmare, but he’s not like us ---"

"Not like us?" the girl's voice cuts in.  

"Don't interrupt!" whispers the older woman, back still turned, in a strangled tone. "You're embarrassing us! Do you realize what people will say? Do you realize what you are doing to our family name? How will this be received in Yale? What will happen when people find out you’re with some deadbeat from Llandudno with no career aspirations at all. Your grandfather and I have put too much into raising you for you to spoil this for us!"

She takes a deep breath, steadying her voice.

"If you still want that money for university, you need to put an end to this immediately. These are the conditions. I'm sorry it has come to this."

She turns around, walking straight up to the girl, whose back is majestically straight and whose face is completely calm.

"Then it seems to me we part ways here, Edith," She replies, and watches the way her grandmother's face crumbles at this impersonal use of her name that she has never uttered before. "I'll call and defer my acceptance for a year. Perhaps by then I will have saved enough and gotten some scholarships as well as a loan."

Neither woman speaks. She walks out, closing the door behind her quietly, and grabbing their bags. She puts them in the car, to the surprise of the two men who are walking out to the gate at that moment. She signals to Van, and with a shrug at William, the boy jumps in the car and they tear through the open gate and keep driving until they come to a grey, sandy beach on their left. She suddenly swerves into the parking lot, killing the engine.

Her head hangs down, face masked by her hair.

He stares ahead silently.

Her shoulders begin to shake. She raises furious, tear-stained eyes at him. Turning towards him, she deliberately raises her arm and slaps him hard across the face, angry red splotches blooming over his freckles. He says nothing, but looks steadily at her.

Then she's crying, crying and beating her small fists against him, trying to hurt him but he grabs her close to him, trapping her arms. He can guess what has happened. And somewhere in the terrible guilt stabbing at him there's a wave of fear, but also relief. He's so afraid all of a sudden, so scared of this thing he has done, of how he's destroyed her dream, and for the first time since he has met her a single tear coarses down his cheek, his eyes burning hotly. It's followed by another, and another, as he struggles with her, stone faced, holding her down as she cries “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you” over and over again.

He's so terrified she might mean it forever.

*

The road passes by slowly, as though in a dreamscape. The sky is gray, and he wishes they were back in the oven warmth of California when everything had been so vague and hopeful. A cool sea wind blows off the shores, through the open windows while a pale sun beats down heavily on them.

They're heading down towards New York. She hasn't said anything since they left Edgartown, and so he's assumed a tight-lipped control of the situation. She seems so broken all of a sudden and it's tearing at him, guilt curling up in his chest, clutching at various things, making them hurt.

She chose, he thinks, trying to rationalize his pain. It was her choice and she made it.

But this small truth offers no comfort for what he caused.

He makes telephone calls from small gas-stations along the way. She sits in the car dully, a shadow of her former self. She is no longer dancing in the parking lot in her cowboy boots and frayed shorts. She is no longer buying junk food, rating the taste tests, making Crossroads references to piss him off, calling him nicknames like the Lone Ranger.

She just sits there.

One time he came back from a phonebooth to see her repeatedly striking the lighter, trying to produce a flame. A cigarette hung limply from her mouth, and she seemed queerly concentrated on it, as though it were the only thing in her line of vision. He had taken it from her mouth and pried her hands off the lighter. She had not resisted.

Her head lays against the headrest, turned on it's cheek away from him.

She hasn't listened to any music on the way down.

When they reach New York, it's almost a relief. He hopes maybe here something will happen, a breakdown, a crackdown, that she'll finally let everything out instead of limiting talk to small, dull, inconsequential comments. Yes, no, thank you. Even in despair she is polite.

He doesn't know what to do. He's never cared to deal with anything like this before. When they enter the city, it's late afternoon. The tall buildings are gleaming in the muted sunlight, reflecting steel and glass; he weaves his way down the packed streets, steering skillfully around taxis, through intersections, and cutting through alleys. Now they're lower down in Manhattan, somewhere around Tribeca. She looks out the window, examining everything quietly, staring, drawn up tight inside herself.

