#and he has no system and he’s alone with no allies and he is STARVING. he is ravenous. he wants to see the world please let him see the wor

[starry-bi-sky]

what if i wrote a “shen yuan transmigrates into a wife” oneshot but the whole premise is based on the song “gone, i’m gone” from hadestown and its overall theme is wanderlust and freedom and it starts out as Shen Yuan settling into life in the palace and trying to avoid harem drama and thinking he can just live with his head down for the rest of his new life, only to be hit with a sudden intense yearning to explore his new world the likes he’s never felt before. What if he was sickly in his last life. What if he spent his entire last life indoors. Trapped between four walls. What if love is not a gilded cage. What if he begins clawing at the walls of his enclosure, desperate to escape because he wants to live, god please let him live. He can’t do this again. What if he spent months preparing for his escape and in that same breath getting the attention of some of the other wives around him because he has changed and it makes them wary. what if he got binghe’s attention as he is wont to do. What if he left. What if Shen Yuan was born with a bottomless pit in his stomach and a gaping maw in his chest. What if he was starving. What if he was starving for the world around him. What if i wrote that. What then

[memes-saved-me]

I have so many questions for your hunger games au oh my gosh

Did Billy and Steve have to go through what Finnick had too after the games? How did Billy get the name the tiger? What were their experiences like inside their games? Did they join career packs? Have allies? A Rue situation? What was their training score? Their skills? What was it like being reaped? Especially when Billy has a sister of reaping age? What was it like living without each other only seeing each other a few days each year except maybe through the monitored phones in the victor houses? Did they starve and suffer in their districts before their wins?

I'm so sorry if this is too many questions 😭 Im madly in love with the hunger games and what you wrote is utterly brilliant

This is literally the best ask I have ever received so buckle up for some info dumping because I planned this AU out years ago with my sister at like 2am while on holiday lmao.

Yes. Yes they did but Billy more so as for a few years after winning Steve dated a series of girls in his district to try and avoid what he had heard whispers of. Billy didn't have the advantage of information and soon found himself being transported to the Capital for whoever had requested his services.

He basically went feral in the arena and killed his way through it threw pure rage and fear. Just like a Tiger he stalked the other tributes and attacked them getting the upper hand through surprise mostly and his strength. Shock attacks but he definitely held his own a few times as well.

As said, Billy went beast mode and killed anyone he ran into until no one was left and he won. Fear and anger being a constant emotion throughout but due to his killing spree it didn't last very long since no one had the chance to hide for long before he found them. Only Max moves in with Billy as his father isn't invited and Susan stays with him. Steve, however, charmed his way into sponsors and kept to himself only killing those who attacked him first. Shame and guilt occupied his mind throughout as his family name was being dragged through the mud by the son who chose to hide rather than fight but when he was crowned that was all washed away and he went on to live in victor's village alone while his family stayed at home.

Neither of them did but Billy was approached multiple times.

Billy planned to die in the arena before he realised he could actually win and went on his rampage so no but Steve did befriend a few of the other tributes before entering the game. However, they all either died before he could find them or actively attacked him.

Nope. Lone wolves lol

Billy got somewhere between 8-9 for his strength, climbing abilities and axe work. Steve got 6-7 for his fighting abilities but didn't really impress anyone.

Billy is very good at sneaking because of his home life and he can deal with injuries due to being used to it. He is strong from being a lumberjack but doesn't care for accuracy in battle and just goes in for the swing. He can climb anything and that becomes very useful when surprise attacking other tributes. Steve is observant and good with people. Strong but more smart in fights as he doesn't have the instinctive rage like Billy. He's good with a weapon but not so much his bare hands.

Steve was reaped and he couldn't move but somehow walked up to the stage smiled at the cameras and it didn't sink in until he was on the train and he went into full on panic attack mode. Billy laughed. Of course it would be him, of course when he was almost safe.

Billy had a few of his name in there from getting extra food because of course Max couldn't but he never actually thought he would get reaped.

They definitely had a code system to get away with saying things over the phone. Like "I hope I get some good tributes this year" meaning "I cant wait to see you" or "I miss the Capitol" meaning "I miss you". Stuff like that which would sound like they love the games but in fact they only continue to mentor to see each other. It would be difficult. Especially the guilt of their happiest moments coming at the cost of dead children and Billy finds that very hard to deal with.

Steve's family had money. His parents both being quite important in the energy sector and he was expected to follow in their footsteps but didn't pass any tests or qualify for higher up positions. Billy's mother died when he was 10 and then Max and Susan moved in soon after as Neil couldn't deal with raising him alone and wanted someone to run the house while he worked in lumber making just enough to feed everyone but he still used Billy to get extra food and the day Billy turned 14 he was dragged out of school and an axe was put in his hands.

I could keep going with lore lmao but its 3am and I've ran out of questions to answer so hopefully this answers them!

[redwayfarers]

Storytelling ramble: Cass and his parents, Theokleia and Aiantes

Now, I don’t normally write commentary for my own fic. Usually I just hoard all the little pieces like a greedy dragon and bring them up in private conversations with people or randomly spring them up on people in less structured lore posts, but the latest fic I did, one that I’m kinda proud of, did bring about some revelations that I do wanna make commentary on. That’ll be the new #storytelling ramble tag, for organisational purposes.

The fic in question is On Theokleia, my mother (seriously, I am proud of it, so here’s a handy dandy link if you wanna read it!) It’s Cass and Theo angst, very painful, firmly in the hurt/no comfort category for reasons I’ll get into here. It’s under readmore for generally unpleasant family stuff, so mind that.

Writing about the relationships that Cass has with his family is hard. This particular idea came to me a few months ago, but I didn’t wanna touch Theokleia with a ten foot pole at the time, let alone write a fic. I contemplated whether to write from his POV or hers, but I figured it’s better for us all if it’s from his POV (and for the interesting way he perceives the power he has in this particular scene.)

And he does have it. He is, after all, his mother’s son. And his father’s, which is another point. But what gets me every time is the ending and how, even if he wins a battle, he’ll never win the war. He may have hurt Theokleia and aimed right where she’s vulnerable, but she has a support system that she doesn’t have. She has a set place in the world, for better or for worse, and Cass is the outsider from that order of things. She has allies, he does not.

But more intimately, she has Aiantes, her husband. I’ve long since maintained that Aiantes and Theokleia are excellent spouses, but horrible parents. Their marriage was arranged, true, but the choice to marry Aiantes was hers. They matched and fell in love. They work as a team and present a unified front against an enemy. In this case, the enemy is their own son, but it didn’t stop them from providing both their signatures on his disownment letter.

And they’re both dangerous, too - Theokleia’s the obvious danger, the blunt force, the raw power, while Aiantes is more of a sheathed dagger. He’s a diplomat by trade and carries a whole ‘superiority disguised as mercy’ vibe. He’s also very much present in the shittiness of Cass’ childhood, just in a more insidious way. Here’s a small exchange from the Tales of the Red Wayfarer that made me hate Aiantes’ guts forevermore:

“Cassander-” I flinch at the icy tone in Mother’s voice when she says my name, “is not for your Order, Wayfarer. We have never had a Wayfarer in our line, we have never had a magiani in our line.”

“Is he for you to hide him away, then?” Such audacity. How does he [Cenric] speak to Mother like that? “Is he for you to lock away and never see again? Is that a life, Lady Inteus?”  “It’s good enough,” Father cuts in, so evenly, so neatly, so properly. My eyes prickle with tears. It’s good enough, but it hurts. “He is cared for, Wayfarer.” It hurts. I should be grateful. I have everything I could ever want. I’m not starving or working or dying from – sickness. I don’t have friends but I have everything else. I don’t have parents, but I have everything else. How stupid of me to overlook that. It hurts horribly.

Yikes.

So poor Cass never really stood a chance against two of them united. The battle he won does not matter in the grand scheme of things. I have yet to work and refine his relationship with his father, but this fic has given me a solid basis to work on. It’ll be a jolly ol’ time, I’m sure :’)

Not sure how many people will wanna read and it’s not really necessary to do so. I just wanted to put some of my thoughts in an organised way and if this sparks interest, all the better! I’d be open to doing some of these in the future, when I have the material to. In the meantime, if you’ve made it here, thank you for reading and I appreciate you being around, you’re the best <3

[strategic-social-media]

To the banksters: • War is Profit • Death is Profit • Debt is Profit • Crisis is Profit

You see, they wound twisted ways to benefit from decay, like a parasite. They MUST CONTINUE TO GENERATE all this negativity in order for their system to run. It operates from fear and scarcity, from selsihness, control, and domination.

The assuage THEIR OWN FEARS, fear they might lose control, they must maintain the CONTINUITY of all the problems and suffering that gives them the paypacks to stay on top. To them evil is good when you can extract money from the process.

Thus they REQUIRE constant, crisis, war, suffering. Without it they crumble and starve. They cannot feed off of goodness: partnership, generosity, trust, service or unselfishness. They made a system that requises massive PAIN to keep on running, because their master is the satan, the king over affliction and bondage.

Jesus, the King of righteous. He is the only solution. Though it did its worst to traumatize and break him (misunderstanding, rejection, abandoment, torture, lies, conspiracies, etc). These are the things that break us humans even more than starvation of the body. But Jesus would not break. Where we are weak, Jesus is strong. And He wants to be our strength. He wants His strength IN and THROUGH us. And that is called a trust/faith relationship in His graciousness.

Jesus never gave in to fear or hating back. He did what we have all fallen short of doing. His identity came from His Father God, not any of these supposed authorities on the earth (the religious leaders, the political leaders, the peer pressure of family and society). He is our campion. His victory is FREELY SHARED with US. In fact he wants to share with us his riches in Glory. He alone is worthy of trust and devotion:

The most profound chapter in all the Bible: we are lavishly invited into the HOLY INTIMACY with the Trinity. Not as equals, but as beloved allies. John 17.

• Jesus asked the Father to return to Him the Glory he had in Heaven as God's only begotten Son. • Jesus asked the Father to share this exact glory with US, so that ALONG WITH US, we too could enter into, experience and appreciate and be uplifted/transformed by literal Divine Glory • Protected from the Evil One, Taken OUT of this word and brought up to heave to be UNITED with God. Looked upon with the same DIVINE LOVE that the Father looks upon perfect Jesus with.

The most amazing prayer ever: "that they (the believers / disciples) also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that You (Father God) have given Me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, 23 I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me." Jesus is WELL AWARE of the predatory systems, all about lies, about taking, about extraction of sour energy from woundedness. Jesus instead is all about taking us up to Glory IN Himself, WITH Himself. He wants to share it all.

Here's the whole chapter:: 17 When Jesus had spoken these words, he lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son that the Son may glorify you, 2 since you have given him authority over all flesh, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. 3 And this is eternal life, that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.

4 I glorified you on earth, having accomplished the work that you gave me to do. 5 And now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had with you before the world existed.

6 “I have manifested your name to the people whom you gave me out of the world. Yours they were, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. 7 Now they know that everything that you have given me is from you. 8 For I have given them the words that you gave me, and they have received them and have come to know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. 9 I am praying for them. I am not praying for the world but for those whom you have given me, for they are yours. 10 All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I am glorified in them.

11 And I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, keep them in your name, which you have given me, that they may be one, even as we are one. 12 While I was with them, I kept them in your name, which you have given me. I have guarded them, and not one of them has been lost except the son of destruction, that the Scripture might be fulfilled. 13 But now I am coming to you, and these things I speak in the world, that they may have my joy fulfilled in themselves.

14 I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they are not of the world, just as I am not of the world. 15 I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one. 16 They are not of the world, just as I am not of the world. 17 Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. 18 As you sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. 19 And for their sake I consecrate myself, that they also may be sanctified in truth.

20 “I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, 21 that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. 22 The glory that you have given me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, 23 I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me. 24 Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory that you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world. 25 O righteous Father, even though the world does not know you, I know you (knowing meaning that Jesus has directly experienced and is intimately familiar with Father God), and these know that you have sent me. 26 I made known to them your name, and I will continue to make it known, that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.”

[mytly4]

Some, even most, of anon's accusations are not even valid accusations. Tyrion could not "deny justice" to people by not punishing Cersei or maintaining Joffrey's regime, because it wasn't in his power to do anything about it in the first place. Even as Acting Hand in ACoK, he had power only because Tywin (temporarily) allowed him to have it. That is, Tywin sent Tyrion to King's Landing to be Hand in his stead while he was busy elsewhere, with the implicit (and probably explicit) understanding that he should behave as Tywin would in the same circumstances. Do you think that Tywin would punish Cersei or send Sansa back to her family or care about the starving peasants or do anything to destabilize Joffrey's reign? Nonetheless, Tyrion, who definitely cares more about justice than Tywin (which, admittedly, is an extremely low bar), did manage to do some things that he could get away with without bringing Tywin's wrath down on his head instantly, like punishing Janos Slynt or stopping Joffrey from torturing Sansa. And even that little, he couldn't do any more once Tywin returned to take up the Hand position at the end of ACoK. After that, Tyrion was in a no-win situation. He could either support his family's atrocities (at least passively), even if it went against his grain. Or he could try to go against them, and wind up completely alone, as he had no allies of his own: the Mountain Clans had gone back to the Vale by then; Bronn was a mercenary who supported whoever paid him the most; the common people hated him because they saw him as a part of the Lannister regime, and because they couldn't get over their prejudices regarding his disability. And in the game of thrones, being alone and friendless is equivalent to being dead. So Tyrion could either support his family, no matter how horrible they were, or he could try to rebel against them and wind up dead. Not exactly a great set of choices.

I'm not suggesting that Tyrion is a saint, and if allowed to follow his conscience, would immedietely guarantee justice to every citizen of Westeros - far from it. But that's because he's part of the system too - he's been raised in a feudal system that teaches that some people are just inherently better than others (and therefore less deserving of justice). On the other hand, he's physically disabled and far from the Westerosi ideal of a "manly man" in a highly ableist and misogynist society. He has learnt the hard way that some people (including himself) simply never get justice, even when they're completely innocent, because of the prejudice against them. Why should he stick his neck out to get justice for, for example, peasants who think he's a monster and who would unhesitatingly kill him if given a chance?

ASOIAF is a series that is primarily concerned with power, how it works, and who gets to wield it. The most interesting characters in the series (and its obvious main characters, whether they're the heroes, anti-heroes, or villains) are people who have power - or least the privilege that comes from being adjacent to people with power - in one way, but are denied it in other ways: for example, Tyrion, Jon, Dany, Cersei, Catelyn, etc. Their stories tend of be about the limitations of their power - GRRM isn't interested in exploring characters like Joffrey, Robert, or Tywin - that is, people with almost unlimited power.

Tyrion has limited power - and he has it because he has the privilege of being part of the most powerful family in the realm. But he is an expendable member of the family (which he is very well aware of), and the moment he does anything that goes against the family's interests, he knows he will be expended (and in fact, that's exactly what happens). Under such circumstances, how can he possibly provide justice to people his family has wronged?

I agree with you that Tyrion did not get justice but at the same time Tyrion when he was in power denied justice to other despite his claims to Shae. He denied justice to Sansa by refusing to send her back to her family despite the cruelty she suffered. He denied justice to the people of Kings Landing by doing all in his power to keep the insane boy who told them to eat their dead in power. He denied justice to Barra and her mother by not doing anything to Cersei and only punishing Slynt and Deem. He only offered to Clegane and Lorch to the Martells to keep them neutral and knew Tywin gave the order. As Oberyn stated there was no justice for Elia and her kids why should Tyrion get any? Tyrion denied justice to people who were innocent and better then him like Ned why does he deserve any? Tyrion himself admitted he was only innocent of killing Joffrey (and I would like him more if he actually did kill him).

This is coming down to personal beliefs. Some relevant beliefs of mine are a) justice is not a privilege, and b) justice is for society and the perpetrator as well as for any victims.

So basically, I think Tyrion deserves justice because everyone deserves justice.

[fremedon]

Brickclub 5.15.3, “Enlightenment and Gloom”

The barricade is lively with the dawn, anticipating the attack with confidence that they can repel it long enough for the support they know is coming: regiments that are expected to turn, allies, and eventually the whole city. Enjolras goes on a brief reconnaisance, returns with the news that the city has not risen and their position is doomed, and an anonymous voice from the back cries out that they will defend their position to the last man, and “make the protest of corpses.” These words “dispelled from everyone’s mind the oppressive gloom of individual anxieties”; the insurgents cheer.

The unknown speaker is explicitly the voice of Providence:

He was some unacknowledged worker, unidentified, forgotten, a passing hero, that nameless champion always involved in human crises and social turning-points who at a given moment says the decisive word in a superlative way and then disappears into the shadows, having momentarily, in a flash of lightning, represented the people and God.

At the level of the book’s magic system, they’ve been doomed since Le Cabuc--and Enjolras, at least, seems to know it, though he’ll be glad to hear the city waking up a little later; he’s resigned to a last stand as the best of bad options and fears there won’t be a better one, but I don’t think you can read this as him choosing not to save himself. Certainly he’s not damning his men; the next chapter after this, following immediately from this moment, Enjolras will try to send away as many men as he can, even though logistically that will be limited to the number that can disguise themselves as National Guard. By the time they had intelligence of how hopeless their position was, it’s too late to get them out of it; such is war.

And “the protest of corpses” is how revolutions have started, both before and after 1832; and, in a way, it’s an answer to the accusations of cowardice thrown at barricade fighters by soldiers in 5.15.1 and called back to last chapter.

But it’s also expiation for Le Cabuc, not just morally, but in terms of optics. @pilferingapples pointed out on Discord a while back that, if they had slipped out overnight while they might have had the chance, they would have been the rioters who trashed a shop and murdered a bystander and then disappeared without consequences. Standing and fighting--while the forces of order, which could have simply starved them out, bring a whole third of the armies of Paris against them--makes them heroic enough to wash Le Cabuc’s stain from the movement.

But the part of this chapter that always makes me choke up is this:

Enjolras reappeared. He was returning from his gloomy eagle’s walk in the obscurity beyond. He listened for a moment to all this joy with his arms crossed, one hand over his mouth. Then, fresh and rosy in the growing whiteness of the morning, he said, “The whole army of Paris is fighting. A third of that army is drawn up against the barricade where you are. Besides the National Guard, I can make out the shakos of the Fifth of the Line and the colors of the Sixth Legion. You will be attacked in an hour. As for the people, they were boiling yesterday, but this morning they’re not moving. Nothing to wait for, nothing to hope for. No more from a faubourg than from a regiment. You are abandoned.”

Just. His body language in that one image--wrapping his arms around himself, covering his mouth, literally holding himself together while he watches his friends laughing, in the last moments before he has to go tell them they’ve been left to die.

The pain in his posture, and against that, the reminder that he’s still rosy-cheeked and physically untouched.

And--I just realized--he’s coming in through the Mondétour alleyway. WHERE THEY LAID OUT THE DEAD. He’s all alone with this AND HE’S STANDING NEXT TO THE CORPSE OF BAHOREL AND OH GOD, tomorrow is Five Less, One More and the day after that is Quel Horizon and this readthrough is going to BREAK me.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 19 - Sci Fi

The new part is here. I've struggled with this story a little bit recently, but I wanted to continue this, to share it with you.

Master Post linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

“Bel…”

“BEL!”

The world around me was pitch black, empty except for voices I didn't recognize, shouting a name I couldn't remember. I blinked, trying to clear my vision without success.

“Hello?” My anxious shout faded into the nothingness around me.

“I have to do it, Bel. It’s how the story goes.” A blurry figure stood in front of me, his facial features unclear behind his blond hair, but his tone contained frustration and regret. “You know what happens to a world when the story is incomplete. Sacrifices have to made.”

“Who are you…?”

“That’s our fate, we just have to accept that.” He faded away into the darkness, leaving me alone again.

“Come back! Explain what you meant!” I screamed at the disappearing figure. “WHAT SACRIFICE? WHAT FATE?!”

"YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE."