He finds a place to park, and grabs their bags. Pulling her to her feet, he draws her into the airy Tribeca loft world, up series of stairs, on a creaky elevator, finally coming to a steel door. There, he punches in some numbers, and the door opens. Inside is a large open room, empty, save for a mattress and a mini-fridge, along with a table and a few other small articles scattered around. The floor is parquet, and there are newspapers, phone lists, maps, and other strange papers plastered all over the wall. There is a thick book by the telephone filled with addresses, notes, observations, and a small pile of textbooks.

He pushes her towards the mattress. She takes off her sandals, lines them up neatly, and lays down on top of the blankets. He throws one of her blankets from the car over her, and turns out the lights.

Exiting, he locks her in.

Standing outside on the sidewalk, he fights the feeling tightening in his throat, making his eyes sting. He begins to run, determined, until he reaches the corner.

The quarter clinks, and the tone buzzes.

Two rings. Then,

"Hey."

"Larry. It's Van. I'm up at your old friend’s place." Voice strained.

"Sup, man. Hold a sec."

There is some shuffling on the other end, a female voice, and Larry's lower tones. Van smiles grimly. Nothing has changed since they’d left Wales.

"Had to get outside," says the voice on the other end. "Get the lock no problem?"

"Yeah, sure," he replies meekly. Then he clears his throat. "Listen man, I need some money."

Larry's chuckle is static on the line. "What’s new about that?"

"Nah. Um... not important. I’m with Y/N…. I'll be up here for a week, and I'll need like a thousand pounds. I mean, dollars."

A static crackle.

"You know what that means, Van.”

A pause. Larry tapping away on his laptop keys. Searching.

“Daniel says he needs a runner for Central Park."

"Are you shitting me? That place is wired! There’s lookouts everywhere!"

"See, that's why he needs a runner. He’s havin’ a hard time finding people."

"Larry c'mon man. I can't afford to have nothin’ happenin’ to me. I got this record deal on my hands. And Y/N."

"If something happens to you, I'll take care of her," laughs Larry, jokingly.

"The fuck you will," he spits out.

A pause. Larry realizes how distressed Van is.

"Alright, bro, no problem. Can you do SoHo? Daniel said he’s got a few nice ladies there that might enjoy looking at you."

Van stiffens.

"Fine."

"Fine. 6:00 okay?"

"Whatever."

There is another pause, then Larry makes a call, and gives Van an address.

It's darkening outside. He's walking rapidly down a street, up some stairs, and then he's inside a nice little apartment where someone is giving him a suit, the cash, and a small collection of little blue Ziplocs.

"This is respectable trade, man. Try to act like you got some manners. Try to look like you came from Martha's Vineyard."

Van stifles a laugh. Edgartown was right outside Martha’s Vineyard.

It takes him two hours. It's now eight o'clock. One more.

He buzzes an apartment on the Upper West Side, near the park.

A gentle voice answers.

"Southhampton 23'd," replies Van.

Then he's being invited into a plush room, pre-war molding and antiques and expensive ferns everywhere; a chandelier sends trembling patterns over the thick white carpet.

A posh Mrs. Delancey-Stanton seats him on the jacquard upholstered couch.

He lays out the contents of the briefcase.

"Valium, Benzedrine, Demerol, sleeping pills, Codeine Tylenols, your regular uppers and personality pills, and Phentermine. The total cost is 4000."

She smiles, a polite, modulated smile.

"Thank you, darling," she answers, handing him the neatly bound bills.

And then it's over.

He takes a taxi back to the drop apartment, returns the cut, suit, and briefcase, and takes his share. He's not sure what to do next. He's thinking about her, has been all night, and the way navy blue makes her eyes glow behind the dark iris. He fights tears again. He can't believe this is happening to him, he can't believe it's been so long and now he is thawing again, like ice, liquid burning under his eyelids. A harsh sob tears itself out of his throat as he strides down the street.

He stops at Saks Fifth Avenue.

The lady inside that approaches looks at him carefully, almost gently.

"Can I help you?"

He nods, long hair raking over his shoulders, and takes a deep, ragged breath.

"I need some clothes…for a girl….she's..about your size and height, brown eyes, wider in the hips. I need something nice, something that a person at Yale would be wearing. Maybe a jumper, ….or…a."

She senses his distress, and puts her hand on his arm.

"Don't worry. I know just the thing."

She pulls out cashmere sweaters and clean cut white shirts, a brown a-line skirt, a navy blue long sleeve and a pale blue dress with navy trim. He buys her a pair of pearl earrings, because he's noticed she doesn't have any. He wants to spoil her like he never could before. The knot in his throat shows no signs of leaving.

Out on the sidewalk with the bags, he draws his mouth into a tight line and fiercely clenches his eyes.

When he opens the loft door, she's up, cheeks flushed with sleep. There's only one light on, and she's standing by the huge windows, staring out at the street below her. He's brought Chinese, and he puts it down on the table and puts the bags down and approaches hesitantly. But she seems calmer somehow, as though in some way the crisis has passed. Her eyes glow darkly in the dim light.

"Where did you go?" she asks simply.

He shrugs. Something clenches in his chest again.

"I got you food," he says. "And some other things….It gets cold at night sometimes…"

She approaches the bags slowly and curiously, her eyes unwilling to let his go.

Slowly, she kneels down on the floor. He sits on the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight together.

She takes each item out, laying it gently on the floor. She looks for tags, but there are none; she can tell by the names on the collars that they have cost a lot. Slowly, she runs her hand over the fabric and there is something very sad in her eyes.

"They're so beautiful," she whispers, looking up at his.

Hands trembling, he comes close to her. He takes the earrings out of the little box with long fingers and gently pushes them through her earlobes, fixing the backings with careful fingertips. His eyes are glistening, and she softly touches his damp eyelashes and says nothing.

Heads bent, they kneel there together in silence.

She slowly takes off her shirt and pants, and zips up the brown skirt and slides into the soft navy blue cashmere.

She does not speak but takes his face in her hands and softly presses her feverish lips to his trembling ones in a long, slow, measured kiss that erases the need for words. Tears are pouring down her flushed cheeks and she is shaking.

And for the first time since leaving her grandparents’ house, the hand clenching his heart disappears.

They eat later in a companionable silence. He has taken her up on the roof, where they look out over Manhattan. The lights are glittering in the darkness, and beyond them they can see the vastness of the ocean, dark and restless, beckoning.

Her head rests on his sweater-clad shoulder, her eyelashes still sticky from crying. A wind blows her hair, and it flutters against his neck. He puts his arm around her, and she nestles into him, watching his necklace twinkle against the black fabric.

"What now?" he says gravely.

"I contacted Yale today while you were gone. They've agreed to let me defer until next year. They're saying it's almost common practice. Until then, I guess, I need to work to make enough to pay," she replies, her tone calm and even, but a bit tremulous.

His eyes stare out in the distance, shocked by a sudden thought.

She sighs deeply.

"I don't know what I'll do to make enough. I guess maybe I can move back with my mum and work as a waitress. I hear they can make up to 20,000 a year and maybe for the rest I'll be able to take out a loan."

He fumbles with his next thought, and makes a rapid decision.

"You won't have to."

She looks up at him in shock.

"This is my fault. I'll make it up to you. I have means."

She stiffens.

"Van, I haven't asked you where you got the loft or the money but I don't want it if it's going to put you or your potential record deal in danger."

"Y/N, stop."

"I don't care!" she replies, volume raising. "I won't do this to you! I won't let you!"

"You don't have a choice."

"I had a choice, and I made it. Now I'm with you, and I won't let you change my mind."

They sit there at a standstill, looking out over the glittering darkness.

"Listen to me," he begins in a low tone. "I have a friend who's made good. What he does isn't strictly illegal, per-se. It makes good money, 1000 a day sometimes! This is New York, we sell to rich people not poor people and we don't get involved with other dealers! This isn’t Llandudno. This is clean, direct, and involves recipients who have a reputation to protect."

She is tight lipped and unresponsive. He continues.

"I can work and you can go to college somewhere cheaper, so that you won't be a year behind! Listen love, you cast your lot with me. And I refuse to let you pay for it. If it costs me in the end, it doesn't matter. You're the one that has it, everyone knows it, you're the brilliant one who can't afford to give anything up and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you don't. This is the end. No argument."

She lets out a small sob.

"And what if I refuse? What if I go back home?"

He shakes his head.