“Are you lost?” A new voice spoke up, strange, yet completely and utterly familiar.

I spun around, but there was no one behind me. “I’m… I’m lost.”

“No matter where you go, who you become… I’ll find you, Bel. I promise.” The voice was a whisper in my ear. “Fate can’t tear us apart. I won’t let it. Even if I have to destroy fate itself.”

“But I can’t find you. I don’t remember who you are!” I was crying, my tears disappearing into the surrounding mist.

“I’ll find you.” The words were quieter, as if the owner of the voice was fading away.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“I promise.”

“NOT AGAIN!”

"You must accept your fate."

"Bel..."

"You must.."

“…I promise…”

_________________________

“LIAM!”

I woke up, screaming a name that disappeared from my mind as soon as the sound as faded, tears and sweat staining my cheeks.

I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Who am I?

Finding no answers, I eventually steadied my nerves, getting up, showering and changing. I looked up at the clock on the wall, wincing as I realized that I was running late for class.

Great, now I’m going to miss breakfast, and I'm starving.

I put on my uniform jacket, lamenting silently my lack of time to fill my empty stomach. As I left my dorm, however, my eye caught something sitting on the floor right outside my door. It was a small plate with a peeled apple and a note with Alaira’s name on it.

I thought Alaira was supposed to be loner… This has to be a trap, right?

It had been several weeks since I woke up in this strange world. It couldn’t be more obvious that she didn’t have any true friends or allies. No one who would care enough to send breakfast, definitely.

Maybe it’s from whoever has been following me around?

Since the second day, I had noticed a shadowy presence following me at a distance. Whoever it was, they never attempted to try to speak to me, or interfere with me in ay way. But it was always nearby, always watching.

So now they’ve upgraded to leaving me food?

I picked up the apple, looking around, and scanned it with the personal computer on my wrist, which showed no drugs or other abnormalities.

Well… I am hungry, which outweighs the possible grim outcome of death by poison, I suppose.

Shrugging mentally, I took a bite. The taste was sweet. I sighed with satisfaction and took another bite. As I chewed, a thought occurred to me, confusing me all the more.

How did they know I like peeled apples?

As far as I could remember, Alaira had never liked apples. It was considered an ancient fruit, more of an oddity than a dietary staple. She had tried it once or twice and hadn’t been impressed.

But I liked it…

I liked apples a lot… but only peeled ones. It was something almost instinctive I had felt whenever I thought about the fruit. But… I hadn’t eaten any apples since I woke up as Alaira.

So how do they know? Does this sci fi story come with mind readers?

I took another bite, feeling confused.

_________________________

“Why the hatred for the apple peel?”

The young man seemed genuinely curious from his tone of voice as he handed me a freshly peeled fruit.

I shrugged, taking a bite. “You try living as a princess in a lower fantasy realm. I bit into a poisoned apple once and the inside was glowing green.” I shuddered. “Ever since then I can’t stand to bite into an apple with the peel still on.”

The man had already started peeling another fruit, and paused in his actions. “Did the prince have to kiss you to break the spell?”

“Why, are you jealous?” I grinned.

“N-no… I’m just asking.” His head hung down, as he seemed to stare intently into the apple in his hands.

I patted his head. “I took an antidote ahead of time. Didn’t fall asleep. Instead, I beat the crap out of the witch.”

He laughed at that. “Didn’t you get in trouble for changing things?”

“Of course. But it was so worth it.”

_________________________

I stared down at the partially eaten fruit in my hands, feeling overwhelmed at the memories surging through my mind.

I keep seeing these memories, but I can’t connect them to anything. What are these lower realms? Is that what I’m in right now? Who is this person I keep seeing?

I felt incomplete, a large part of my memories, my emotions, were missing. What was worse, I wasn’t even sure what was gone, what I should be sad about losing.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

“Alaira.” A voice called out, stopping me in my tracks. Turning, I sighed with odd sense of disappointment at the person standing before me.

Who was I expecting?

I forced a grin and made a rude gesture. “Hey Chris, how awful to see you this morning! Terrible of you to stop by.” I checked my personal communicator and shrugged. “Fortunately for me, I’m running late and have no time for your nonsense. So we’ll save your annoying ranting and raving for a later date, okay?”

He ignored my words, stepping closer with an excited look. “Have you heard the news?”

“Even if I say yes, you’re still going to tell me, right?”

“Don’t pretend, it’s not fooling anyone!” He glared at me. “You’ve been hoping to trap me as your Connector since the match results came back!”

I sighed. “At this point, it’s not even funny anymore. What can I say that will possibly convince you that that is NOT the case?”

“You won’t be able to stop my dreams, Alaira! Next time I’m going to win!”

“Yes, you’re the absolute greatest.” I rolled my eyes. “I cry myself to sleep each night over the fact that we aren’t partners, and I will never feel anything in this life but anguish and despair… now can I go to class?”

He looked ever angrier at my sarcasm. “Just wait until the next match. You’ll see that I’m good enough to be a Guardian. Because I’ve got…”

“Okay, buddy. Sounds good.” I interrupted, walking away.

“Wait, you didn’t finish listening…”

“Yep. See you next match.”

I left him behind, ignoring his rage induced sputtering.

Met an idiot first thing... but hey, at least I'm not hungry anymore!

_________________________

A few days later, the next round of mock Mech battles began.

As the winner of the prior fight, I was slated to go first, completing the first four battles with relative ease. As the day wore on, however, the drain on my body from using the Mech was increasing exponentially. Fortunately I was on my last scheduled fight of the day… even if this was the hardest so far.

A light headache was throbbing at my temples as I scanned the field around me. The arena stood as a large stadium, featuring a high-class barrier shield that extended up to twenty stories in the air. Hundreds of seats surrounded the fighting field, all equipped with holo screens that played the footage taken by the referee bots floating around the fight.

The excited screams from the audience were slightly muffled by the protective screen, and the remaining noise was filtered out as I focused on the fight ahead of me.

My opponent this time was a third year A level Guardian, an experienced fighter, who fought along side a D level Connector. Alaira had faced off with them multiple times in the past, and she had always struggled to win despite the difference in strength of abilities.

There was no denying the advantage that a Connector brought to the fight.

I grinned, ignoring the draining sensation of operating my Mech, the headache and weakness that quickly came on each time I made the Connection. The pain was severe, like a knife stabbing through my eye, but I forced myself to ignore it. As I fought, I couldn’t help but feel bitter.

It’s not like I haven’t been looking for a Connector.

Each day I went to the Matching Center. Each day I endured the laughter, the stares, the whispers and pointing. Each day I was faced with the same words: “No match available.”

Do I need to come up with a different plan? But I can’t fight the Hive without a Mech, and I can’t operate a Mech without a Connector… unless I want to slowly destroy my mind like Alaira did.

I sighed, not seeing any easy answers, and focused on the fight ahead of me. Although I had Alaira’s memories, and operating the Mech came as almost second nature with my S level alpha waves, I had run into an unexpected obstacle:

Alaira’s weapon of choice had been dual wielding energy pistols.

What a waste of the cool looking sword on my back. My physical body was suspended in the Connection chamber, a shielded globe filled with suspension gel. Although the Mech was controlled through alpha brain waves and the Connection, the closer I was to the Mech, the easier that control was. Thus the space for the Guardian was always in the center of the Mech.

I wore helmeted mask monitoring my vitals such as oxygen saturation and heart rate, adjusting the air composition and breath volume to accommodate my body’s stress reaction during battle. A skintight silver suit covered me, interacting with the gel to provide me physical feedback that the Mech would feel. My vision was shared with my Mech’s video system; I looked down and saw the pistols resting in the robotic hands. It was strange, I was obviously inside the robot, but the sensation of the ground beneath my feet, the guns in my hands, was all too real.

The physical sensation made it easier to fight, but it had an obvious drawback, which was that I felt any blows that my Mech sustained. During the fight I was the Mech, and it was a part of me. I tightened my grip around the energy weapons, feeling tired.

Something felt off about using these as my weapons.

I still had no memories about my past, but as I had practiced with the Mech these past few weeks, I had noticed a familiarity with fighting and battles, even more than what Alaira had in my memories after a lifetime of training at home with her father and then in the academy.

Am I some kind of warrior or something?

It didn’t seem right, but I couldn’t explain the comfortable sensation of judging my opponent and fighting with them. But that comfort and familiarity did not extend to dual wielding pistols.

I just wasn’t a great shot.

We had already been fighting for ten minutes. My headache had worsened and I felt tired, but I had only managed to score a few hits on non-vital areas. The only benefit was that the opposing Mech had only been able to strike me twice with the energy-enhanced spear he carried.

“You seem a little off today, Alaira, everything all right?” My opponent’s voice came over his speaker, shocking me. It was technically considered bad etiquette to talk during battle, but it was hard to fault him, as he seemed genuinely concerned about my less than ideal fighting state.

I shook my head, raising my pistols once more. “I’m fine, let’s continue.”

I rushed forward, taking advantage of my superior speed and maneuverability to get closer, trying to make it harder to miss my shots. The opposing Mech jumped backwards, but it was too late. Its hand was within my grasp. Turning and using its significant weight to my advantage, I flipped the robot over my own’s shoulder put the barrel of my gun against the metal head.

My final shot through its temple destroyed the key mechanisms within it, rendering it immobile and finishing the fight.

That was too close… I’ve been practicing with the pistols since I’ve woken up in this strange world, and seen no improvement… what am I doing wrong?

As the referee called out my victory, I backed away, letting out a sigh of relief. It had been a harder fight than it should have been, but at least it was over.

I need a nap.

“I WANT TO CHALLENGE ALAIRA!”

An extremely annoying voice spoke up, causing my already bad headache to worsen.

... Why me?

I turned towards the speaker. “Chris. Didn’t we agree that we were going to avoid each other? … Or was that just my wishful thinking?”

His all white Mech landed in front of my own, holding a large, oversized sword. He swung it back and forth, and although I couldn’t see his facial expressions, the smug tone of his voice through the Mech’s speakers were enough to make me wish I could make my Mech roll its eyes.

“Surely the legendary S level Guardian Alaira isn’t SCARED to fight with a mere D level Guardian such as myself, right?”

“Guardian Chris, please retract your challenge. Guardian Alaira has already finished five consecutive mock battles, and needs time to recover.” The instructor’s face was stern on the holographic screens around us, leaving no room for disagreement.

Chris laughed mockingly. “Oh, I thought she said that even with all the advantages and luck she could still beat me? I guess it was just empty arrogance.” His Mech shook its head. “With such a weak personality, no wonder you can’t find a Connector to match you. Who would want to endure such a woman?”

“…”

CLANG!

My Mech’s foot connected with the other’s crotch, and I heard a high-pitched squeal of pain. Ha, shared sensation with the Mech comes in handy sometimes.

“How dare you?!” His pained shout made me grin.

“Less talking, more fighting. I accept your challenge, Chris.” I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of my head splitting apart, as well as the light ringing in my ears. I had reached the limit of how long I could safely operate the Mech.

But the sound of his smug satisfaction infuriated me.

Every night, I was haunted by nightmares. Sometimes it was fragments of memories of unfamiliar worlds and people. Most nights, however, I dreamt of Alaira’s end. Alone, broken, terrified, a horrific death for a lonely girl.

And this idiot had watched it happen.

It might not be smart, but I just really want to beat him up. I took a stance, brandishing the pistols, feeling off kilter once more at the light weight in both of my hands.

In the meantime Chris had recovered from his inconvenience, and had resumed his taunting. “Oh, yeah, you ran away so fast the other day, I never got to share with you the good news:” He paused for what I assumed was dramatic effect. “I matched with a Connector earlier last week.”

He obviously meant this to be a huge blow to me, but Alaira’s memories had already warned me this would happen. A beautiful young woman, one of the many who competed for Chis’s affection. This one is a princess… Ilene, I think?

Unbidden, my mind was filled with the thought of the serious, quiet Prince William. I hadn’t seen him since that first day in front of the matching center. So he would be her brother?

I felt a moment of concern at his absence, and then confused, I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I had no reason to see him. Why would I worry about a stranger? Shrugging, I waved casually to Chris’s Mech.

“I welcome the princess to the battle. Sorry you’re on the losing team!”

“…”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “You already know?!”

I winced at Chris’s ear piercing shriek. “Know and don’t care.”

“But… I have a Connector.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“So I won’t be YOUR Connector!”

I sighed. “We’ve long established that. Look, buddy, it’s been a long day and I’m really tired, are you gonna keep talking about your boring personal life, or are we gonna try to crush each other with massive robots?”

“... Fine then! Keep pretending you don’t care!” Chris seemed really upset at not eliciting a bigger reaction from me, but fortunately turned his attention to the battle as well.

As the hologram around us signaled the start to the fight, he raised his sword and moved towards me, but I had already moved behind him.

BAM!

A shot hit his shoulder, blowing large metallic pieces into the air. I frowned, frustrated. I was faster and stronger than him, but my shots just weren’t going where I wanted them to.

Chris ‘s Mech turned around to face, me, the oversized sword’s momentum swaying the robot from side to side. His movement accuracy and speed had tripled from our last encounter. Clearly, he and his Connector were well matched, well over the required 50%.

But I was still faster.

I ducked under his blow, aiming upwards at his elbow and firing another couple shots.

BAM! BAM!

I missed. Cursing, I recovered, dodging another blow as I increased the distance between us.

Stupid guns.

_________________________

A young man threw up his hands, clearly frustrated.

“Why are you so stubborn? Every single world you insist on using a sword. We were in a laser battle for goodness sake!”

“Swords are more dependable.”

“Oh come on…”

“Plus I’m a terrible shot.”

He sighed. “Fine. But what if one day you don’t have me watching your back?”

“It will be fine.” I grinned. “Don’t you love saying that everything is according to fate? Maybe a sword is just mine?”

“... It doesn’t work like that.”

_________________________

A brief memory flashed in my mind, confusing me.

During my distraction, Chris’s Mech tried to strike again. With no time to dodge, I raised my gun, blocking the blow with the barrel. The weapon cracked under the edge of the sword. I pushed him back, relying on my superior strength and jumped backwards, throwing away the broken weapon in my hand. Glancing down at the remaining gun I had, I felt a warm liquid drip from my nose. It was bleeding, a sign of the increasing strain of the Connection.

I was breaking down. I wouldn't last the rest of the fight.

I had to surrender.

Screw that!

I holstered my remaining gun, drawing the large sword on my Mech’s back. As I held it in front of me, I suddenly felt at home, completely comfortable, as if I had held a sword many times before. I stared at Chris’s Mech, feeling excited.

Now, this feels like a fight!

I raced forward, swinging my sword in a horizontal strike.

_________________________

I was standing in a group of zombies, my sword cutting through the neck of the closest monster.

_________________________

Chris dodged, stumbling backwards. I used the momentum of my first swing to smoothly transition into a downward slash.

_________________________

I was an elf, dancing in the forest, my blade striking down shadowy creatures in the midst of a large battle.

_________________________

THUD!

A robotic hand fell to the ground as I cut it off at the wrist. Chris let out a moan of pain, cut short as I controlled my Mech to kick him in the face, knocking him on his back.

_________________________

I was a vampire, holding a sword made of darkness, fighting humans with elegance and grace.

_________________________

Chris tried to stand up but my foot on his chest prevented the movement. I rested the tip of my sword at his Mech’s throat.

“Do you surrender?”

_________________________

“Surrender?” I smiled as I spoke, staring down at the man on the ground. I couldn’t see his face clearly except for his dark blue eyes, which stared at me without a hint of embarrassment despite his defeated position.

“I surrender.” His voice was warm. “You’re pretty amazing with a sword.”

“After all the realms I’ve fought through? I would have to be.” I shook my head. “Don’t you use swords when you travel?”

“I’m not permitted to travel anymore.” He grinned. “I keep refusing to play my role.”

_________________________

I blinked, focusing on the partially destroyed Mech in front of me. Not hearing his answer, I dug the tip into his neck slightly, only stopping when he let out a groan.

“Do. You. Surrender?”

“I surrender.” His answer sounded like it was forced through gritted teeth.

I could hear muted cheers from the crowd behind the shield as the holographic screens around us displayed my name as the victor.

“Good.” I moved my sword and turned away. My body felt drained, every muscle screaming in pain. I tasted blood in my mouth, my head hurting worse with each passing second.

“I’LL BEAT YOU ONE DAY!” Chris called out behind me. “I’LL GET STRONGER, AND I’LL SHOW YOU!”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” I didn’t turn around, and left the arena.

At least I won. Now if my head would just stop hurting...

As soon as I reached the docking area, my legs crumpled beneath me, and my world faded into darkness.

_________________________

Where am I?

I woke up in a white room, on a plain, clean bed, wearing a hospital gown.

This isn’t a different world, is it?

I carefully searched my memories, but didn’t feel anything different. I sighed, realizing I must be in the school infirmary. In my memories of her life, Alaira had helped bring her fellow students there in the past, but had never stayed to be examined. Deep down she had known that without a Connector she was breaking down, and was afraid the school would prevent her from fighting.

It might have saved her life if she had.

I sat up, rubbing my forehead tiredly. It was still throbbing.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice spoke up, startling me.

I jumped, looking to the chair beside my bed, where a dark haired young man sat. His dark blue eyes studied me carefully, his face expressionless.

“…Prince William?”

“…” After a long silence, he nodded slowly.

“What are you doing here?”

He stared down at the floor silently, and just when I thought he might not respond, he reached out, handing me a peeled apple.

I took it, feeling dazed. “Umm… thanks.” I took a bite, and after swallowing, asked the question on my mind. “Were you the one leaving food outside my dorm room then?”

“…hmm.” His gaze never left the ground.

What the heck kind of answer is “hmm”?!!

“How did you know I like peeled apples?”

“…” A look of genuine confusion crossed his face, but quickly disappeared as he shrugged silently.

“Okay. Well. Thanks.” I pushed myself up, trying to swing my legs to the side of the bed.

He stood up, his face concerned. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my head hurts, but otherwise I feel great.”

“…You should rest.” He frowned as he looked me over.

“It’s just strain from a prolonged connection.” I sighed. “I’m used to it.”

“You haven’t matched?” He seemed mixed, as if happy and disappointed at the same time.

“Nope. Not for lack of trying though. ” I looked him over. “Are you a Connector? Have you matched yet?”

“I…” A look of agony distorted his features.

“He can’t. He’s broken.”

A young woman stood at the door of the infirmary, a mocking smile on her face.

I studied the newcomer carefully. She had long black curls framing a heart shaped face, and large blue eyes that looked down on me with pride. Given the similarities in features to Prince William next to me, it wasn’t difficult to figure out her identity.

“I’m assuming you’re Princess Ilene?”

She ignored my words, walking closer to her brother, whose face had become expressionless once again.

“He can’t Connect. His mental barrier is too strong.” She stopped a few feet away from him and raised her hand, knocking on what looked to be empty air. It made a solid noise, her hand stopping at the same invisible point. “He can’t put it down even if he wants to.”

I thought back to the first time I met him, remembering people being pushed aside.

“A useless Connector who can’t make the connection. A Guardian who can’t match. Two failures together.” She smiled at me. “Sorry I took away your only possible chance at matching Chris, but you needed to see the reality of the situation. He’s a better Guardian than you.”

“…Remind me again who ended up flat on their back at the end of the last fight?”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my comeback. “At least he will be around a long time to help fight the Hive. You, on the other hand.” Ilene pointed at her head and turned her finger in a circle. “You have no future. But on the bright side, at least my useless brother can keep you company while your mind slowly breaks apart.”

BAM

William stood up, angry, and with the loud sound of an impact, Ilene was pushed by an invisible barrier out of the room. Her face enraged, she slammed her fists against it while her mouth made motions as if she was shouting. I stared at her, confused as to why I couldn’t hear her.

“…I sealed her out of the barrier.” William whispered. “Her voice can't make it through either.”

“Oh.” I nodded with satisfaction, watching her shout silently outside the doorway. “Thanks.”

“I can expand the barrier… but she’s right… I can’t drop it.” His eyes dropped down to the floor again. “I can’t Connect… I can’t help Guardians… useless…” His voice slowly dropped in volume, until it was barely a whisper.

“Well, you’re helping me out right now, and I’m a Guardian. So I’d say you’re a pretty useful guy.” I gave him a thumbs up. “I know that not hearing her is already making my day better.”

He stared at me silently for a few moments. “… Are you hungry?”

“Kind of. Why? Do you have more apples or something?”

William shook his head. “No… cake.”

“Please tell me you are serious.”

He solemnly set a container with a piece of cake on the table next to me, along with a napkin and utensils.

I stared at it in shock, motionless.

“… Do you not like it?” His nervous tone broke me out of my stupor. I quickly reached out and held the container close, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

“Oh, this is amazing… totally worth passing out after my fight.” I took a few more bites, noting him relaxing visibly as I showed my enjoyment. “…Why are you being so nice to me, anyways?”

“Why?” William blinked, looking shocked as if he hadn’t considered it before.

“Yeah. As far as I can tell, I haven’t met you outside of running into you in the hallway once. Why go out of your way to leave me food and sit by me in the infirmary?”

He finally looked up, his dark blue eyes staring into my own. “…I’m not sure. “ He shrugged. “Whenever I see you, I feel happy. I want to help you.”

I leaned back against the backboard of the infirmary bed. “Well… I guess I could always use a friend.”

“Friends?” A trace of a smile crossed his face, before it disappeared into expressionless once more. “Really?”

“Yeah. So let me introduce myself officially, Prince William.” I started to reach out a hand to shake, but remembering his barrier, I pulled it back. “I’m Alaira. Level S Guardian but unable to match, and your new friend.”

He stared at my hand with a look of regret before looking back up. “I’m a Level S Connector… but can’t connect. I’m your new friend… “ He hesitated. “Can you call me a nickname instead?”

“Sure.”

“Then call me… Liam.”

_________________________

“Are you lost?” I woke up in a strange world to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, laying on my back, confused.

“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I stared into a pair of dark blue eyes, smiling despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”

He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, Liam.”

_________________________

I blinked away the memory, smiling at the timid young man in front of me. “Nice to meet you… Liam.”

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Do you think that if Shredder!Raph will occur in rottmnt, the aftermath might result in Raph inheriting some of Shredder’s rage even after saved? Maybe that is how the crew is going to implement Raph’s trademark temper throughout previous generations and maybe even make him have to step down due to it, making Leo the new leader?

Short answer: “Inheriting the rage of a centuries-old demon" is a dope-ass idea, so if you’re a writer I would definitely encourage you to use that in your own stuff. But I think that if Raph’s temper worsens throughout the show, it should be because of his own character development and not a magical effect. However, a Shredder!Raph scenario could contribute to said worsening temper by inflicting emotional/psychological damage instead. :)

Long answer ahoy!

Looking at “Many Unhappy Returns” from the Shredder’s perspective makes it very clear why he does what he does. Like, he’s been dead for five hundred years, and then something went wrong with his resurrection. He’s waking up with no idea where he is or what’s going on and oh shit those guys are pointing weapons at him, that’s a threat!

Note that he doesn’t even bolt for them immediately, he does a warning stomp and screech (back off!) before starting to approach.

Those other guys are yelling, that’s also a threat,

and they’re closer so he’s gonna attack them first, actually. (None of the Foot wind up even comically injured, suggesting that flailing them around was an intimidation tactic rather than genuine Murderous Intent.)

And then the first group attacks, so of course he’s going to retaliate.

And then suddenly he’s somewhere else, with other threats (the animatronics), and then the first group that attacked him is back, so he’s gonna fight them again.

And these jerks just keep following him? He’s not going to ignore that. And WOW that’s a lot of bright lights and loud noises, which are also threats, what the fuck is going on?!

And then this tiny human girl chucks a giant metal box at him, holy SHIT?! Sure, the Shredder is a dangerous antagonist, but at this point I wouldn’t call him a “bad guy”, he’s literally just responding to what’s happening to him.

In summary, the Shredder was stressed tf out because he didn’t know where he was or what was happening, he retaliated against perceived threats, and quite possibly wouldn’t have attacked the turtles in the first place if they hadn’t just rushed in without understanding the situation.

Gosh, doesn’t that sound familiar?

So yeah, I’m waiting for Rise to give us that good good Shredder!Raph content.

As for the possibility of Leo taking over afterwards... no, but also yes, sort of? On the one hand, we know that Leo does have leadership capabilities, and it would be a waste for the narrative to not explore that. On the other hand, Rise has broken from the status quo in many ways, and it would also be a waste for the show to do a complete 180 and return to Leo Being The Leader™.

Consider how the “leader” role has influenced Leo in past iterations: his perfectionism wears on him and his brothers, any failure tanks his self-esteem, he feels isolated from the rest due to taking on such a large share of responsibility, being an authority figure grinds everyone’s gears, etc. It’s just bad for his mental health.

No doubt all this responsibility will also wear on Rise!Raph as the story progresses and the stakes get higher. It will be bad for him as well. But if Raph steps down, Leo will once again suffer from the weight of this role. So if neither option is quite correct, if neither brother can shoulder the burden of leadership alone, then the solution is just... for neither of them to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. Sure, Raph will probably remain leader in title and in spirit, but Leo taking on a sort of “deputy” role makes sense from a strategic standpoint, and would be good for his character development.

Here’s how I think it could go down:

The Shredder!Raph scenario will be different from the Shredder!Draxum scenario. The Shredder was starved for mystic energy the first time around, so he immediately chewed Draxum up and spit him out. But Raph could be compared more to a battery than a meal; it will take a while for the Shredder to drain him. And at this point the Shredder could be back in “evil samurai” mode, and thus will understand the value of holding Raph hostage.

Y’all who have followed my blog for a bit know about my “Raph is a system” theory; that when he was little, he got separated from his family and pursued by some cryptid hunter. This trauma formed Savage Raph, who is able to handle “being lost/alone/threatened” when Host Raph cannot. “Pizza Puffs” didn’t give us a lot of info about who I’m calling “Red Raph”, but he made his presence known when Host Raph was sort of... "emotionally alone”? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and too stoned to care.

So if Raph is trapped inside a living cage, scared and helpless and hurt and exhausted, his family unable to help him... he’s not going to be able to handle it.

Or, rather, Host Raph isn’t going to be able to handle it.

These two can, though.

I’m imagining a scene in the mindscape where the Shredder says something like “Your pathetic family cannot bear to strike you down, and so there is nothing that can stand in m- wait, why are there three of you OW FUCK-” Red and Savage will mentally kick his ass long enough for the other turtles to rip off a chunk of the armor so Leo can portal it into another dimension or something. Shredder gets K.O.’d since he’s not whole anymore, and the battle is won.

Since the armor didn’t drain Raph as severely as it did Draxum, he won’t become as weak as Draxum did. However, it will still take him some time to recover. Raph trusts Leo in serious moments as of “Many Unhappy Returns”, and he already took charge when Raph wasn’t available back in “Man vs. Sewer”. So Raph will be like, “Hey Leo, can you handle the Mad Dogs for a bit? Just long enough for me to get back on my feet.” And Leo will be like, “Sure bro, I’ve got this.”

He does not, in fact, “got this”. Leo’s ego has caused trouble before (”Shell in a Cell”, “Minotaur Maze”), and being in charge will no doubt go to his head. This has the potential for both comedy and seriousness, leading to wacky mishaps and genuine danger. Being the leader is hard work and it’s not always fun, but someone has to do it and Leo will have to put the others before himself for it to get done. Once Leo realizes this, he could bond with Raph by asking for his advice on leadership. Sometimes Leo will follow the advice and sometimes he won’t, sometimes that will work out and sometimes it won’t, laying the foundation for the idea that there are situations where it will be better for one or the other to lead, rather than having one lead all the time. But that will only happen for a few episodes, because Raph will heal quickly and he’ll be the leader again and everything will be fine!

Everything will not, in fact, be fine. Raph is the strongest in the family, the tank, the one who can take a hit so the smaller ones don’t have to... the idea of being hurt, of being weak, scares him because his family is also in danger if he’s unwell. So I don’t think he’ll acknowledge to anyone, not even himself, that getting possessed hurt him emotionally as well as physically. And when a wound isn’t acknowledged, it doesn’t get tended to, and when a wound isn’t tended to, it gets worse.

That he’s a system will add another layer of complexity to this. The Shredder!Raph incident would make all the alters aware of each other via mindscape shenanigans, but it would also leave them with the fear of not being in control, so I think they’ll come in conflict with each other for a bit. They’ll argue with themselves, switch, and lose time more often, enough that it impedes their ability to function and the other characters start to notice something is wrong.

Host Raph will convince himself that Everything Is Fine and try to get things “back to normal”, which probably means he’s just straight-up not going to acknowledge that he's a system. He’ll rationalize that he’s always “gotten weird” from time to time, so it’s nothing to think too hard about... right?

Savage Raph will be on high alert because they just survived a near-death (a near soul-destroying) experience. He’ll probably take the front and go overboard fighting some villains that Host Raph could have ordinarily fought on his own. It might also take a while to convince Savage Raph that these “sewer monsters” who keep following him around really don’t mean him any harm.

Red Raph will get snappy (pardon the pun) about the more social aspect of “not being in control”; that Host Raph asked Leo to be in charge and then Leo started being an egotistical dumbass. And when Leo does make the right decisions, Donnie and Mikey might side with him over Raph, and that will also grind his gears.

Mix all that together and you have a recipe for a capital b Breakdown.

So yeah, I can definitely see how the Shredder!Raph incident and its aftermath would worsen all three of their tempers, trauma will fuck up your emotions real bad. Perhaps Host Raph loses faith in himself and tries to step down and get Leo to replace him as leader... only for Leo to be like “Bro I cannot do this full time I will one hundred percent have my own Breakdown if that happens.”

The life lessons here are that Leo learns to offer support by sometimes taking the leader role; not to benefit his own ego, but because he wants to help Raph. And Raph learns to accept support by letting Leo be in charge sometimes; not because he’s weak or incapable, but because he can’t always be a Staunch Immovable Rock and he needs to let himself rest by trusting Leo.

And then the Raphs can work on communicating, cooperating, letting their allies know about them, digging into their trauma, etc. now that they have some breathing room.

(Do you think the Hidden City has therapists? Steven Universe and Mao Mao both have therapists can we BLEASE get one for Raph.)

[meetthetank]

Starved

Rating: General AudiencesArchive Warning: No Archive Warnings ApplyCategory: F/M Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Relationships: Steve Burnside/Claire Redfield, Steve Burnside & Alexia Ashford (kind of) Characters: Steve Burnside, Claire Redfield, Alexia Ashford (kind of), Jill Valentine Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Post RE Rev2, Therapy Group - Freeform, Read A/N for more context, Steve is a sad sad man who missed out on A Lot, Angst, Subtle love languages Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232369 Summary: Months after being rescued from his second island prison, Steve Burnside tries to adjust to a normal life while dealing with the scars left both physically and mentally. Luckily, he has some help. Notes: Sooooooooo here's the thing. There were worms in my brain. Real bad. So this is like... a manifestation of a longfic that I want to write later down the road. Some things to know before going in. 1) Steve revived on an island meant to store "failed" B.O.W. experiments that was left abandoned. He was there for a year and some change. 2) Allie is a child clone of Alexia who was in the same facility and befriended him. They live together and Steve is her legal guardian. 3) Jill runs a victims of B.O.W. experimentation which includes Steve, Manuela, Sherry, herself, and some others. I think that's everything but if yall have anymore questions feel free to ask. This is incredibly self indulgent to write but I hope you guys enjoy it too. 

“Please stop pacing,” Allie sighs, “You look like a caged beast.”

Steve glares at the child, a clone of the insane woman who killed him, as she sips her tea at the other side of their flat. She glares back, her hazel eyes sharp as ever. She’s waiting for him to retort so she can shoot him down with a smart ass remark like a shark circling a drowning bird. When all she gets is an indignant huff she sips her tea and rolls her eyes.

“You do this every time she comes over. If she didn’t run away at the first sight of your ghastly visage she’s not going to run now.”

Steve sighs, “Yeah, but-“

“What absurd thing are you putting in your own head this time?” Allie snaps, setting her dainty pink teacup next to her stuffed dragon, “You’re going to stink up the room if you think too hard.”

He tunes out the insults with a scowl, but Steve knows the kid is right. He’s thinking way too much about this. Claire didn’t run away screaming the first time they met since he came back, she’s not going to do it for the seventh.

Even still, as Steve passes by the mirror in the front room he jumps at his own reflection. The person inside doesn’t look like him, it doesn’t feel like him. Their ginger hair isn’t wild and tangled, it’s washed, brushed and tied up in a small ponytail. Their shocking green eyes aren’t sunken into their sockets, and there’s a splash of red sunburn on their skin. He can even see a smattering of freckles across their nose and cheeks. They look like a stranger, but the deep, ragged scars across his face remind him of his past. The biggest and ugliest of the marks starts well above his hairline, drops down over his right eye and curls over his lips. A few smaller ones run across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, but they aren’t nearly as deep.

He always thought scars were sexy when he was a kid. Manly. The marks of some action hero or badass. Now they just… Make him look tired and scared.

A small hand grabs onto one of his. “Did you take your medicine today?” Allie asks without a trace of her previous vitriol.

Steve shakes his head. “I’m out of the anxiety pills. Ms. Valentine said she’s going to bring them over when she comes to pick you up.”

“Okay.” Allie says with a curt nod.

“You got everything for your field trip?” Steve meanders over to the kitchen again, eager to change the subject.

“Can I have some spending money?”

He raises an eyebrow, “How much and what for?”

“Fifty for museum books.” Allie puts her hands on her hips and glares up at her guardian with defiance sparkling in her eyes.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, “Twenty.”

Allie lifts her chin, “Forty-five.”

“Thirty.”

“Forty-five and I buy you a cool rock from the Natural History Museum.”

“Deal.”

With negotiations done (and Steve down forty-five bucks) the only thing left to do is wait. He switches the tv on to drown out his own thoughts. Some hockey game. It’s not his team so he doesn’t care too much, but it’s a comforting familiarity. At least sports didn’t change too much since ‘98.

Steve let’s himself zone out as much as he can to the game. At one point he thinks about getting a beer but decides against it. He’d probably have one or two with Claire at dinner. That, and his meds don’t mix well with alcohol if he hasn’t eaten. So instead he bounces his leg, bites his nails, and busies his hands with whatever he can reach.

Did he used to be like this? It’s hard for him to remember past his awakening and even harder to think past Rockfort. He was a neurotic mess out of necessity on the Storage Facility Island, a place where any sound could be death, and Rockfort was a similar story with the addition of his teenage bravado, but before he was taken? He barely remembers what his parents looked like, let alone what social masks he had to put on. Steve lets out a long, quiet sigh. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s like this now, and that’s all he needs to know. At least now he has a support system.

Just as Steve starts to calm down, the doorbell rings.

He jumps out of his chair and bolts to the front door, heart in his throat and stomach upside down. His hands begin to shake as he reaches for the knob-

“Hi, Steve.”

“Oh,” Steve sighs, a bit too loudly judging by the way the visitor raises an eyebrow, “Hey, Jill.”

She gives him a warm, knowing smile as she fumbles with her shoulder bag. “Claire coming over today?”

“Yeah.” Steve scratches the back of his neck, “That easy to tell?”

Jill laughs, “Careful now, Redfields can smell fear.” She hands him a paper bag from the local drugstore, “Here. I know you said you were out of the anxiety meds, but I got everything refilled for you.”

“Oh! Uh, thanks!” He tosses the bag across the room to the chair he had just left. “So what museums are you hitting today?”

“All depends on our little cruise director.” Jill says with a small laugh, “Speaking of-”

Allie brushes past Steve, the charms on her backpack jingling with each step. “Air and Space and Botanical Gardens! Oh, and Natural History too. I promised I’d buy Steve a cool rock.”

“Easily bribed, I see.” Jill smirks at him quickly, then turns her attention back to Allie, “Sounds like a deal, kiddo.”

Eager to get on her way, Allie all but jumps out of the door and runs to where two more members of their little therapy group, Manuela and Sherry, wait. Both women greet her with smiles and hugs, and she wastes no time in launching into sharing things she had learned since the last time they had spoken.

“I’d stick around,” Jill says as she backtracks to the group, “But I feel like if I wait any longer there’s going to be a mutiny.”

The rumbling of a motorcycle echoes down the street, and Jill turns back to Steve with a quick smirk.

“Besides, you have company.”

Jill darts over to the group, casting a wave back to Steve and over to the biker before motioning to the ladies to begin their trek. Steve watches with wide eyes and a thundering heart as the biker dismounts and pulls off their helmet, revealing short auburn hair and stunning blue eyes. She gathers up a few plastic bags from her bike before jogging over to him, while he stands there like a deer in headlights.

“Hey, Steve!” She says with a bright, radiant smile and shoves some of her bags in his hands.

“W- Hey, Claire.” He fumbles with the grocery bags, “What’s all this?”

“Dinner. Figured making our own burgers would be better than ordering out.” Claire explains and shuffles inside the door as Steve moves aside for her. “And more fun.”

Though Steve can’t deny her claim, he also can’t fight the apprehension that coils in his stomach. He can cook, sure, he had to or die on the island, but he has no idea how to use any of the kitchen gadgets Jill’s group and Terra-Save set him up with. None of it is as simple as a slapdash firepit and some scraps of metal. Maybe if he’s lucky Claire will know what to do and he can just chop vegetables or something. The last thing he wants to do is make more of a fool of himself.

“Uh, sure!” He blinks his thoughts away, shuts the door and retrieves his bag of medicine from the chair.

By the time Steve turns back towards his kitchen, Claire is already busy setting up groceries and making herself at home. He watches her take off her heavy bomber jacket, revealing a thinner red and black flannel, and set it on the back of a chair at the kitchen table. She drops her plastic bags on the counter and grabs a beer out of his fridge; she looks like she’s been coming here for months. Something about the image before him makes Steve’s chest tighten. He’s not sure if it’s a bad feeling or not.

“-Steve?”

“Huh?” He snaps out of his stupor with a jolt.

Claire wiggles the opened bottle in her hand, “Did you want one?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” He stammers and rubs the back of his neck but walks across the room to take the beer. Maybe he did need something to settle his nerves after all.

Claire smiles at him like she’s known him all his life, like she knows what’s going on in his head and she understands why he’s so awkward and nervous around her. What was it that Jill said before? Redfields can smell fear? He knows it’s a joke but the way Claire seems to understand his fidgeting and hesitation leaves him wondering if there’s some kind of truth to it. A few gulps of beer (technically a hard cider, his first beer made him vomit) gives him enough bravado to at least go into the small kitchen with her.

Thankfully, she doesn’t ask him to work any of the gadgets. Claire’s hands glide over buttons and knobs, setting temperatures on his stove and placing pans. She directs Steve to break the ingredients out of the bags. Ground beef, cheese, brioche buns, vegetables, and a myriad of spices.

“This is a lot for just burgers, isn’t it?” He asks, mouth full of stolen tomato.

“Come on now, you know I wouldn’t do just burgers.” Claire laughs a bit, a sound that makes Steve’s heart stop. “This is an ancient Redfield family recipe.”

“Should I be worried?” Steve can’t help but smile back. She has this way about her that makes him feel lighter, like everything takes a backseat to just… being around her. He can joke, come out of his shell a little. She won’t hurt him.

Claire giggles at him, “It’s the way our dad used to make them. Chris held onto the secret ingredient till he was… Thirty something I think. I basically had to interrogate him for it.”

He raises an eyebrow and grins devilishly, “So...what’s the secret?”

“Oh, just a blend of spices.” She shrugs, “Nothing that inventive. But it’s special to Chris, so don’t go telling him I told you.”