"You know you won't be able to get a loan without your grandparents’ help. You can work two years as a waitress you want and still not get enough for the $25000 tuition. And that’s without living expenses for a year: clothes, food, books, transportation, and tickets to all the functions you'll need to attend! The costs will be overwhelming. What about gas for your car, check ups, et cetera?"

"Stop it!"

"I'm right and you know it! What'll happen if you don't get the money? If you have to give it all up? If you move back home away from me, why did you come here with me in the first place? Why didn't you just stay in Edgartown?"

By now she's crying again, head buried in her hands.

He grabs her by the shoulders.

"Say yes, I'll take care of you. I was born to take care of you, just say yes."

Her answer is almost inaudible.

"What?" he asks softly, eyelashes fluttering in the breeze, wanting to make sure.

"Yes, yes!" she cries, her hands muffling her voice.

She's giving in.

And they sit up on the roof, he holds her until it gets too cold, and then they go inside and crawl under the covers.

"There's one condition," she whispers into his neck. "I'm coming on a run with you tomorrow. If I don't like what I see, it's all off."

He sighs.

*

It's morning. He's gone, and her heart sinks, wishing she knew where.

There is one more thing, she thinks to herself. A very important thing.

She crawls sleepily towards the telephone, grabbing the receiver. She dials the familiar number, and as it starts ringing, she becomes wide awake and alert.

A woman's voice answers.

She's lip trembles.

"Mum?"

[awolmonarch-blog]

So obviously I went on a cutting binge for three days (almost three weeks ago) And my uncle had always been extremely supportive Especially of my love of music and art (because he has the same passions he's always been extremely interested in helping me pursue both of them, that's not to say he wasn't also supportive of my brother's passions, he very much so was) But, he's been someone I could trust enough through all my mental illness bullshit, that I could call and leave him messages of my poems, or send him photos or my newest art, and he'd always call back or give feedback I told him a week ago about my binge and he didn't yell at me (kind of like my mom does. Her reaction is more of a "bad dog" response than an "you're hurting and were desperate and this is an addition") instead we talked about if I got rid of the blades or not, which I had, and I've been talking to him about how bad my disassociting has been because it's been almost constant. I made my piece (below this post) and showed him it. I'd been itching to draw and I wanted to draw about my disassociting and the negative words I was hearing in my head. Anyways, I showed him the piece and of course he was supportive of my art, as well as impressed, because I don't draw very often and since I was little, I've come a long way as far as skill. Which he recognizes as he has seen the entirety of my artistic career. He got worried knowing I'd cut in less than the past month and kept asking if I'd be okay because he was going to a hockey game and would be unresponsive for awhile. He went as far as to CALL me (my uncle is NOT somebody who likes to talk on the phone) to ask me several times if I'd be okay alone, and I said yes, I'm just chilling cuddling my cat and debating getting a dog. Now, him calling to hear me say I'd be okay choked me up quite a bit, but, one thing my uncle RARELY says, especially to say it first, is, "I love you". After the last time of asking if I'd be okay, he said I love you. He said it first. Without hesitation. And told me he'd check in with me after the hockey game. Now. I'm just. It means a lot to me and I'm almost in tears. His support means so much to me and I'm not certain he even KNOWS that. Even though I'm constantly telling him as much. Like, There was one time my brother really pissed him off, Enough so that he pulled my mom away to tell her off about my brother. Mad enough to swear. I think that was the first time I'd heard him swear. I was eighteen. And he left pretty quickly after that. In fact he'd only dropped by to bring me something he'd gotten for me. And I left shortly after him. And while I was driving, I wasn't even fifteen minutes out, He called me to tell me that NONE of the conversation he'd had with my mother, had had anything to do with me. That I was doing really well for myself. Especially compared to a year ago. And how proud he was of me. And just constantly trying to reassure me he hadn't said anything negative about me. I cried then. The thought had crossed my mind before he'd called but I'd shoved it out. I was mostly just upset because this had been then angriest, and most miserable, I'd ever seen my uncle. He's always been quiet, but never brooding. And he was fuming. It worried me. I don't know. I just really appreciate him because I can't really connect with the world lately. I just feel like a machine. And he kind of gets it. he's the only one still here who gets it.