Claire winks at him then turns back to mashing the ground beef into patties, leaving Steve to gawk at her. She’s delightfully impish when she wants to be, he can see himself getting into all sorts of flirtatious teasing matches with her… if he weren’t so weird. She directs him to chop up the tomatoes and onions after she catches him staring, again with a playful smirk and slug to his shoulder.

Something he had to become good at while on that remote island, alone aside from Allie and the wild B.O.Ws, was how to observe. The more he watches Claire out of his peripheral, the more she reveals to him. He watches the way her face falls as she focuses on the burger patties, as if she gets lost in her own thoughts and forgets where she is for a split second. It isn’t hard for him to see the sadness she hides from the world, it’s the same kind as one he carries. The reason Steve still roots for his hockey team, or even still watches the sport is because it reminds him of his dad. It’s the last connection he still has to his late father, and of a time mostly lost to him. He feels more special than he should that Claire would choose to share something like that with him.

Suddenly a sharp pain shoots up Steve’s arm. He drops the knife, now streaked with red and pulls his hand close to his chest with a hiss. His heart races and his eyes dart around, searching for other dangers in the area. Anything might be lurking in the shadows waiting to take advantage of his weakness. He scans back and forth for threats, eyes wide and alert. Nothing catches his attention except-

“Steve?! What happened?”

Claire drops her own knife and rushes over to him overcome with worry, but stops in her tracks when Steve backs away from her. He looks like a frightened animal, eyes wild and darting to anything that moves even the slightest bit.

“Did you cut your hand open?”

Her voice is soft and gentle as she approaches, hands low and outstretched to him. She doesn’t step closer, she waits for him to bridge the gap. Steve can see the caution in her face. Like she’s trying to coax a stray kitten out of hiding.

It works.

“Y-yeah,” Steve says, dropping the tension in his body a little. “I uh, wasn’t paying attention and… I guess it slipped.”

He opens his hand enough for Claire to see the small streaks of red that pool beneath his thumb. It’s superficial, barely deep enough to scar. The virus would already be hard at work stitching the burst blood vessels together, but he should still clean and bandage it. He has a bad habit of picking at the scaly scabs that form over wounds.

“Are you okay?” Claire asks, taking a small step forward. The gap between them is barely a foot wide. “That looks like it’s bleeding a lot.”

As Steve starts to relax further, Claire’s fingertips brush against his hand for a split second. The shock is enough to send him reeling back, his heart leaping into his throat. His instincts tell him to run and hide or fight his way to a safe place. Somehow he finds the self control to speak.

“No!” He yelps, loud enough to startle Claire. He lowers his voice but takes another step back. “No, I got it. It’s fine.”

He doesn’t stick around long. He can’t bear the worried, somewhat hurt, look on Claire’s face. Steve hurries into the bathroom around the corner and shuts the door before the fear and guilt tear him to pieces from the inside out. With trembling hands he turns on the sink faucet and lets icy water run over his open wound. It stings a little, but nothing he can’t endure. The excess blood trickles down the drain and vanishes in seconds. Just as he thought, the cut isn’t deep at all. That eases his anxieties somewhat, but not enough to stop the oncoming panic attack. Before it overtakes him, he wraps a washcloth around his hand to contain the blood as best he can.

Steve sinks to the floor and puts his head between his knees. It’s a struggle but he forces himself to take deep even breaths, just like Jill had taught the group. Though his head still spins, it helps to calm his heartbeat enough that it doesn’t feel like he’s about to have a heart attack. The trembling stops once he lets his consciousness fade to survival mode; he only thinks about his breathing and that he is safe.

Claire isn’t going to hurt him. No one is. He’s safe here. He’s safe with her.

Claire isn’t going to hurt him.

The world slows down, finally. Steve isn’t sure how long he’s been here but it can’t have been too long. Claire hasn’t come knocking on the door looking for him yet, and the savory scents of meat and spices being seared drifts in from the kitchen. His stomach tightens at the smell, helping to distract him further. Though his whole body feels heavy and drained of energy, Steve finds the strength to push himself to his feet once again. He cleans the now dried blood off of his hand, sloppily wraps his hand with a bandage, and dumps the rag he was holding into the wastebin before leaving the sanctuary of the bathroom.

When Steve returns to the kitchen, he expects Claire to rush at him and assault him with questions, but the only question is in her eyes. Wide, blue, and deeply worried about him. She doesn’t say anything or move to approach him, she only watches and waits for him to be ready. The way her brow creases and turns upwards at the ends make her look guilty, and that sends a pain through his gut he can’t identify right away.

“All good.” He announces, showing off his slapdash bandages. “It’s not deep. Just wanna keep it from getting dirty. And keep myself from picking at a scab.”

Claire looks at him with such intensity that Steve almost shrinks back from her gaze. It’s like she’s staring right through him.

“You sure?” she asks, keeping her voice low and gentle.

The genuine worry throws Steve for a loop. “Yeah.” He flashes her a wry, lopsided smile full of false confidence; as if he didn’t just have a panic attack. “I’ve had a lot worse.”

Claire studies him for a moment, then scoffs and shakes her head. A small grin finally appears on her face and it takes his breath away. “Yeah, I was there for some of those.”

She turns back to finishing up dinner. A shadow crosses her face as she grills the burger buns as a final touch, but it’s gone in a flash. Steve busies himself with getting drinks and plates, and thinking of something to say that might distract Claire from whatever sadness is eating away at her.

“You’ve had a lot worse than that.” He says with a grin, and immediately regrets it. Why did he think it’d be a good idea to bring back those kinds of memories?!

But Claire turns around and smiles broadly at him. “Oh you have no idea.” She drops a plate of burgers and a plate of toppings on the table, then as if to give Steve another heart attack, she props her leg up on the chair and rolls up one of her pant legs. A long, wide scar follows the length of her toned calf. Tan with age and wear, it stands out against her pale skin.

“This was from the Tyrant in Raccoon City.” She smirks, almost proud of her scar. “I was lucky it didn’t hit bone with how deep it was.”

There’s an edge to her voice, testing him. Teasing him. Steve grins. If Claire wants to have a scar battle, then he’s more than happy to show off.

He points to the largest scar on his face, “I got this from-...” Shit, he can’t tell her it was from falling down a mountain. That’s not cool. “...I got it from this big… Turtle thing.”

Claire raises an eyebrow at him, “Turtle thing?”

The lie spins out of control in his head, faster than he can stop. “Yeah! It was like...a big armored reptile B.O.W. Had these nasty claws for diggin’ in the ground. I got too close to it and it swatted at me. I’m lucky I didn’t lose this eye.”

He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest a bit. He can’t pinpoint why showing off his trauma like this makes him happy. Maybe he’s just happy to share it at all. It doesn’t matter to him now. Claire is smiling. He’s smiling.

They go back and forth, showing each other their scars and places where bones were broken while eating homemade burgers and fries. Claire shocks Steve with just how many scars and injuries she suffered over her years of fighting bioterrorism, and he astounds her with his stories of his misadventures on the B.O.W. storage island and his encounters with all manner of beasts. Watching her listen to him with such fervor and interest almost makes him forget how horrific it all was. It helps in a weird way.

But that changes in an instant.

When it’s his turn to point out a scar and tell a story, he stops thinking. He lifts up his shirt, exposing the most gruesome scar on his body with an excited grin. A scar that stretches from his collarbone and disappears beneath the waistband of his pants, with dots alongside it on either side. Instead of a jagged outline like the scars left by accidents and B.O.W’s, this one is straight, clean. Surgical.

“This one was from when they autopsied me.” He explains, far too excited about the grim display he presents Claire. “It still itches like hell where the staples were-”

Steve snaps to reality once he looks up to see Claire’s awestruck face. Instead of excitement, it’s horror. Her hands cover her mouth and her eyes, brimming with barely restrained tears, lock onto his stomach and a wound so old he had almost forgotten about it. Beneath the autopsy scar, beneath the scars from man-made beasts, there’s a circular mark a similar color to the scar on Claire’s leg. It’s old, faded, but still aches from how deep the tissue reaches inside him. The gravity of the old wound may be lost on him, buried under the countless others that mar his body, but it’s fresh and raw to Claire.

He hastily pulls his shirt down, “Shit- I’m sorry, I didn’t-... I forgot that…” There’s nothing he can say that will ease her mind. He reaches out to her with one hand, stopping just by her arm before pulling back and sinking back into his chair. Another muttered apology falls from his lips as he hangs his head in shame.

He doesn’t notice Claire get up and cross the gap to him. Not until she takes a knee in front of him and brushes his unruly hair out of his eyes.

Claire’s touch is feather light and tender, but even that sends shocks through his skin. It jolts him out of his shamed stupor, and Claire pulls her hand back a few inches. Her expression is something he can’t make out. Somewhere between pity, sadness, and guilt. Before Steve can properly figure out what she’s thinking (something he’s never been good at) Claire runs her thumb across the large scar on his face, slowly and gently. He doesn’t flinch away from her this time. Then, something mundane yet earth shattering to this broken man out of time happens. Claire cups his scarred, stubble covered cheek in her hand.

Something breaks within him. A dam he didn’t know existed anymore that kept everything back, every trauma, every broken piece of him; some of which he didn’t even know were broken. Claire’s hand, her warm hand marred by callouses but still soft despite it all, molds to the contours of his face. There’s such tenderness, unrestrained kindness in her eyes and her touch and he can’t fathom how it can be directed to him. He doesn’t notice the tears in his eyes until they spill over.

Steve tries to calm himself with deep breaths but they come out stuttered and shaking. His shoulders heave, a lump in his throat chokes him. He screws his eyes shut, trying to shut out the vision of someone caring about him that deeply, but she’s still there. He can still see those piercing blue eyes boring into his soul and reading him like an open book. The moment Steve opens his eyes he sees the blurred outline of Claire Redfield wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

He wants to yell at her to leave, to tell her that he’s a lost cause and there’s no helping him. He’s too damaged, too broken. He’ll never have a normal life. He’ll never be able to pretend he isn’t a monster. He will never be able to have meaningful relationships. But all that comes out of his mouth is a broken, choked sob. Someone is touching him, someone cares about him. And he can’t understand it.

Despite himself, Steve pulls Claire into a tight embrace and sobs into her shoulder. Her fingers run through his hair, while her other hand rubs his quaking back. Steve can’t stem the tears, that’s a feat that even a mighty Redfield can’t achieve, but he can’t deny that simply being in Claire’s arms replaces despair with a strange warmth. For the first time he can remember, he feels...safe.

Eventually, the tears stop, and Steve is able to breath easily again. Claire doesn’t let him go for a minute and for that he silently thanks her. It isn’t until he begins to pull away that she too lets her arms down and pulls back from him.

“I’m sorry…” he mutters, wiping the stray tears from his eyes, “I don’t-”

“Shut up.” Claire commands and takes Steve’s hands from his face. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Darkness crosses her face for a moment. “I should be the one apologizing… I know you-... It’s hard after a while, not being… Not having human contact like that for a while. It’s not something they tell you about in therapy.”

Steve shakes his head, “I needed it. I really… Really did.” He sighs, “I...I didn’t know how much I...everything… still hurts.”

With that same kind smile, Claire leans forward and kisses his forehead. “It takes a lot of strength to admit you’re hurting that much. Give yourself some credit.”

“Maybe…” he says with a sad smile. “... Thank you, Claire. For everything.”

She takes his hand in hers, tracing the callouses and scars with her thumb. “Thank you for coming back.”

[banashee]

i"I have way too many stories already planned" I said. “I can’t write in multiple fandoms at once, it will throw me off” I said. “OK so I’ll just get this out of my system real quick” I said. “Well shit, I’ve gotten more ideas now that I’ve started…” I said, determinded to face it - I have a problem. Just a small one… Who am I kidding. Send help.

Also, this is the first time I’ve written for this fandom. I’ve loved and enjoyed TMA for a while now, not just the pod but also fanworks. And now I’m joining in on the fun and you folks will have to deal with it :D ♥

This story got inspired by a conversation on Reddit with Swiftysmoon. Thank you very much for the inspo! This one is for you :)

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edit. sorry about the missing ReadMore cut, Tumblr is programmed like a pile of garbage and removed it after I edited a typo...I’ve added it back in now.

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please mind the tags and warnings

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 Into the Void

Truth be told, Jon never planned on this to happen. Of course not - it is ridiculous and more than a little embarrassing, but he can’t help himself.

See, the thing is, Jon is a restless, anxious person in general. He’ll hide away in his office for hours, typing away or recording statements in solitude, only interrupted when someone actually wants something from him. That, or when Martin brings him yet another cup of tea, checking if he’s still alive or starved to death on his desk.

No kidding - Martin had told him this, once, and although he’d been half-joking at the time, the underlying message had been very clear.

‘Please take care of yourself, you worry me.’ - it had been oddly sweet, and Jon still has no idea how to even react to this kindness.

But the thing is - Jon has nervous habits. While his mind is wandering and he is buried neck-deep in his work, he tends to fiddle. Mostly with pens, or anything else he can reach on his desk. That would be fine - no one notices it, unless they stand right next to him. But Jon had almost choked on the pen he’d been chewing on, lost in thoughts while reading his notes, omn more than one occasion. Mostly thanks to Tim bursting into the room like the whirlwind he is.

For one, Tim Stoker just doesn’t knock. Ever. He enters a room as loud and cheerful as he does anything else, and it can be a bit unnerving. Still, he somehow manages to be a professional and be really good at his job. That and the fact that there is  ‘Chaos’ written all over him makes for an odd combination sometimes, but they’re all somewhat used to this.

So, when Tim suddenly sticks his head into the room with a cheerfully casual

“Hey, Boss!”

Jon startles and nearly stabs himself in the throat with a pen while he scrambles to make it look like he  didn’t chew on it the entire time. He needs to preserve some sort of professionalism around here, even though he feels a little bit lost sometimes.

He glares halfheartedly, trying to keep whatever is left of his composure in place. Tim shoots him a bright smile with finger guns, then he rattles off the information that Jon had asked him for not long ago.

Thankful that he doesn’t have to explain himself, Jon launches onto it.

      As time goes on, things around the institute get more and more weird. One thing adds to the other, and suddenly, they’re at war against worms all over the place. They spend their days at the institute armed with fire extinguishers and in Martin’s case, a corkscrew. Martin even lives there now, which adds a whole different level to it all.

Really, it is not surprising that they rarely ever get any outside visitors down in the archives. They have a bit of a reputation for being weird, and truth be told, Jon can’t find any fault in the people who assume that. If he wasn’t involved - if he didn’t  know  what lurks out there, in the shadows, he’d have thought the same.

Pushing his own dismissive, sceptic act is getting harder and harder these days, but it doesn’t stop Jon from trying.

Even after Jane Prentiss’ attack, Jon tries to keep up that act. It’s clearly faltering now, though, which may or may not be partially due to the fact that he confessed to Martin that yes, he does believe and he is terrified. It’s been an awkward conversation, to say the least, and not just because Jon pretty much asked if Martin was a ghost and despite Martin stabbing him with the corkscrew. To be fair, he’d apologized profusely for that, and while Jon is not happy about it, he is thankful for his attempt to get the damn worms out of him. Just thinking about it still makes him shudder, makes him lay awake at night.

On the plus side, their team in the archives has grown much closer to one another - it eases the anxiety and paranoia, just a bit.

      Jon finds himself busy, not to say, utterly distracted. Time flies, and he takes even less care of himself than he did before. He practically lives off tea, and whatever food is offered where Martin, Tim and Sasha drag him along to.

Jon acts prickly and annoyed as always, but in reality, he appreciates their efforts. Lord knows, he isn’t sure he deserves this kindness, but he still makes an effort. These three people are all he’s got, after all. They’re the only group of allies who have any sort of idea what is really going on in the archives, and that alone is enough to have him lower his walls just a bit.

One day, Jon keeps blowing an annoying, grey-streaked strand of his otherwise dark hair out of his face. He didn’t have the time or energy to get a haircut lately - there are much more pressing matters to take care of. But his hair is currently at the awkward in-between length that he hated years ago, when he decided to grow it out. He’d kept it long, up until shortly before his promotion to head archivist. Only then he parted with the shoulder length ponytail in an attempt to be perceived as more professional.

It doesn’t feel right - never did. And as much as he hates the annoying strands falling in his face, it makes him feel like he is back on the way to himself. Or at least as much as he can these days.

Especially in the face of, well, everything else, it is a small comfort. Right now though, Jon is annoyed - he takes a pen from his desk, and sticks it behind his ear to hold back the constantly falling piece of hair - it works.

Jon only notices the pen again when he is about to go to bed that night - he huffs, places it onto the small desk in his bedroom and then crawls under the covers. Once he is in bed, Jon is waiting for the insomnia and the nightmares to keep him awake, despite his best attempts to fall asleep.

He is long used to both, but the last few months have been significantly more stressful.

The next day, Jon is exhausted. He barely makes it into the kitchen for some coffee, then he drives to the institute, the pen forgotten back home. Oh well - he’ll bring it back in another day - no big deal.

Except, it becomes a Thing, with a capital T.

Jon is chewing on and fumbling with his pens as usual, recording statement after statement and doesn’t exactly realize what he is doing. He hides away, until one of the others drags him away from the desk for inconvenient human needs like food and company, but really, he goes willingly now. All he needs is a small reminder.

The bit of human warmth and company means a lot to Jon, and he soaks it up as much as he allows himself to. Trusting people is a struggle for him. His relationship with each and every coworker is definitely a work in progress, but he is willing to try, anyway.

One night, Martin points to the side of Jon’s neck in quiet amusement.

“Oh, you’ve got ink on you - yes, right there.” he touches the spot behind his own ear. Jon blinks, and when he tries to wipe it away, his hand comes away with yet another goddamn pen.

It joins a small pile of accidentally stolen pens on Jon’s desk back home - he’s been meaning to bring them back ages ago, but he keeps forgetting. At this point, he refuses to drop them all off at once, because that would definitely catch someone’s attention - and attention is the last thing he wants right now. Add in the fact that this is, well, ridiculous and embarrassing… No. Just no.

Jon looks around the room, heat creeping up his face even though there is no one around to look at and judge him - then he opens an empty drawer in his desk. The pens disappear with one swift movement of his arm before Jon slams the drawer shut. There - done.

And this is how, what Jon secretly calls his “Desk Drawer of Shame”, comes into existence.

      Occasionally, a small handful of pens will make its way back into the archives. But at this point, they’re way, way too many to bring back at once, at least not without pissing off Elias. That is, if he isn’t chuckling at the ridiculous and mysteriously high cost of office supplies in the last few months.

At the very least, Jon would be at the receiving end of some good natured ribbing from his coworkers in the foreseeable future.

Jon is reading the last few lines of a statement, when the door to his office opens up after a quick knock. He looks up with a frown, which is more habit than anything at this point, and quickly drops his feet back on the ground. At least, he isn’t chewing on a pen this time.

Standing in the doorway, shooting him a small smile, is Martin and he is waiting for Jon to finish recording the last few lines. Only when the familiar

“Statement ends.” marks the end of the recording session, he starts talking.

“Hi! Uh, did you have lunch yet?”

Jon didn’t, and Martin knows it, but he is trying to go the polite route before his motherhen-mode is activated and he physically drags the man away from the desk in an attempt to make him take a break.

So, Jon smiles back, which still feels a bit foreign in a work context, but he secretly enjoys the spark of happiness on Martin’s face when he does. Not like he focuses on that or anything…

“No, I- I didn’t. Did you have something in mind?” he asks as he gets up and pulls his jacket from the back of his chair. It’s a welcome distraction from his work.

Jon didn’t sleep, again, and he can tell that he is getting sloppy and way more irritable than usual. Chances are, getting a bite to eat and spending some time out of the institute with a friend will do him some good.

On the way out, Jon falls comfortably into step with Martin. Plenty of thoughts cross his mind, and he chooses to ignore all of them. In fact, he’d been so busy staring up at a cluster of freckles on Martin’s cheek that he doesn’t even notice what he tells him about the little café that he was planning to visit. Only when he stops talking, obviously waiting for an answer, Jon nods, hoping that Martin actually asked him a yes-or-no question.

For now, it seems to be enough, and they enjoy their lunch break. Jon is still lost in thoughts though.

That night, he is unable to sleep once again, as his mind keeps him wide awake and Jon is shaking apart under the blanket. There are two new pens on his desk, and it feels like they’re glaring at him. It’s ridiculous - they really are the least of his worries. Jon is just distracted, that’s all.

      There is ink on his neck. Again. Jon swipes at it in mild annoyance, inwardly cursing himself for being so careless. His movement catches Tim’s attention, and then his eyes wander to the pen that is stuck halfway to Jon’s ponytail - it’s for convenience, really - but it’s clearly the cause for the ink scribbles on his skin.

Tim puts the pieces together and grins. He is way too easily amused about this, but to be fair, they get their laughs whenever they can these days. And this is still much better than the silent, angry version of Tim that tends to come out more and more and the last few months. At least, when he’s laughing, he isn’t that.

Small favors.

      The more distracted Jon grows, and the longer his hair gets, the more pens he keeps losing - or more like, forgetting - in it.

He doesn’t realize that he is doing it, really, until someone - mostly Martin or Tim these days, because Sasha is (gone) (different ) absent - walks up and plucks one of the pens right out of his hair in order to use it. Jon should be annoyed, but he can’t bring himself to be. It’s oddly comforting that the two of them are still willing to seek him out. Because that’s what this is - there are plenty of pens around, of course.

There is no need to come into his office, to come close to him just to get office supplies. They’re here because they want to, and that honestly means the world to Jon.

As much as he’d tried to keep them at arm’s length, he’s failed miserably. Thankfully so - things would be much, much worse if they had to deal with everything on their own.

      “Hang on - how many bloody pens are in there?” Martin asks one day, calling over from the other room. He looks up in utter confusion while already cracking up with  laughter.

“Wait, are those-?”

Oh goddammit.

Apparently, that’s what happens when Jon answers absentmindedly when asked for the location of a pen in his apartment.

He needs to renovate his kitchen, because the landlord just won’t do it in any reasonable amount of time, so Jon is in old jeans and an even older T-shirt, packing dishes and kitchenware into boxes with Martin and Tim. The two of them had been kind enough to offer help, so that’s why they’re all piled in Jon’s small apartment on a Saturday morning.

Partway through, they realize that they should probably label the boxes, and soon after, Martin stands in the bedroom, opening not the stationary drawer, but The Secret Drawer of Shame With Accidentally Stolen Pens From The Institute.

“Oh, good lord.” With an audible ‘thump’, Jons forehead collides with the kitchen table. His glasses sit crooked now, and he doesn’t lift his head up while he tries to explain, and despite being flustered, he manages to keep that certain tone of voice that’s usually reserved for work hours.

“I, yes. I may have accidentally taken a pen or two with me and only realized it here. Coming back into work with all of them at once seemed… well. Not ideal at the time.”

“No wonder when you keep storing them in your hair.” Martin comes back, with a handful of pens and a bright smile.

While walking past, he pulls another pen out of Jon’s bun, just to prove his point. A long strand of hair slips forward and falls back into Jon’s face. Meanwhile, Tim has snuck off to peek into the other room out of pure curiosity, then he proceeds to laugh his arse off for the next few minutes.

“You know, we should make it a sport at this point. How much stationary supplies can we steal until Elias catches wind of it?” Tim offers, because of course he does.

It is ridiculous and childish, so naturally, it quickly becomes A Thing.

Anything to get a tiny bit of satisfaction is a valid option at this point, and besides, it’s not like Jon is trying to be sneaky or anything. It just happens , like so many things these days.

      As it turns out, Elias doesn’t care. None of them is stupid enough to assume he doesn’t know - the bastard knows everything, that’s part of their problem. He just never calls any of them out on it - if it is because it’s too unimportant or if he is getting a chuckle out of it as well, they never find out.

At some point, late at night when all three of them had a few drinks, they’re brave enough to joke about what fear entity would be responsible for a never ending void filled with pens (“A.K.A you desk drawer of shame, Jon. Have another drink, you’re annoyingly sober for this conversation.”)

It’s a half-serious debate, and one which they continue every once in a while. Most notably so at the institute’s christmas party, huddled in a corner where they’re mostly being left alone. And if that is mostly due to Jon glaring holes through anyone daring to come close, just a hair away from actually hissing and snarling, well. He didn’t get his reputation of being rude and prickly for nothing.

      All of this turns into fond memories, once everything has gone to hell.

Jon is freshly awake from six months of coma, and the world around him has changed. Martin is barely around and Tim is  dead . So is Sasha, even though they never knew, for the longest time.

All of this hurts badly enough to stop him from breathing every once in a while, and after a series of even more tangled and unfortunate events, Jon finds himself huddled close to Martin on a train.

They’re on their way to Scotland and neither of them talks much, but they’re unwilling to let go of the other’s hand. The air is chilly, even inside the wagon, and Martin is still shivering under layers of jumpers and jackets.

The Lonely has settled deep into his bones, and sometimes, it’s like he is fading away again. Every time this happens, the steady warmth of Jon keeps pulling him back.

Jons hand is smaller and bonier in Martin’s own large, soft hand, but it’s grip is steady and warm. His thumb keeps stroking gently over the back of his hand while he is holding it, and it is the most loved Martin has felt in a long time.

Eventually, he manages to relax enough to doze off for a bit. While his head find’s it’s way down and onto Jon’s shoulder, he can feel the slight poke of a plastic pen that is sticking out of his hair.

Martin almost smiles, and squeezes back when Jon tightens the grip around his hand and settles against him.

    They keep finding the damn things around the safehouse, because frankly, they’re everywhere. And that’s just whatever Jon had on his person out of sheer habit. Lord knows, his hair has grown way past his shoulders by now, and more often than not, he keeps it up and out of the way with whatever is around him at the time.

Mostly, it’s pens.

At first, they’re just  there , and both Jon and Martin have about a million other things to think of and to deal with than a few too many office supplies laying around.

The exhaustion, both physically and emotionally, leaves them absolutely drained and dead to the world.

It is bad enough so that they crawl into bed almost as soon as they have arrived and inspected the small cabin. The question of whether or not they’re going to share the bed isn’t even raised - neither of them is willing to let go of the other. All the way from London to up here, they’d held hands to reassure themselves that they wouldn’t lose each other, and they’re not about to stop now.

It is a lot easier to remind each other that they’re not alone when all they need to do is focus on the breath and heartbeat of one another. Focusing on the heat radiating under the blankets, where they are embracing throughout the night to keep the nightmares and the ever growing anxiety at bay.

They have plenty of bad days when everything just creeps up at them and even talking is too much. Those days, they spend curled up in front of the fire or in bed, holding on tight for as long as they need to in order to feel more alive again.

After a while, they’re able to relax more. Martin is much warmer and solid now, doesn’t fade away into the fog without noticing. It’s happening less and less now - whether or not he will be able to shake off The Lonely entirely, neither of them knows, but he is happy about every step in the other direction.

Jon is just as happy to see him doing better, and he tells him as much over breakfast, smiling as he tangles their legs under the table.

There are two pens already stuck in his hair, holding it up in two buns. It’s probably from when he read a statement from the stack of files and tapes that Basira sent over the other day.

The statement has definitely taken the edge off of things for Jon. Now he can sit at the kitchen table with his boyfriend and enjoy a cup of tea instead of growing weaker and weaker with hunger for statements. As ironic as it is, it makes him feel more human, even though he is no longer fully human. He’s pretty sure of it.

“I love you.” Martin tells him, because it is true and he likes saying it as often as possible, now that he can. It sends a spark of warm happiness through his chest, and it is bright enough to chase away the cold fog that’s still lingering sometimes - just for a bit.

“I love you, too.”

He’ll never get tired of hearing this.

“I love you” they say, as they drink tea in the morning and eat freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven.

“I love you” they say, as they walk hand in hand through the cobblestone streets down in the village, on their way to buy groceries and look at the little local shops.

“I love you” they say, as they step around each other in the tiny kitchen while cooking dinner, distracting one another with kisses until one of them remembers the food or notices the charred smell of something burning. It’s only then that they break apart, cursing and laughing all at once.

“I love you” they say, as they spend nights wide awake, holding on tightly through their grief and fear. They say it out loud or whisper it into the darkness, comforting one another as best as they can.

“I love you”, they whisper through silence and tears, but they say it just as much through smiles and laughter.

“I love you” they say, after every single argument. Their love for each other is strong, so much so that they’re certain they will be able to figure out the rest. Whether that’s the end of the world as they know it or anything else doesn’t matter.

“I love you” Martin says, after he walks up behind Jon and plucks one of the pens out of his hair. There are at least two more, and besides, Martin woke up this morning with a few lines of poetry in the back of his mind. He wants to write them down before he forgets - maybe, just maybe, he can  turn them into  something beautiful.

“I love you.” Jon says, and he pulls Martin closer by the front of his pyjama shirt, turning around just enough to be able to press a quick kiss to his lips. The movement leaves them both in an awkward position, hanging over the back of the sofa with their glasses askew.

Martin has one of his arms wrapped around Jon, who is holding on tight, happily leaning into him with a quiet, happy satisfaction on his face. Clearly, he is enjoying this an awful lot.

No doubt, if it wasn’t for the hold onto the sofa Martin has with his other, he’d have toppled over and fallen right into the smaller man’s lap. And maybe that’s exactly what Jon is trying to do - who knows. He is way more affectionate than either of them would have thought possible, really.

They remain wrapped up in the tight hug, and neither of them wants to let go yet.

                                     Notes:  

Warnings: - Off-screen canon character death mentioned - insecurity - Loneliness - Trust issues - if you want me to add anything please let me know

[neocity-sarai]

Borderlands [PART 2]

❃ pairing: reader x mark lee, reader x haechan, (divergent au!)

❃ alerts: making out, suggestive content, language, violence/ injuries, blood, torture, angst

❃ song rec: no promises by cheat codes ft. demi lovato

After shooting a few guards in the legs, you manage to get past the corridors inside the border wall. Exiting out one door by shooting off the lock, you find yourself at the edge of a forest. It’s safe to say that you’ve never imagined what outside of the wall would look like since it’s forbidden for anyone to venture there-- that is, unless you’re exiled. Only those who disobey the system have been exiled to the borderlands, wandering where no one has returned from to speak about it. Though Abnegation ran most of the government, as selfless as they are, they still played by the rules. This is something Erudite wanted divine control over, monopolization of the other factions. And now, Erudite has succeeded. They must have overthrown Amity by now. Out of all the factions, Erudite had always been aggressive due to the fact they put their members upon the highest pedestal- claiming their intelligence to be unmatched by any other faction. Most of the time, the claim was correct.

You try to recall Mark’s words, any hints for where the resistance could be. All he had said was to follow the tracks, which you did by riding the train to the border. Your head throbs from dehydration, you press your fingers on your temple to massage it. It’s not a surprise that no one you knew had much of an idea when it came to the resistance- it was treated like an old myth that didn’t exist. Even if people knew about it, who knows what would happen to them if Erudite found out the factions wanted to deflect. No one wanted to take the risk. You didn’t have any food or water with you either, not even another set of clothes. There’s no turning back now. 

Treading through the green foliage, the borderlands already seem more interesting than the center of Chicago.You run your hand along tree branches that stick out in your path, the color of the grass making you want to collapse on it. Taking note of how the sunlight shines through the canopy above you, the leaves rustle in the breeze a bit. You actually appreciated this change in scenery, it seemed more peaceful than Erudite’s headquarters for sure. Deciding to push forward, what seems like minutes turns into hours. You’re unsure of where you’re heading as you mindlessly follow one direction in hopes of finding any clues along the way. You feel your stomach growl from hunger and your feet ache from walking on your worn soles. By now, the sun has gone down and has faded beyond the horizon, leaving a darkening sky in its wake. Too tired to continue, you decide to climb a nearby tree in a clearing so you can progress on in the morning. Grappling your hands onto the lowest branch, you hoist yourself up by placing your foot on another branch before making your way up to the top of the tree. When you perch yourself on the thickest branch, your back placed to the tree trunk, you exhale into the cold air. Your warm breath slightly creates a vapor cloud, your hands rubbing against the sides of your arms. Staring out from your place, you take note of how the trees rustle in the wind and how the birds occasionally chirp- it’s serene yet lonely. 

This time, your heart cracks when you remember the agony, the fear on Mark’s face when you left him. You sigh at the memory of the gun between his fingers, the feel of his panicked and desperate kiss, and the scrunch of his brows when he pushes you away. You miss him. You miss your family and you miss Dauntless. What can you do now? What if the resistance is just some hoax? Everything you knew could be potentially destroyed, you don’t even know if anyone is alive. No. Erudite as a faction is manipulative, they wouldn’t kill people before getting information out of them. Still, the dark thought of a bullet going through Mark’s heart makes you sick. You sweep the thought away. Tears threatening to form in your eyes, you shut them to sleep. 

When you wake, you swear you’ll fall from the force that’s shaking the base of the tree. Steadying yourself on the branch, you look down to see a german shepherd growling at you, it’s paws scratching at the cedar bark. You hear a voice, it makes you jump from the sound as you watch a boy call out to the dog that threatens to pounce at you any moment.

“Rex! Buddy, why are you barking so much?”

Looking down, you meet eyes with a surprisingly attractive boy. You take note of his frame and the way his coffee brown eyes inquisitive scan you, his mahogany locks swept over his forehead. His skin is beautiful. Even in the early morning, the sky a pale periwinkle, his skin glows like honey. His features are sharp, the curve of his nose and his eyes stand out to you- your eyes glued to the plumpness of his lips, bottom lip stained pink. 

“Who might you be? Why are you in a tree?”

At first, you forget where you are. Shaking your head, you reply to him, “I didn’t feel safe sleeping on the ground.”

The boy smirks at you, his tongue pressing against his inner cheek, “Yeah- Rex would’ve  mangled you.”

You smile slightly, still perched on the tree branch you fell asleep on. Haechan leans down to rub Rex’s chest, his collar making a clink noise when Rex falls flat on his back as if he’s asking the boy for a belly rub. He coos at Rex, obliging him.

You ask, “Rex would mangle me?”

The boy looks up at you again, his eyes rounded, “If I told him to. Still, your face is too pretty to be mangled.”

Feeling your breath hitch in your throat, you freeze at the boy’s sudden compliment. Was he flirting with you? No, you weren’t going to feed into it when you have one mission only- to get Mark back. No distractions. 

“Thank you?”

The boy nods, “You can come down from there, Rex and I won’t bite.”

You look down at the ground, reluctantly attempting to lower yourself branch by branch- easier said than done, it’s easier to go up than come down. The boy runs a hand through his long, dark locks, “Do you need help?”

Though you shake your head, you still struggle. He chuckles at you, a smirk gracing his lips. He holds out his arms, “Just jump, I’ll catch you.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

He shakes his head, “Just trust me.”

“Why should I trust someone I just met?”

“Do you have food up there? Water? Clothes?”

“Well, no-”

He laughs, “I know. I’m your best shot.”

If the boy is planning to murder you know, you’ll just try to dash away. No point in starving up in a  tree. Crouching on the branch, you jump off- a yell slipping through your throat before feeling a pair of arms securely catch you. When you open your eyes, the boy grins at you as his teeth gleam between his lips, “What an introduction hm?”

You try to ignore the erratic beating of your heart, chills scattering down your spine when you feel the boy’s fingers tight around your waist. He’s even more handsome up close. 

He cocks an eyebrow up at you, “The name’s Haechan. You are?”

“Um, y/n.”

Haechan lets out a huff when you detach from him, your hand flat on his chest. Scanning your figure up and down, Haechan speaks, “Well, y/n, why are you here?”

“I’m on a mission. I’m in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

From there, you decide to trust Haechan. You can only try your best to make allies at this point. You tell him about Chicago's faction system and how Erudite took your home away from you. You tell him about Jeanine and her plans to control people’s minds. Shockingly, Haechan does not seem surprised at all. Clicking his tongue, Haechan scoffs, “Sounds like Jeanine.”

“You know her?”

“I lived in the city once. I had a home and a family.”

Your reaction to his statement is beyond shock, you’re afraid of what he might say. 

Haechan continues, his expression turns serious, “I was born in Candor. My family raised me in the Candor sector of the city. On the day of my aptitude test, the administrator told me that I needed to tell people I would be sorted into Candor during my choosing ceremony. Her face told me that being sorted into Candor was a lie. On the day of my choosing ceremony, some Dauntless guards had a warrant to search my house. My mom hid me in the closet near our back door while she went to go talk to the guards. All I could see was that she was deflecting some accusations and then they killed her. They killed her right in front of me. They shot her with no hesitation. Upstairs, I heard my dad protesting about something, then I heard another gunshot. They didn’t find me in the closet- I hid inside the wall, the panel that could become dislodged. When I sat in the closet, I didn’t want to see my parents dead in my house. Then, some Dauntless trainee swung the closet door on me,  I was so sure that I was dead right there. Instead, he told me to go beyond the wall. And that’s what I did.”

You were sure that your jaw was completely open, no words came when you tried to speak.

“I’m so sorry. Haechan, I’m so sorry.”

Haechan shakes his head at you before leaning down to attach Rex’s leash to his collar, “No need. It was a long time ago. Besides, it’s Jeanine. Erudite has always wanted total control over every faction and it’s members. It’s why I left- the system of being controlled by someone else who isn’t me. I didn’t feel like myself.”

“So you’ve been out here all the time alone?”

Haechan laughs, “I’ve got Rex. I’m not alone. I also never mentioned that I’m a part of something bigger.”

“What are you talking about?”

A sinister grin grows on Haechan’s face, “Resistance, you say? If it’s rebellion you want, I can take you there.”

After letting Haechan and Rex lead you through the woods, you come to a secluded area that’s surrounded by large trees. By now, you’re far from the border wall- miles and miles away from the city entrance. In the middle of the grassy clearing stands a large compound tower, people standing as armed guards around the perimeters and around the terraces. It’s bigger than you had ever imagined, your eyes widen at the sight of the resistance headquarters. It’s real. Haechan turns to you, “Welcome to the Arms of Arson.”

Some of the guards raise their guns at you, their eyes angry and wild with danger- you imagine in your head how it would be if one of them accidentally fired. Haechan protectively puts him behind you, “Whoa fellas, she’s with me. No need to worry, I’m taking her to Evelyn.”

You breathe out, grateful that Haechan can vouch for you. Walking in, it’s a messier version of the Pit at Dauntless. The tower reaches many circular stories, people watching your every move like hawks. As you walk through the many stalls of street vendors or through the crowds of people who are busy either shining their weapons or conversing with each other, cups of liquid in hand, you keep close to Haechan out of fear. When you take the elevator up to the uppermost floor, Haechan leads you into a suite that’s adequately decorated with red wallpaper and wooden features. A woman walks out from another part of the room, a shorter woman than Haechan, her crimson hair tied into a loose bun. Her skin is a milky yet pale color, darker freckles dot her cheeks like constellations. She wears a sage green tank top and black leggings.

 “Well, hello Haechan and Rex.”

“Evelyn, this is y/n. I thought you’d want to meet her.”

The woman called Evelyn holds out her hand, her eyes hollow chestnuts, “Evelyn. What brings you here y/n?”

“I need your help. Please.”

“What, might I ask?”

From there, you begin to explain the story from the very start- how Jeanine had planned to overthrow the faction system all along. How she put all of Dauntless under a premeditated simulation and how you ran all the way beyond the border to find her. Luckily, you ran into Haechan. Once you’re finished, Evelyn nods at you before sweeping a hair behind her ear, “Y/n. I am very pleased that you came all the way here to find us. But, I am afraid we cannot help you.”

You feel your heart sink with disappointment. At this point, you’re ready to start begging. “Evelyn, please hear me out. Erudite took my family away, they took Dauntless and will control all the other factions- it’ll be chaos.”

Evelyn pulls out a chair from her dining table before plopping herself onto it, “I hear you y/n but there’s a reason why we formed the Arms of Arson. We’ve abstained from the faction system because we are not who they want- we refuse to fit in their mold. I won’t risk everything I’ve built just to save your family and the system that brought down my own.”

You realize you can’t convince Evelyn any further. There has to be another way. Evelyn places a warm hand onto yours, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. But, I’m sorry.”

Thanking her, you muster a kind smile before exiting out of her suite with Haechan. 

“Maybe I should’ve told you to not get your hopes up, Evelyn doesn’t really abandon a thought when her mind is set on it.”

You shake your head, “No, I wouldn’t risk my people for one person’s family either. I shouldn’t have been so naive.”

When you look up to meet Haechan’s eyes, they’re round and concerned. He motions at you, “I can show you around?”

“I’d like that.”

First, Haechan takes you to his suite on the 7th floor. It’s a similar layout to Evelyn’s, except the room’s walls are plastered with grungy posters and old book pages that are torn at the edges. It includes a small kitchen and a bathroom, it’s similar to your Dauntless suite but less neat and less homier. By the wall is Haechan’s bed, his black sheets in a messy pile by his pillows. He runs over to his bed in a hurried pace, fumbling with the comforter. Rex runs over to his own bed, plopping into the soft cushion of it. 

“Ah, sorry about the mess. I was in a rush this morning.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay, I’m like that too.”

That night, Haechan leads you to the cafeteria on the base of the tower, stalls filled with all different kinds of food. He shoves a metal tray into your hands as he talks to the cooks behind the stalls, placing all different arrays of food onto your plate. When your tray is filled, you both sit at an empty table in the seating area- Haechan scarfing down his wedged potatoes and spaghetti like a carnivorous bear. You stare at him, fork in hand, “How does one eat that much?”

“I’m still growing, I gotta eat.”

You eye him skeptically, “Slow down though or you’ll choke.”

Of course, He doesn’t listen. After Haechan satiates his hunger, he looks up at you from his food, “So, what faction were you in?”

You answer him, setting down your cup, “Dauntless born and raised. I was one of the leaders.”

“You sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I mean, you said you clearly weren’t controlled by the sim. That can only mean one thing. What did you get on your aptitude test?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I got Dauntless.”

Haechan narrows his eyes at you as he continues to slurp his noodles, “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“You’re divergent- isn’t that obvious?”

You practically spit out your broccoli, “Me? Are you serious?”

“Gross y/n, keep your food in your mouth! Of course I’m being serious.”

Using your thumb to wipe your lip, you shake your head vigorously, “There’s no way I’m divergent. I know what my results were.”

With his mouthful, Haechan rolls his eyes, “Suit yourself sweetheart. There’s no denying it later.”

You scoff at him, stuffing a piece of bread into your mouth. Once dinner is over, you follow Haechan back up to his suite again.

Your voice comes out more timid that you’d like, “So.. where do I sleep?”

Haechan cocks an eyebrow up at you, tilting his head, “Because I’m a gentleman, you’re taking the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“I’d feel bad, Why can’t I just take another room?”

“We’ve been growing in numbers, there’s not enough rooms. Mine will have to do.”

There’s no use arguing when Haechan’s the one that’s brought you here in the first place. Turning off the late, you slip into Haechan’s bed- it smells nice for a maturing boy that’s probably hormonal. It smells sweet like cinnamon and peppercorns, it feels nice when you sink into the pillows. You watch Haechan spread down a blanket and a few pillows on the cold flooring before lying down. He turns on his side, “Night y/n.”

“Good night Haechan.”

You tell him good night but you can’t sleep. There’s too many thoughts running around in your head, if your family is okay? Is Mark even alive? It feels wrong to be sleeping in another boy’s bed. It’s just for a couple nights. If Evelyn won’t help, who would? 

“You’re not asleep, are you?”

You freeze in your spot, shifting your eyes to Haechan as he has his elbows propped up, bright eyes staring right back at you. Sitting up, you face him, “Can’t really sleep when so many things are on my mind.”

Haechan bites his lip before scratching the bridge of his nose, “Well, when I can’t sleep at night- I think of the good things I can do tomorrow.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I always take Rex out and we pretend like we’re adventurers out in the open. Evelyn’s tasked us with charting the area.”

You laugh at the thought. It’s oddly comforting. With the mention of Rex’s name, he sleepily meanders towards Haechan before collapsing his snout onto the boy’s chest. Haechan runs his fingers through Rex’s fur, snores rumbling from the dog’s throat. 

You lie back again, staring up at the ceiling, “If I was still back in the city, I’d be training a class of initiates right now. That is, if Jeanine hadn’t taken over Dauntless.”

“You’re a Dauntless leader right?”

“I am. I was?”

“You must be pretty tough then. Not anyone can be Dauntless leadership.”

“I mean, a lot more people had stronger skills than me- but I still don’t like to short change myself. Not to brag but, I was top of my class.”

Haechan smiles at you through the dark, “Ah, I should keep my eye on you- all I ask is don’t karate chop me in the back in exchange for my bed.”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re the one I should keep an eye on. I have a feeling you’re stronger than you look.”

The both of you erupt into laughter, tossing pillows at each other and dodging them at the same time. 

“Alright y/n, get some rest now. We can pillow fight in the morning.”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up, Haechan.”

When you turn on your side to face away from him, you can’t help but smile. Haechan had distracted you for a moment. Even so, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to Mark. 

In the morning, you’re awakened by Rex’s slimy tongue on your cheek- it makes you grimace but smile a little. “Hey, Rex! Who’s a good boy?”

Rex pokes you with his snout as you run your fingers over his ears, his collar jingling. When you look around the room, you don’t see Haechan. Like a cue on time, you see Haechan open his door, plate of breakfast in hand as you sit up to greet him.

“Where’d you go?”

“I went get you breakfast, they don’t have orderly lines around here.”

On the plate are eggs, bacon, and two pieces of toast. You let out a comforted sigh when you sink your teeth into the buttered bread, “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You silently eat, Haechan holding back Rex so he doesn’t attack you for the steaming bacon on your plate. Haechan gazes back at you, “I’m thinking you should come with me and Rex today.”

Setting your fork down, you nod, “I’m open to the idea. It’s not like I have anywhere to go anyway.”

After getting dressed into a new set of clothes, you, Haechan, and Rex set off on your scouting trip. Walking beside Haechan, you feel safer. Your pistol is fastened to your belt and Haechan has his rifle, if anyone would try to come near- you both could defend yourselves. Haechan leads the way, letting Rex sniff around leaf litter and debris. 

“Haechan, can I ask you something?”

“What is it y/n?”

“Why are you helping me?”

Haechan stops walking to look back at you, the sunlight highlighting his face through the lush foliage, “Because I want to.”

“That’s all?”

Haechan sighs, “Even though those guards murdered my family because of me, that trainee led me to the Arms of Arson. I was just a kid. I saw you needed my help, I wanted to help you because I don’t want you to suffer like I could have- like I did.”

You nod, “I just wanted thank you. I’m sorry about your family. But, still, thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it y/n.”

You continue to walk together, disappearing into the vermillion and sage storm of green, sticks crunching under your steps as you go. 

4 weeks

After a while, you almost felt indebted to Haechan. Remembering how he took you in under his wing and led you the Arms of Arson, it made you feel thankful. Rather than wandering the woods alone with no food or water, you learned the ways in which the rebels did things. It was similar to Dauntless- the way they would station people around the perimeter and people on the rooftop of the base in case of any surprise attacks. Of course, the Arms was ruled under Evelyn- an ex-member of Abnegation leadership. Haechan told you during dinner that she once was one of the highest ranking leaders until she started harboring divergent. Her twin sister was divergent as well. Erudite slaughtered her before she could get there in time. As a result of her grief, she crafted a device to obliterate part of Erudite’s headquarters in which she succeeded. Luckily, she was able to flee and start her own resistance. Evelyn’s work stands as a symbol of self- preservation of one’s soul and one’s thoughts, rather than being controlled from within the system. You admire her. As time goes by, you feel yourself becoming closer to Haechan than you had imagined. You began to discover comfort from Haechan’s teasing humor and his childish insults. You, Haechan, and Rex would sit together until you both fell asleep- Haechan’s dramatic snores making you chuckle. Some days, you and Haechan would steal your favorite foods for each other even if you got scolded by the cooks. He would dance with you in his suite, a vinyl record spinning on the old player. There were days where you would let Haechan sleep on the bed next to you instead of the ground- it was cold there and you knew that. You trusted him.  You’d even help him scout the area too, reporting any signs of faction soldiers near the border to Evelyn. Maybe you were wrong but, it seemed like Evelyn was warming up to you. Small smiles and hands on shoulders, it could do no harm that Evelyn trusted you. 

One day, Haechan, you, and Rex headed out and set out to explore more of the south. While you were waiting for Haechan to fill up his canteen by a nearby river, a mountain cougar had revealed itself behind some juniper trees, it’s eyes glowing like marigold beads, it’s teeth glinting under the sunlight. It bared it’s fangs as you held Rex by his leash, the cougar wasting no time to leap at the german shepherd. Without thinking, you screamed- the cougar clawing at Rex’s thrashing figure only a few feet away. You felt at your belt for your hand gun, it was nowhere to be seen. You had left it on your nightstand absentmindedly. Like an immediate instinct, you grabbed a thick tree branch that had fallen near the trunk of one of the trees before you swung it into the face of the cougar. The cougar’s eyes turned angry, a terrifying noise slipping from its throat. Now, you’re seeing stars. The lion had leaped at you, your back smacking hard on a rock that lay on the dried grass. Groaning in pain, you roll over in an attempt to avoid the maddened carnivore, it’s claws raking a deep wound into the side of your arm. You scream, blood trailing down your skin- the smell of spilt iron makes you grimace. You had your fair share of near death experiences, though you never thought you’d be killed by a mountain cougar. You cover your face with your fists, knocking your hands anywhere you could feel. Then, a gunshot rings in the air powerfully, cutting all of the noise. The cougar’s eyes go cold, it’s figure falling lifeless on top of your chest. You feel blood stain your shirt, a boy running towards your place in a hurried pace as he uses his leg to push off the cougar’s body. A pair of hands grab your face, Haechan’s hair messy and mussed, his eyes dark with fear, “Are you fucking serious?”

You’re at a loss for words, you stammer over them, “I’m not- I tried to save Rex and the cougar-”

Haechan sounds breathless, his rifle clattering to the ground when he kneels by you, “I was gone for two fucking seconds and you almost died! How am I supposed to know you can protect yourself?! Didn’t you say you were a Dauntless leader?!”

“I’m sorry! I realized I left my gone back at the base and I couldn’t just let Rex get attacked!”

You feel a rush of wind, Haechan collapsing into your chest as his face is buried into your shoulder. He whimpers, “Don’t fucking do that to me. Please, y/n.”

You sit there in shock, your eyes flickering to the boy that’s so close to you. You stroke his hair, resting your chin on top of his head, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

Repeating your apologies like a mantra, you turn your head to see Rex lying unmoving by the cougar’s carcass. You shake Haechan’s shoulder, “Rex- We need to go check on Rex-”

Haechan looks up, his figure tripping to reach his beloved companion. When you stand beside Haechan, you see a carved wound near Rex’s hind leg, blood staining Rex’s beige-colored fur. 

“We have to get him back to base now!”

You don’t have to ask Haechan twice before he scoops up his best friend in his arms and bolts towards the direction of the Arms. Busting through the door, the people part a path for you both to make your way- handing off Rex to a team of medical assistants. Not that they looked official but it was your only viable option. As the assistants cleaned Rex’s wound and dressed it, a shorter woman had told you and Haechan to rest for the night and that Rex showed promise in surviving. You and Haechan let out a sigh of relief, your hands barely brushing together. 

By the time you made your way back to Haechan’s suite, you slump against the door. Haechan swivels to look at you, sensing your immediate body language. Without any words exchanged, he could tell you felt bad. Sighing, you can’t even face him.

“Look, I-I k-know that if you never want to speak to me again, I completely understand. If I wasn’t stupid and more prepared, Rex would’ve been-”

Before you can say anything else, Haechan moves dangerously close to your face, his height towering over yours. He leans down at you, his eyes flicking to your eyes and then to the point of your lips. You breathe in, Haechan crashing his lips onto yours. It’s a new sensation as he leans his forehead onto yours. When he pulls away, his voice comes out in a husky whisper, “I don’t want to ever lose you.”

Pulling him down once more, Haechan molds his lips onto yours, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You feel your body burn with heat, Haechan’s knee between your legs. Your knees feel like jello whenever you’re around him, his scent wafting to your nose again. He trails his lips to your neck, biting hard on your skin- it makes you yelp, a hand flying to your mouth because of it. Haechan takes his own hand to remove the one that’s clamped on your mouth, he whispers in your ear, “I want to hear you say my name.”

You’re sure that the blush on your cheeks is as red as a rose, you nod at his request. Shutting his eyes, Haechan continues to move his soft lips along your shoulder. 

“Haechan-”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

Haechan laughs at your neediness, “Say that again.”

You stare back at Haechan incredulously, his hands combing back the crest of his mahogany hair. 

“I told you to kiss me.”

Haechan gives you a smirk, his tongue pressing against his inner cheek, “Remember that you asked me princess.”

With sudden force, Haechan lifts you from your position before carrying you onto the bed, his lips landing on yours aggressively. Your hand moves to the hairs on his nape, pulling them back enough for him to moan against your lips. Haechan moves his palms against the side of your arm, detaching from you immediately.

You start to panic, “I-is t-there something wrong?”

He stares at his hand, dried blood staining his skin rouge. 

“Y/n, you’re hurt.”

You look down and touch the wound that stings on your arm- one you hadn’t noticed through the chaos. You shake your head, “It’s just a scratch- I’m fine.”

When you snap your head up, Haechan’s already walking to get the first aid kit. He pulls out cotton swabs, cleaning fluid, and bandages to lay out on the bed. You let him take care of you, a hiss sounding between your lips when the rubbing alcohol makes contact with your injury. 

“Mr. cougar did a number on you, huh?”

You roll your eyes, “Not funny Haechan.”

“What? I’m just saying.”

When he’s done cleaning up and putting the kit away, he sits on his bed beside you. He raises an eyebrow, “Now where were we?”

You scoff at him, slapping his chest, “Gross, don’t say that.”

Haechan mocks you, his lips upturned in a smile, “But, seriously.”

Laughing, you giggle, “I’m a bit tired now- let’s go to bed-”

Instead, Haechan pulls you into his lap, both of your legs straddling his. You sit there in shock, your arms resting on his shoulders, “Someone’s needy.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me.”

Haechan kisses you once more, his desperation readable on his face. He knits his eyebrows together, his lips taste like mango juice  as he moves his hand to cup your jaw. Pulling back, your chests are flushed together, panting for air as you bore your eyes into his. He reaches for the hem of his shirt- ripping it off in one go before tossing away to the ground. You gasp a little when Haechan fingers the hem of your own sweater. You comply with him, Haechan groaning from the growing sensation rising between his hips.

“Holy shit, y/n.”

You blush at it, you’re unsure if you should move or if you should do something. You just stay with where you are. Haechan cranes his neck to kiss your collarbone, making your thoughts disappear as they come, “L-listen-n..”

Haechan kisses the valley between your breasts, “What y/n?”

You moan, gripping Haechan’s shoulders to steady yourself. He moves back up, planting a kiss behind your ear, “What do you want to say y/n?”

You huff, “I-I don’t-”

Haechan’s teeth graze the lobe of your ear, “I-I don’t w-want to go too fast-t.”

“Tell me to stop then.”

You can’t bring yourself to take yourself out of the desire. You can’t tell him no. You squeeze your eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of Haechan’s touch everywhere on your skin. But then, it stops. Opening your eyes, you see Haechan staring back at you with a serious expression. He moves you off his lap as if he hadn’t enticed you just seconds ago, “There’s something I need to tell you though.”

You nod, pushing a hair back behind your ear, “What is it?”

“I spoke with Evelyn yesterday. After gaining a lot more recruits, she thinks we’re big enough to help you now.”

“Wait- what are you talking about?”

“We’re big enough to damage the faction system.”

“Haechan, I don’t understand.”

“Evelyn and the Arms plans to overtake Chicago. We leave tomorrow morning.”

Suddenly, you’re not sure whether to feel grateful or scared. You feel your heart sink, the thought that you’re here safe with Haechan and how Mark and your family could be hurt, or worse dead. Mark. Mark Lee, the boy whom you loved. The first boy you said it to. You feel dirty. You feel terrified. Do you love Haechan? Do you have a right to? You blink at him, your fingers begin to shake, “What does Evelyn plan to do? What happened to me asking for help when I first got here?”

Haechan leans back on the bed, running a hand through his hair again, “The plan was revenge. Evelyn crafted the Arms so we could take back the city and bring down the system.”

“What’s going to happen to the innocents who live there?”

“I don’t know but most likely, Evelyn will kill off the people she sees fit.”

This isn’t what you wanted. You wanted Evelyn to help, not to obliterate and destroy the only home you’ve ever known. It wasn’t realistic for you to believe she’d just help you and be done with it.

“Did you know?”

Haechan shifts his gaze to you, his fingers picking at a loose thread on the seam of his comforter, “I knew. I knew the moment I stepped foot here.”

You bite your lip at his response, you never wanted this. You never wanted to see a war between those who chose to live in order and those who felt like they were discarded by a system. The amount of destruction and bloodshed would haunt you with nightmares.

“What do you have to do with this? It’s Evelyn’s revenge isn’t it?”

“Evelyn’s like a mom to me. When I had no one, she found me and took me in. It’s my duty to follow her where she wants me to follow. The system killed divergents like Evelyn’s sister, they killed my parents in order to get me- a lowly divergent they can’t control. Her goal is the same as mine.”

You’re too shocked to answer with your normal laugh. You stare back at the boy beside you. How could you have expected him to choose you over Evelyn? Would this even count as a betrayal? Though Haechan had told you he was divergent long ago, it still made you shiver at the fact you could be the same. It's not like Haechan lied to you. He just swore to Evelyn that he wouldn’t tell you the plans. You felt like an outsider peeking in as if you weren’t supposed to. 

“Won’t you be more at risk if you're divergent? What if you get hurt-”

He shakes his head, cutting you off a bit, “It’s a cause worth dying for if it comes to it. Evelyn’s briefed all of us on what we need to do in case of that. I can’t sit here and do nothing, knowing they took my family away from me.”

You think to yourself, you have no right to stop Haechan or the Arms from doing what they’re about to do when the system’s taken so much from them. Their homes, their loved ones- all stripped away because they couldn’t squish into one category that a test chose for them. Snapping out of your thoughts, Haechan’s voice turns cold. He says defiantly, “The plans are set y/n. You can either stay here or join us. But I have to do this. I have to do this for my parents.”

Slowly, you nod, “I understand.”

You walk over to grab your shirt off the floor, slipping it over your head before shutting off the light. You lay by Haechan, eyes stuck on the ceiling. Sleep was not going to comfort you tonight- that you knew. Haechan turns on to his side to face you, his cheek pressed against his palm, “I want you to stay here.”

“Why the hell would I do that Haechan?”

Haechan’s eyes widen at your sudden indifference in your tone, “Listen, I can’t protect you if I’m fighting out there. I will never forgive myself if you get hurt. I can’t bear to lose you. Hell, I might even love-”

Like ice cutting fire, you hold a finger at him, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Haechan closes his mouth, tensing his body. You continue, “You expect me to sit here and wait for you like a damsel in distress? Those are my people back here- my family, Dauntless, my friends. I don’t need your protection and I sure as hell won’t let you fight my fight for me.”

Huffing, you flip over away from Haechan, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. Haechan moves from his place to connect your body with his, your back pressed firm against his torso. He presses a fleeting kiss to the back of your head, “I’m sorry.”

A tear falls down your face, your nose running a bit. The air around you is cold again, you force yourself to sleep despite all the thoughts that plague your mind. You want to reach out to Haechan, hold him in your arms for one last time. You can’t. The room is too still.

4 weeks earlier [Chicago]

“Let me fucking go! Jeanine!”

The white-haired Erudite woman smiles down at Mark with a snicker on her face, “You’re a foolish child, you know that?”

Mark sits in his steel chair, restrained and bound by leather straps- nothing to do but to stare out of a fiberglass wall like a lab experiment. Mark’s face is bruised, the bridge of his nose is cut too- his eye swollen purple. Erudite members stand around her as they take notes on their glowing, silver pads- whispering to each other softly. 

Jeanine laughs at him, smoothing down her prim proper uniform, “You are quite remarkable Mark. You harbored divergents for years without getting caught and now we find that you’re one yourself, wiggling your way into Dauntless leadership.”

“So what? I don’t fit into one faction and that’s something to kill me for?”

Jeanine raises an eyebrow, “Yes. Humans aren’t meant to have choice. Not in this world. People will obey us without any resistance.”

“So you get a choice and innocents don’t?”

Jeanine’s eyes are calculating and evil, she stares back at Mark like she’s cutting daggers into his soul, “Because I am the ruler. I deserve choice.”

Mark spits against the glass barrier, the color of his saliva is stained with red from blood, “Go to hell!”

Two words come out of Jeanine’s mouth, her lips turned down into a straight line, “Break him.”

“Now?”

“I said do it!”

An Erudite member scampers away, entering the room Mark sits in before stabbing the juncture of his neck with a violet serum. Mark’s head falls limp, groans floating from his lips. His eyes are wide open but at first, they seem unresponsive. Mark twitches a bit, his irises clouded with a violet rim around them. Then, Mark begins to scream. It’s a high pitched shriek, pain overtaking him from his head to his toes, tears streaming down his face. His hair is flat against his forehead, wet from the sweat that beads at his temples. Jeanine begins to chuckle in a malevolent way- enjoying Mark’s painful squirm. Suddenly, he stops struggling. Jeanine taps on the glass, “Mark, dear?”

Mark answers sternly, “Yes, Jeanine?”

“Can you tell me where the divergents are?”

Another Erudite member, a young girl who wears glasses and carries another pad with her treads towards Jeanine. Her voice barely comes out with a squeak, “Miss Jeanine…”

Jeanine barks at the girl, “What do you want? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”

The girl begins to shake, cowering under the taller woman’s gaze, “W-well… I-I just-t wanted to say...y/n’s aptitude results have been recovered.”

Jeanine raises an eyebrow, her pale skin illuminated under the fluorescent lighting, “Oh?”

“Her results are positive for divergent.”

“Well, I’ll be.”

The Erudite younger retracts back behind Jeanine, pushing up her glasses so they don’t fall. Jeanine lets out an amused chuckle, “Change of plans Mark. Can you find y/n and the rest of the divergents?”

“If that is your order.”

“You know what to do then.”

 Mark winces from his body’s reaction to the serum, veins popping out from his temple. The magnetic hold on his soul becomes even stronger, his eyes consumed by an amethyst swirl. He grits his teeth, trying to fight the voice in his head that tells him to let go, to succumb to the force. All Mark can see is Jeanine’s wicked grin, her figure fading from his vision. 

“Your wish is my command.”

[PART 3: Redemption] [PART 1: Simulations]

[mediaeval-muse]

Book Review

The Wolf in the Whale. By Jordanna Max Brodsky. New York: Redhook, 2019.

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction, magical realism

Part of a Series? No

Summary: A sweeping tale of clashing cultures, warring gods, and forbidden love: In 1000 AD, a young Inuit shaman and a Viking warrior become unwilling allies as war breaks out between their peoples and their gods-one that will determine the fate of them all. "There is a very old story, rarely told, of a wolf that runs into the ocean and becomes a whale." Born with the soul of a hunter and the spirit of the Wolf, Omat is destined to follow in her grandfather's footsteps-invoking the spirits of the land, sea, and sky to protect her people. But the gods have stopped listening and Omat's family is starving. Alone at the edge of the world, hope is all they have left. Desperate to save them, Omat journeys across the icy wastes, fighting for survival with every step. When she meets a Viking warrior and his strange new gods, they set in motion a conflict that could shatter her world...or save it.

***Full review under the cut.***

***Mild spoilers in the plot section.***

Content/Trigger Warnings: rape, sexual assault, racism, misogyny, blood, violence, infanticide, slavery

Overview: I’m not an expert on Inuit culture, so if there are any Inuit, Indigenous, or scholarly reviewers out there who can speak more about the representation in this book, I highly recommend listening to them over me. (I am, however, a medievalist, so I can speak to the Norse elements in this book, if desired.)

The Wolf in the Whale is the kind of book that I have wanted for years; one that pushes back against the colonial gaze and gives us a perspective on Vikings from a non-European point of view. Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure if this book did that for me. Brodsky (from her own research note) is not Inuit herself, though she does detail her research process and seems knowledgeable about some aspects of Inuit culture. Combined with some storytelling elements that she included in her tale (such as rape and misogyny), I feel somewhat conflicted about how to rate this book, even as I appreciate what it was trying to do. I think for me, personally, The Wolf in the Whale didn’t do as much interrogation into gender identity as it could have, nor do I think making Inuit spirituality/religion fit into Norse mythology entirely rejects a colonial point of view. I did, however, appreciate the premise and the writing, so I’m giving this book a 3.5 star rating.

Writing: Brodsky’s prose is very literary in tone, and I thought that Brodsky wrote with an easy balance between telling and showing. She uses neither flowery language nor sparse descriptions, and it was easy to visualize what was going on without feeling like everything was being spoon-fed to me. I also think the sentences flowed well and the pace was generally appropriate, and I found it easy to keep reading, even though this book was around 500 pages long.

This book is, however, written in first person, which I personally don’t care for because first person can make some descriptions seem awkward. Brodsky manages to sidestep a lot of awkwardness by using a more literary style, reigning in some emotion to make it feel as if the POV character is retelling their story from a future, detached kind of mental state. So props to her for that.

Plot: The Wolf in the Whale follows Omat, an Inuit girl who is raised as a boy, as they struggle to ensure their family’s survival. Over the course of the novel, Omat encounters food shortages, divine conflicts, and strangers (including other Inuit, Indigenous peoples, and Norsemen), and the majority of the latter half of the book is spent following Omat as they search for their cousin, Kiasik, who has been kidnapped by Norsemen.

In general, I think the structure of the plot worked well. Brodsky divides her book into sections that reflect different conflicts in Omat’s life, and I think the events unfolded in a logical way. I also really enjoyed the valuation of stories (especially when Omat and Brandr, a Viking, bond over storytelling) and the magical realism that gave Omat a connection to the spirit world. I furthermore appreciated that Omat’s story was one of Inuit contact with Vikings; as a medievalist, I’ve studied sagas that this book is loosely based on, and I appreciate the fact that Brodsky represented the Vikings not as heroic explorers, but colonizers and slavers.

I did not, however, enjoy the fact that so much of this book seemed to revolve around misogyny, and I got a weird sense that even though Omat is our POV character, Norse mythology seemed to take center stage when the Vikings showed up. First, the misogyny: I can’t speak to the accuracy of the Inuit stories about their gods and goddesses, nor can I say for certain if Inuit peoples have strict prohibitions against women doing men’s work and vice versa; thus, I can’t say whether the numerous stories about rape or the taboos that Omat is punished for violating are accurate or exaggerated. However, I think I can say that Omat needed to have a much more defined personal journey that didn’t revolve around her disdaining women’s work or being sexually assaulted. As a girl raised as a boy, Omat is incredibly anxious about being perceived as a hunter and a man - to the point where they express a lot of disgust or shame at being seen wearing women’s clothes or doing women’s work. I think there’s a way to explore Omat’s gender anxiety without denigrating the role women play in Inuit culture, as without women’s work, everyone would die. To be fair, Omat does learn to appreciate women’s roles over time, but I think that process needed to be more gradual and punctuated with plot points where a woman’s skill or knowledge proved to be valuable.

I also do not think there needed to be so much sexual assault (or threat of sexual assault). While I do think Brodsky showed Omat to be affected by her rape, and there’s a nice moment towards the end where Omat addresses all the rape that their goddesses have endured in their stories, I also think the constant threat of sexual assault was a little much. Again, I can’t speak to whether Inuit culture expects women to essentially be sexually available for their husbands at all times and able to be “loaned out” to other men, but I think I can say that as a female reader, I was tired of Omat being threatened to be raped all the time, by Inuit and Viking alike. I would have preferred that Omat come to view their stories in a new light after their assault, and that Omat form bonds with other women who straddle the line between male and female (such as Freydis and Loki, despite their antagonism) in order to grow as a person without a concrete binary gender identity.

Now for the Norse mythology stuff.

***HERE BE SPOILERS.***

While I did like the magical realism that made Omat’s spirituality feel real, I think actually speaking to Norse gods themselves pushed this book from historical fiction to fantasy for me in a way that felt jarring. Also, I think that Brodsky put a little too much value on Norse mythology to the point where it became validated over Inuit spirituality towards the end. To explain: Omat learns in the book that Inuit gods are actually the Frost Giants from Norse culture, and while I get that Brodsky was trying to make all religions fit into one cosmic system, it felt like she wasn’t so much rejecting colonialism as much as she was imposing it. I didn’t like the fact that Inuit gods being Frost Giants meant that Norse myths are real and Inuits have to fit into Norse cosmology, not the other way around. Moreover, Omat is responsible for bringing about Ragnarok, which means that the big mythological battle is between Inuit and Norse gods. While all the gods are reborn, so to speak, after the battle, only the Norse ones speak to Omat, which felt a little unfair.

Characters: Omat, our POV protagonist, is a compelling character in that they have interesting strengths, flaws, and personal challenges. As a girl raised as a boy, Omat struggles to find an accepted identity within their culture, while also getting in trouble for pride (especially when they try to “prove” that they are a man). I liked that Omat was so interested in stories and connected so strongly with the spirit world, and I found their courage to be admirable. I did have some problems with Omat’s utter shame at all things feminine; as mentioned above, I think the acceptance of women’s work and a female body could have been a good character arc, but I think everything was too mired in misogyny to be powerful.

Brandr, a Viking and Omat’s ally-turned-lover, was admirable in that he rejected a lot of the violence of Norse culture and learned to see Omat as a capable, formidable leader. It was a little strange to me, however, that Brandr seemed to offer Omat what their people could not: acceptance of their gender-fluidity. It seemed like almost a critique of Inuit society, though to be fair, Norse people also expressed a lot of misogyny and homophobia in this book. I hated the fact that Brandr was revealed to have raped 3 women prior to meeting Omat, and while it’s good that Brandr realizes how wrong he was to do that (even though his culture told him that it was expected of a Viking), I think he got off far too easy.

Supporting characters were interesting in that they were heavily flawed. Kiasik, Omat’s cousin, struggles with his affection for Omat and his envy of them, leading him to make some decisions that open a rift between the two. Freydis, the legendary leader of the Viking expedition, is determined and harsh, which is fine since she is a major antagonist, but I would have preferred more commentary on gender roles when Omat saw her inhabiting male and female roles. Various Inuit characters were also interesting, such as Omat’s grandfather and adoptive mother, who support Omat in their personal journey. Issuk and his family were hard to like, since Issuk is a braggart and a rapist and his band does little to stick up for Omat.

TL;DR: The Wolf in the Whale has an exciting premise and does well with its magical realism. Moreover, it is well written and clearly has good intentions; however, misogyny and Euro-centric/colonial biases still creep up and detract from the valuation of the main character’s Inuit culture.

[lovely-nctzen]

• 21 things i love about you •

it’s your 21st birthday and Baëkhyun surprises you with notes scattered all over your apartment. you know that he’s been busy with missions, so how did he make time to write this for you? you’ll probably never know and he’ll probably never tell you, but you’re happy to receive a gift from him. although he’s not good for you, but you’re good for each other. 

School has been quite stressful the past couple of days, you’ve been mainly studying for finals especially for Pathology. Oh how you disliked the class. As you take off your shoes before entering your apartment you notice a note neatly placed on your door. Grabbing the note you read it and smile to yourself. Messily written on the note was “21 things i love about you.” You open the door to your apartment and scattered across the living room and kitchen were notes written by your boyfriend each one numbered specifically. After carefully placing down your book bag, you grab the first note and read it slowly, doing the same with the rest of them.

↬ your honesty  

The first time we met was strange. As you were walking back towards your apartment, you collided with me in the alleyway. You told me that it was one of the quickest way to get back home and that you were starving. As you turned the corner to enter the alleyway we collided against each other. You tried to move past me, but I blocked your way of freedom and stared at you, expecting an apology. Instead of apologizing, all I got in response was, “Why do you have that chain on your face? It makes you look like a gangster.” I was surprised with your response. No one ever questioned why I had the chain around my face, but in my head, I laughed at your honesty. I remember that you stared at me in confusion and you shrugged your shoulders, apologizing before leaving me alone in the alley. That was the first time in a while that I was intrigued with someone. I wanted to know more about you. 

  ↬ the way you say my name

After your encounter with me, i started to follow you home to make sure nothing bad happens to you. As bad as it sounds, I meant no harm because I just wanted to know more about you. Once I saw that you were safely inside your apartment, I turned around and found a rival mafia member pointing a gun and threatening me. I too pulled out my gun and fired at him first. Of course with my aim, it hit him first, but it wasn’t before long that he would shoot and hit me in the abdomen. He fell to the ground in agony while I made my escape to your apartment, clutching my stomach in pain. I sneaked in through the balcony door and there you were standing right in front of me with a shocked look on your face. I remembered it all too well because you asked me what my name was and if I didn’t tell you, you would call the cops on me. So I did what you asked and introduced myself. You repeated my name to yourself and I swear that was the only thing I wanted to hear for the rest of my life.

↬ the tenderness of your touch

You quickly noticed that I was bleeding and pulled me over to your kitchen before my blood started to drip all over your white carpet. You set me down gently on one of the chairs and quickly grabbed the first aid kit. As you started to clean the wound, you insisted that you take me to the hospital. However, I refused knowing that I was one of South Korea’s most wanted. You sighed telling me that the wound would get infected, but I reassured you that I would have someone professional take it out for me. Once you cleaned me up, I realized that I didn’t flinch from pain, but that I was rather relaxed. I think it was because of your tenderness that I remained still and calm.

↬ the sincerity in your eyes

Ever since you helped me that I night, I’ve been visiting you whenever I can. You always ask me what I do for a living and why I only visit you at night. I could tell that you were getting a little frustrated every time you ask me the same question, so I decided that it was time for me to tell you what I do for a living. When I finished explaining to you, you didn’t kick me out or get angry with me, but you just stared at me with sincerity and understanding in your eyes. That’s when I knew that I was falling hard for you.

↬ your overwhelming kindness

When we finally got to know each other more for over a few months now, I thought it would be best to introduce you to the other members. Of course they knew about you and they didn’t like the idea of you knowing our hideout and who we are, but I knew that you wouldn’t rat us out like that. Although my members were cold to you, you still showed them kindness and that changed their opinions about you. After I dropped you back home, I teased them and told them that “i told you so.”

↬ you taught me how to love

Before I met you, I was incapable of loving myself or others. However, it was different when it came to the other members. I’ve always disliked myself and beat myself up on why I was like this and how became a member of a mafia. I was a good person before I joined the mafia. I had a stable job, a family, and a girlfriend that I loved so much, but that was taken away from me. But suddenly you came along and showed me love once again and I thank you for that.

↬ your smile

I don’t know why, but there’s something about your smile that makes me smile to myself. The members tease me about it all the time, but I just tell them to shut their mouth because they’re jealous of us. Either way, your smile gets me through the day especially during missions

↬ the way you worry about me

Even the simplest things I do gets you worried about me. I remember one time I got scratched by Chanyeøl and you freaked out. You were honestly the cutest. I sometimes think you should move in with me that way I can protect you more. It’s getting dangerous as the weather gets colder, but that’s up to you love.

↬ the way you get jealous

It was a full moon that night, we were in the middle of meeting with some allies from another mafia group. I was speaking with a female member too close to your liking because the next thing I knew is that you were dragging me away from her into another room. I thought it was cute that you got jealous, especially with your little pout that you made. Don’t worry though, I made it up to you that night if you remember clearly. *wink wink* If not, I can show it to you again so you don’t forget.

↬ you want the best for me

I got so angry at you that day which I instantly regretted, but I realized too late that you were only looking out for me. When you told me that we should stop seeing each because you thought it would be the best for me, I got so upset. You only said that because you told me that the more I saw you, the more I got distracted from everything else. Although that was true, I could never let you go. Not after all that we’ve been through together. 

↬ we fit together like a piece of a puzzle

Whenever you get tired and go to bed after a long day, I would climb into bed with you despite me having work to do, but I don’t care. As long as your happy, I’m happy. Wrapping my arms around your waist feels so natural, like it belongs there and when your hands are in mine, I feel complete with us just laying in bed.

↬ you give the best advice

I don’t know how you do it, but whenever the boys and I fail a mission, you always know what to say to us to make us feel better. Can you teach me how to do that sometimes? I don’t always want to rely on you to help make us feel better about ourselves when something doesn’t go our way. My favorite advice was, “so what if you didn’t finish the mission, as long as you and the boys are safe and alive that’s all that matters.” But I added in that I needed to stay alive so I can come back to you which made you blush beet red and also punch me in the shoulder for being cheesy.

↬ you aren’t afraid to state your opinion

Oh man that was a scary time. You were there when we were preparing for an upcoming mission. Suhø gave me orders that you thought were dangerous and you objected to it because you thought it was a dangerous mission for me. The two of you went back and forth arguing, but he ended up wining. However, everyone was impressed with you going against orders. Just don’t make it a habit or you’ll get punished (if you know what I’m getting at).

↬ you respect my boundaries 

There are times where I get annoyed and upset with everyone and want to be alone. I appreciate that you don’t ask me too many questions when I want to be left alone. All you do is give a simple knock on the door letting me know that you’re coming into the room and leaving me a plate of food because I didn’t come down for dinner. You don’t say anything, but you give me a smile letting me know that you’re always with me no matter the circumstances.

↬ you want to be with me for me

There would be plenty of times when rival members would taunt me saying that you’re only with me for fun and for the money, but I know that’s not true because you have a heart of gold. And if you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it sooner instead of waiting. Plus, you know my weaknesses and you would use them against me if you wanted to hurt me. You also haven’t ran away so that’s a good sign that you want to be with me.

↬ you’re extremely intelligent

I don’t know exactly how you did it, but why did you hack into our system just to know our birthdays? You honestly could have asked us and we would have told you. Now the boys are suspicious that you’re getting them gifts. Please don’t let them take advantage of your kindness, you already know how they get. They get greedy even though they can gifts for themselves with their own money. I can never trust them with you.

↬ you give really good hugs

Although you get cold easily, your hugs feel nice and warm. I could wrap my arms around you and it would be a treat. Sometimes I’m not good with affection, so whenever you hug me, I still get surprised every time because I don’t expect it. My favorite kind of hug from you is a bear hug; I love when you hug me tightly because there would be times that I would think that I’m never coming back and you hugging me tightly reminds me that it could be the last time we see each other. Of course I don’t want that to happen, but I just want to have my arms around you forever.

↬ your kisses

I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. I love coming back from a mission just to kiss you deeply. You would run up to me and jump in my arms just to hug me and give me a kiss on the forehead. You would also whisper to me that I came back safe and sound. I would nod my head and set you down on the floor before pulling you into a passionate kiss. The others would boo and groan for us to get a room, but I don’t care. You’re all that matters to me. Another favorite of mine is when we kiss in the bedroom. I won’t go into much detail because I know it’s embarrassing for you, but when you shiver as I whisper in your ear and kiss your neck boosts my ego because I know how it affects you. Just saying. 

↬ the way you sing to me

There would be times where I would get sick for no reason and I ask you to sing for me. I know you hate it when I ask you, but your voice is too pretty. It would be a shame for your talent to go to waste. If I say please more often will you sing for me when I’m not sick? I know you’re shaking your head no right now, but I know you can’t resist me. You’re smiling right now and I know it.

↬ you’re beautiful

This one is given. You’re beautiful inside and out. Who wouldn’t love you? To those who say you’re not worth it, they’re dead to me and you. There might be a slight chance that I’ve tortured them because of what they said. Don’t worry, they’re still alive...I think? Just kidding, they are. Unless..? Anyways, you’re beautiful inside and out to me and I don’t care what anyone else tells me because their opinions don’t matter. What matters is your opinion of yourself and mine.

↬ you’re perfect to and for me

Don’t ask me for an explanation, you just are perfect to me. The way you move your hair out of your face and behind your ear makes me forget how to breathe. Simple things you do like biting your lip in concentration gets me going throughout the day. I guess fate intended for us to meet, the universe is telling us that you’re made for me and I’m made for you. I think you came into my life to change me for the better because it has certainly worked. Although I’m still part of the mafia, I’m not the man who I was before I met you.

Once you were finished, there were tears already slowly falling down your cheeks. You’ve never received something like this before on your birthday. He was the first one to ever do this on your birthday. Suddenly you felt arms wrap around your waist and it wasn’t just anyone’s arms, it was his. “Did you like your gift?” You nodded your head and turned around to hug him fully. He kissed the top of your head before whispering in your ear, “I have another surprise for you in the bedroom, are you ready for it?” There was a playful glint in his ocean eyes and you were not ready for what was about to happen next, but you nodded your head yes anyway. He carried you to your room and closed the door, but what you didn’t notice was the smirk on his face when he shut the door. Let’s just say you did well on your finals.

[carmenxjulia]

6, 11, 12, 14, 16

6. Best relationship?

Bruh. Do you see my URL?

I’m just kidding! I really love the sibling relationship that Ivy and Zack have! They were great in season 1, but it kind of felt like their traits were slightly over-exaggerated so the audience could more quickly get a feel for their personalities. Ivy’s annoyance at Zack’s antics, and Zack’s comical incompetence, seemed to level out in season 2. They felt stronger as a brother-sister duo, less on each other’s nerves all the time. They’re the only family they have and they constantly look out for each other. It’s very sweet!

I also love that they aren’t above adopting a found family in people like Carmen and Player and now Shadowsan. They treat those closest to them like they are family as well. They share a special bond with each other because they’ve been on their own for who knows how long, but they absolutely appreciate Carmen taking them under her wing and care about her like she was directly related. They’ve got each other, and until she found them, Carmen only had Player - good company but, she’s never met him. So yeah, I love the familial bonds Ivy and Zack share, as well as the one they have with Carmen.

11. Who deserves more development and appreciation from the show and fandom?

Hmmm prior to season 2 I would have probably said Julia (I mean, I wouldn’t say no to seeing more of her, but we got some great Julia moments in S2).

I think we could stand to see more of Dr. Bellum! Her strong suit is gadgets/machinery/sciences, so it’d be interesting to know how she got her start in that and made it on to V.I.L.E. faculty. I mean, we know the organization is evil, but Bellum is literally willing to starve an entire nation to make a buck like… that is NEXT level! That’s not just theft of material items, that’s livelihoods and families. What brought her to such a point that she has so very little regard for human life? Wild.

As for the fandom, I hope we just keep appreciating Carmen herself because this fandom is so small. I see lot of love for the V.I.L.E. operatives and people making  V.I.L.E.-sonas and there’s nothing wrong with that! But the leading lady could use more love as well.

12. Which character do you relate to the most?

Probably Julia! She’s just trying to make her way in the world and do good and be a good person. She’s working on her confidence and in all honesty, is more competent than she or anyone else gives her credit for. She’s definitely not a perfect agent, she’s not as seasoned as everyone else, but she continually thinks for herself. She also relies on her intuition and inner feelings about others when deciding who to trust. She is very detailed oriented and focused on facts, and I think that helps her to know almost instantly who she can and can’t trust.

14. What part of Carmen Sandiego makes you emotional?

Two things.

One, found family. When Zack and Ivy put up the nesting dolls and asked Carmen if it felt like home like… Carmen had to leave everything she knew behind when she left V.I.L.E. All the people she considered her family. The only place she’d ever called home. As a kid, those things are wicked important to a person, so Carmen turning her back on all of it probably hit hard. The fact that she was able to find some companions on her very first caper was pure kismet and confirmation that they were meant to work together and become friends.

Secondly, the look on Julia’s face when A.C.M.E. showed up RIGHT AFTER she told Carmen she could trust her! And then how Carmen looked at her when she was dying in the woods with that betrayed expression! And how sad Julia looked because she had to have felt responsible for luring Carmen into a false sense of security even though she had no idea A.C.M.E. was going to pull a fast one! I feel very strongly about that entire situation.

Third (wait, what?) (okay last one), when Zack asked Player who he was supposed to support when Ivy and Carmen were both in like completely opposite directions and neither were answering so both were probably in trouble and Player had this brief look of sadness and hesitation before telling Zack to go get his sister? Carmen is Player’s first friend and he knew she was out in the woods alone and had no idea of her condition. But he also knew Ivy was in trouble and that Ivy and Zack only had each other. He understands the bond they share. Player, from what we learned, has a family outside of all the Team Carmen stuff, but, Carmen is still extremely important to him. Him having to make the choice was such a grown up task for him and showed such maturity when he chose for Zack to get Ivy. I imagine he told Zack that Carmen could take care of herself in large part because he was trying to assure himself of the same thing.

16. What can be done better in the show?

Well, apparently some of the facts in CS aren’t accurate if what I’ve read on Tumblr is correct, so, I would say that.

BUT, as for my personal opinion, I feel like A.C.M.E. should have been smarter.

It was fine, in season 1, for Chase to be a sort of rogue agent, a part of Interpol, but still playing by his own rules. That was his whole schtick. A seasoned cop, hot on the heels of a criminal. And his attractive and competent partner who is constantly overlooked. Sure. It worked.

A.C.M.E., from the get-go, plays itself up like this big secret organization no one has ever heard of. And Julia finds them behind an unlocked door in a parking garage. Not only that, but it seems like A.C.M.E. has access to all law enforcement resources around the world, and in fact, has authority over them. Now how could they be a secret organization and have that kind of power?

Rather than attempting to look at facts or closely examine Carmen Sandiego’s motives, they just decide she’s a part of V.I.L.E. Despite them, first off, not having solid proof of its existence because its activities and members have kept themselves hidden for well over 20 years. You’ve been searching for information on V.I.L.E. for two decades and you decide this person who works very much out in the open and makes themselves known to the public eye is a part of a stealthy crime organization? Yeah, that makes sense.

Julia had solid evidence that Carmen was a good guy working on their side, and A.C.M.E. basically ignored it, the same way Chase had. Cool, way to go, you’re so much better and smarter than regular law enforcement. Even after Julia worked WITH Carmen and saved the Medici dresses (which you’d think would be nearly irrefutable proof), going so far as to put Julia in charge while she took the brunt of the danger on herself, A.C.M.E. still wasn’t convinced. Really?

Julia suggested they get Carmen to join their side, and Chief agreed - then blew the whole meeting and almost killed Carmen, their closest connection to  V.I.L.E.! Just… wow.

Now Chief is like, catching Carmen Sandiego is our top priority! Forget  V.I.L.E.! Okay??? You’ve been chasing this organization for 20 years and now you’re giving it up because you’re mad? Talk about a rash decision. Seriously, Chief should be IMPRESSED that Carmen was able to hack into A.C.M.E.’s system and congratulate her. Carmen outsmarted her like it was nothing, and she’d be a much more valuable ally than an enemy.

No wonder it took them this long to even find out V.I.L.E. exists for sure.

[militantinremission]

Time 4 Real Talk

The World has responded to the 'New Age' Lynching of George Floyd. The man lived a simple Life, but in Death, he was celebrated on a scale that matched James Brown's Homegoing; possibly a testament to his wealth of Spirit. His Death was horrible, but his Legacy is already bearing fruit. All four Officers involved in his death have been charged, & a National Spotlight has been trained on American Police Tactics.

It's very interesting to see how the 'Powers that Be' go about the business of shifting a narrative. Group Organizers have 'The Masses' calling for Police Reform, but they are missing the point. Police Officers aren't 'The Problem', they're only following protocol. Some Officers are more aggressive than others, but Society has allowed an acceptable range of violence when it comes to Black America. It's cool that Whitefolk (& some POC) have learned the phrase 'Systemic Racism', but that is just a byproduct. The phrase they should become acquainted w/, is White Supremacy.

The System of White Supremacy, is the true Dragon that needs to be slayed. News Flash: America is not a Democracy- It's a Capitalist Republic. A Republic built on the blood & bones of Black/ Indigenous (Copper Toned Aborigines) People that depends on their continued disenfranchisement. White Privilege, can be viewed as a method of wealth distribution & social autonomy. Modern day Law Enforcement Officers were assembled to uphold the racist principles (State & Federal Laws) that keep Blackfolk in that space between Human Being & untamed Animal.

White Privilege doesn't guarantee Whitefolk an escape from adversity. The wealthy White Class, classically called WASPs (White Anglo- Saxon Protestants), wanted poor Whites to take solace in the fact that no matter how bad Life gets for them, they will always be above Blackfolk. A lot of programming went into making this a reality, & Americans either have selective memory, or incredibly short memory spans... Now we are not so naive that we are blind to the fact that Law Enforcement Agencies exist to protect Corporate Interests, while The Military exists to expand Corporate Interests.

What we are saying, is that while the multiple Ethnic Groups that make up America compete w/ each other for a higher spot on the Food Chain, they All agree that Black America belongs on The Bottom. Nothing is absolute, so we know that we have always had allies; i'm just pointing out that each Federally Mandated attack on Black America, since the Hayes- Tilden Compromise (aka 'The Great Betrayal') of 1876 has been sanctioned by the (collective) silence of White America. They for the most part, stuck their heads in the sand, when it regarded the plight of Black America.

Schools featured books like "Uncle Tom's Cabin" & "Huckleberry Finn", Theaters ran 'Minstrel Shows' for nearly 100Yrs- even the modern day clown can be traced to Minstrel (Black faced) performers that mocked emancipated Slaves that traveled the rails in tattered clothes (i.e. Hobos). All of these images allowed the typical American to have little to no compassion for Us before The Civil Rights Movement. Television Cameras were as instrumental in that 'Revolt', as Phone Cameras are in this current one. Back then, Southern Whites were the mean villains in The Story, just as Police Officers are today. Northerners gasped in astonishment @ the atrocities being done in plain sight.

Then a funny thing happened- attention to Black Oppression shifted to Northern Cities. The Black Codes were here as well. We were Redlined into industrial areas, far away from the white picket fences. Blackfolk took to the Streets, & Northern Whites weren't so supportive anymore. Blue Collar Workers felt that Black migration North was jeopardizing their job security. 1968 brought 'The Great Exodus'- White Democrats in Northern States, particularly in the current Rust Belt States fled en mass to the Republican Party.

Ronald Reagan read the tea leaves as well then, as Donald Trump does now, & acted on White America's 'collective vibe' of That's enough for Black America... [*Note: Joe Biden embodied this sentiment literally up to the point when he joined the Obama Ticket in 2008]. Reagan, like Trump, pushed a Conservative Agenda that starved the Middle Class & rewarded Corporate Elites. Donald Trump became a rock star during this time. Reagan blamed the Recession he caused on Black Welfare Cheats & 'Bleeding Heart Liberals'; Trump blames Barack Obama's policies. Joe Biden was a prominent player in Reagan Era Legislation. By his own admission, he had a hand in every Anti- Crime Law on the books since 1976. Each Law played a role in systematically destroying Black Families; together, they decimated a generation of Black Men.

The Conservative Agenda for Black America was pretty clear- 'No Soup for you!' They never hid their intent. Liberals on the other hand, preached a brand of Coalition Politics that required Black Votes, but advanced a non- Black 'Minority' Agenda. The focus was on: White Women, White LGBTQ..., People of Color, & Black Women- in that order. Black Men were targeted by the Liberal Party's 'Tough On Crime' Legislation. Mandatory Minimum Sentencing kept Black Men out of Society, & Felony Convictions ensured they would have a hard time getting back in. Middle Class Black Communities were hit as hard as White Communities, but White Families were able to weather the hardship as a Family Unit; Black Women were forced to assume the roles of Mother & Father, in the face of rising drug & gang activity .

Its pretty awesome to see so many people of different ethnicities & social backgrounds coming together to protest Racism in general, & Anti- Black Racism specifically. Black America has been oppressed by White Supremacy for 400Yrs & counting; We need more than justice, We need to be indemnified- made whole. It's a total insult for the American Gov't to tell Us 'No' to Reparations, after watching European Jews, & Japanese receive payment for far less than we endured. An even bigger insult, is this notion that ALL 'Afrikan Americans', & Native Americans should get a share of what is specifically owed to Us. American Descendants of (Chattal) Slavery (ADOS) are a specific group w/ a specific need. No one else shares Our experience in America.

This plays into the White Supremacist view that whatever we give to Black America, we can give to Everyone else. This is how Affirmative Action Programs for Black Americans became Diversity Initiatives for 'Minorities'. It's no surprise that the Immigration Act was passed the same Year that the Civil Rights Law went into effect. White Supremacy thrives on the misfortune of Black People. America has used immigration as a weapon for over 150Yrs to slow any progress in the Black/ ADOS Community. They have not been able to kill Us off, so they are perpetually watering down Our overall percentage of the population.

Immigrants are offered Grants & Services that are denied to Black America/ ADOS. Immigrant Enclaves in Cities & Suburbia are thriving, while Black Communities are starved of resources, leaving them vulnerable to 'gentrification'- modern day Homesteading. These same Immigrants set up Stores in Black Communities, where they are welcomed, but Blackfolk are critiqued when we enter these Immigrant Communities- much like the way we are, when we enter White areas.

The Black- Brown Alliance sounds heart warming, but honestly, most use this 'Alliance' to profit off Black Effort & Dollars. A lot of these people identified as 'White' on past Census rolls. 50Yrs ago, Black Men were the focus of that attention; today, it's Black Women. Divide & Conquer is a tried & true weapon of White Supremacy. Black America flounders because of the inner conflict instigated by this method over the Centuries. I'm aware that every group had to endure this assault, but Black America is the one target that Everyone else seems to agree on exploiting. There's no hiding from this.

While i'm happy to see multicultural crowds globally protesting anti- Black racism, I can't help but wonder how far will support go? If We judge by past acts, not far enough. Resources are necessary, & Society has a limit to how much it's willing to spend on Black Problems, before extending those same resources to Everyone else. Politicians talk about Equality, but never about Equity. To be honest, Black America only needs to be left alone. Our Story is one of perpetual 'Arrested Development'. Black Codes, Klan violence, Jim Crow, Redlining, Imminent Domain, & Benign Neglect created the current State of Black America. So called 'Empowerment or Opportunity Zones' are disingenuous @ best... I'm not sure what Society will do, but one thing is certain- as Black America goes, so will the Black Diaspora.

#ADOS

#B1

[dathen]

TMA 153 liveblog dump

I HAVE BEEN SCREAMING INTERNALLY ABOUT THIS EP FOR A WHOLE DAY END MY SUFFERING

"Intelligence doesn't make you more resistant to bad ideas, it just makes you better at defending them; to other people, and to yourself"  GOD i love these profound lines tucked away in the statements

a cult as a manifestation of the Corruption...that's fucking brilliant

OH MYGODDDDDD THEY'RE AFTER HIM FOR FREEING GERRY I'M...HOW DID I NOT GUESS THIS FROM THE CAST LIST??

"Gerry wasn't yours" [[scREAMS INTO HANDS]]

them making fun of him for calling Gerry his preferred name I'm >>>>>>:((((((

"thought you'd be different--but you're just another monster" about the most defiant and human act he's done in the entire series my heART IS HURTING

"and you always do what the evil books tell you?" oh god how many times do you think Gerry asked Julia and Trevor to set him free? How many times was he brushed off with a "do you think we're just gonna do what an evil book tells us to"? how hard must it have been to try to adjust to this hellish, painful half-existence with only their exploitation for company?

DAISY TO THE RESCUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HUNT VS HUNT

"I'm not her father" "Not by blood, maybe" Jonathan has a knife in his throat and he's still here promoting the found family feelings sfdlkjfhf

"This place is full of monsters.  She can't guard them all."   I'M SO TERRIFIED FOR EVERYONE my brain immediately jumped to basira and melanie but then I realized the most likely one is Martin oh god oh god

Daisy is starving oh nO ;;;A;;;

oh god this means we were right about our suspicions, that Basira using Daisy as an example of a Good Former Monster Doing Fine is just because daisy's good at hiding it from her :(((((

Jon trying to encourage her to stay on course!! their exchange of "don't listen to the blood--" "--listen to the quiet" like they've said it a hundred times before!! MY SAD STARVING MONSTER FRIENDS I LOVE THEM AND AM SO WORRIED ;A;

And then him fretting over how much danger she's in by holding back like this, wavering between encouraging her ot take care of herself and to not hurt people, the exact sort of conflict he's been having in himself D:  He doesn't know what side to encourage her to because he doesn't know for -himself- so just decides to support her and be there for her [curls into fetal position]

This is the opposite side to Helen's argument that I've been dying for, but it's also SO HORRIBLE because I LOVE JON AND I LOVE DAISY

“Do you have any idea how much damage you can do if you're a police officer who wants to hurt people? How much the system will protect you? “  god damn TRUTH BOMBS

jon is so gentle with his friends my heart ;;--;;

drowns in jon and gerry feelings drowns in jon and daisy feelings just fukin drowns

oh god oh god trevor and julia are gonna be stalking the institute looking for a weakness and no one there can really defend themselves I'm TERRIFIED

man though the contrasts with the s3 scene of daisy about to cut jon's throat?? her trying to kill him vs. her saving him aside, his anguished begging for his life in s3, insistent he's not  a monster, vs. here where he's resigned and defiant and isn't going to argue he's not a monster, just that he did the right thing by gerry and doesn't regret it. GOD i could write ESSAYS UPON ESSAYS of hte levels going on here

This has heighted the stakes of the threshold looming from the last episode--let go of guilt or hold onto it forever to no purpose--Jon said he needs to be able to defend his friends, and Helen laughed at him that they don't need him.  But now with Daisy slowly dying and Melanie freed from the slaughter it just leaves Basira, who as far as we know MIGHT just have the tiniest fledgling Eye powers + police training

WHAT IF MARTIN HAS TO SAVE EVERYONE BY THROWING JULIA AND TREVOR INTO THE LONELY. WHAT IF THEY'RE HIS FIRST VICTIMS TO SAVE HIS ALLIES AND THE MAN HE LOVES

“Don't listen to the blood.  Listen to the quiet.”  I'M STILL SOBBING THIS FRIENDSHIP POETRY...

I DON'T WANT DAISY TO DIE I DON'T WANT HER TO GO BACK I'M CRYINGGG  

I just realized Jon absolutely saved the day by promoting found family feelings, what kind of steven universe is he

I decided after this ep that Jon and Daisy hugged because it's an audio format and you can't tell me they didn't

BUT what if the Buried left them panicked at too much pressure so they just. hold hands like it's a hug, an echo of when they were trapped together and would strain and stretch so hard just for a brush of fingers, a point of human contact they're both starving for and the reassurance that they're not alone, someone else understands

[[sobs in jon & daisy friendship]]

also jon being so defensive of his choice to free gerry despite it being the most anti-Beholding thing he's ever done, GOD i love him so much i love them i love him!!!!!

jon loves his friends!!! even if they've only been friends for two minutes!!!